Kitabı oxu: «The One: A moving and unforgettable love story - the most emotional read of 2018»
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Copyright
HarperImpulse
an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Copyright © Maria Realf 2018
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Maria Realf asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008278960
Ebook Edition © March 2018 ISBN: 9780008278977
Version: 2018-01-29
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1: 13 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 2: 2 October 2002
Chapter 3: 12 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 4: 6 October 2002
Chapter 5: 11 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 6: 6 October 2002
Chapter 7: 10 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 8: 25 December 2002
Chapter 9: 9 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 10: 6 October 2003
Chapter 11: 8 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 12: 3 April 2004
Chapter 13: 7 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 14: 15 May 2004
Chapter 15: 6 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 16: 23 July 2004
Chapter 17: 5 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 18: 26 December 2004
Chapter 19: 4 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 20: 18 February 2005
Chapter 21: 3 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 22: 4 March 2005
Chapter 23: 2 Weeks to Go …
Chapter 24: 1 Week to Go …
Chapter 25: 4 Days to Go …
Chapter 26: 3 Days to Go …
Chapter 27: 1 Day to Go …
Chapter 28: 5 Hours to Go …
Chapter 29: 30 Minutes to Go …
Chapter 30: Here Comes the Bride …
Epilogue: Two Years Later
Acknowledgements
About the Author
A Q&A with Maria Realf
About HarperImpulse
About the Publisher
Dedication
For Rob, my love,
Zac, my treasure,
And Stephen, my hero
1
13 weeks to go …
Finally, I’ve found The One! Lizzie Sparkes gazed at the full-length mirror in the changing room, hardly daring to believe that it was her own reflection staring back. The Grecian gown was perfect, with tiny beads twinkling along the asymmetric strap, and a delicate train skimming the carpet as though it was practising for the Oscars. It wasn’t too tight, it wasn’t scratchy and it didn’t make her look like a human doily. The only downside was the eye-wateringly expensive price, but she had decided to overlook that part. It’ll be worth it when Josh sees me walking down the aisle, she reassured herself, a lump rising in her throat. I look almost … beautiful.
She was afraid to step out from the safety of the cubicle, in case the look on her mum’s face – or Megan’s – betrayed the fact that they didn’t feel the same. They were both polite when it came to watching her try on wedding gowns, and had patiently sat through some 30 or so now, but she knew them well enough to read the signs. When her mum wasn’t keen on a dress, she blinked three or four times in quick succession, while Megan pulled a weird half-smile that made her look as though she’d had a dodgy facelift. It was a total giveaway, every time.
Lizzie drew a deep breath and swept back the purple velvet curtain. She took a slow step out into the centre of the boutique, her dark hair swishing loosely behind her like a glossy veil. ‘W-O-W,’ said Megan.
Her mum promptly burst into tears, which was a more confusing reaction.
‘Mum? Don’t you like it?’
There was a long pause while Lynda Sparkes rummaged through her overcrowded handbag, before pulling out a crumpled tissue and nearly poking herself in her right eye. ‘Oh, Elizabeth,’ she sniffed, mascara smudging into her crows’ feet. ‘You look like a movie star.’
Yep, this is definitely The One …
The store manager tottered over in her nude skyscraper heels, clearly anticipating a hefty commission. ‘That dress looks amazing on you,’ she gushed. ‘It fits so well, you’d hardly need any alterations. We could maybe just take it up an inch or two.’ She bent down and folded the hem with her hands by way of demonstration, though it didn’t seem to make a great deal of difference. ‘What do you think?’
‘I’ll take it.’ The words popped out of Lizzie’s mouth before she had a chance to peek again at the price tag.
‘Excellent!’ The manager clapped her manicured hands loudly and two blonde minions, one tall and one tiny, raced over. ‘Let’s open some champagne, please, for Ms …’
‘Sparkes. Soon to be Cooper.’
‘Of course. I assume we’re all having some bubbly?’
‘You assume right,’ said Megan. She was not the kind of girl to turn down champagne at any hour, especially if it was on the house.
‘Marvellous.’ Moments later the two blondes reappeared, one bearing a tray of glasses and the other carrying a bottle of fizz. The manager made an elaborate show of popping the cork and pouring it out with a flourish. ‘Well, congratulations!’
‘Thank you,’ smiled Lizzie, edging away from the drinks so as not to spill anything down the pristine white silk. After six long months of searching, she was still in shock that she had found the dress of her dreams. Everyone kept telling her that she would know the right one when she saw it, but she’d been starting to suspect that might be a bridal myth. Last week she’d had a nightmare that she arrived at the wedding in a gown made from loo roll, which began to unravel in front of all their guests. She’d woken up covered in sweat and couldn’t get back to sleep, but Josh thought it was hilarious when she relayed the story the next morning. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll still marry you if you turn up in Andrex,’ he joked. ‘And think how much money we’d save …’
It was easy for him to laugh, of course; he’d chosen his suit after just two shopping trips and looked like a male model in it, the slimline cut complementing his lean, athletic build. ‘You’re not supposed to upstage the bride,’ she’d only half-joked when he tried it on, feeling the pressure to pick an equally special outfit increase tenfold. It was a huge relief to have finally found something so perfect.
‘I can’t believe you’re getting married!’ squealed Megan, the bubbliness of the champers already kicking in. ‘And in that fabulous dress.’ She glanced over at Mrs Sparkes, who had finally managed to stop sobbing long enough to take a sip of her drink. ‘Mrs S, we’re really going to have to get you some waterproof eye make-up.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I can manage anything else today, love. I’m completely shopped out.’
‘Fair enough, but you’ll want some for the wedding. I’ll see what I can find at work.’ Megan was a journalist for a popular style website, and was sent so many samples that her bathroom was starting to resemble the cosmetics hall at Harrods. The retail worth of her monthly beauty booty was probably twice her modest salary.
She turned her attention back to her friend. ‘You’ll need to start thinking about bridal make-up too, Lizzie – plus there’s hair, underwear, shoes, not to mention my bridesmaid’s outfit …’
‘I think I’d better get out of this dress first,’ said Lizzie. ‘Can you give me a hand, Meg?’
‘Sure, no problem. As long as I don’t have to help you to the loo on the day.’
Just then Megan’s mobile squawked like a melodramatic duck, and they both burst out laughing. ‘What on earth is that?’ asked Lizzie.
‘It’s my new email alert,’ grinned Megan, reaching for her phone. ‘It quacks me up.’
‘Oh, please stop. I swear your jokes are getting worse.’ She waited for the witty riposte, but suddenly realised her friend was no longer smiling. In fact, all the colour had flooded from her face, leaving her skin whiter than the row of wedding dresses behind her. ‘Megan? What’s wrong?’
The sound of her name seemed to snap Megan out of her trance, and she shook her curly blonde bob. ‘Nothing. It’s not important. Now, where were we?’ She put on her most lopsided smile, and Lizzie knew she was lying.
‘You were about to stop being weird and tell me what’s going on. Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine. I’ll fill you in later.’
‘Please fill me in now. You’re starting to freak me out.’
Megan looked around nervously, as if hoping someone might interrupt this awkward exchange, but Mrs Sparkes was deep in conversation with the manager, waffling on about her own 1980s bridal gown.
‘Megan! What’s going on?’
‘Alright, I’ll tell you, but promise you won’t stress out, OK?’
‘Stress out about what?’
There was an uncomfortable pause. ‘Alex is back.’
It took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to vomit down the front of her dazzling new dress.
Lizzie tried to unlock the front door, her hand trembling so much she could barely insert the key. Megan’s words replayed on a loop in her mind: Alex is back. For years, she had wanted to hear that more than anything in the world, but as a decade had ticked by she’d slowly swept aside the shards of her old life, carefully filing all thoughts of him away in the archives of her past.
What the hell is he doing here?
He had been in such a dark place the last time she’d seen him. She wondered what he would look like now; whether she would recognise him if they passed one another on the street. Perhaps he had gained weight or gone prematurely grey; maybe his casually cool wardrobe had been replaced by corporate suits or skin-tight gym gear. I’d know those eyes, though, she thought, momentarily closing her own. I’d know them anywhere.
She finally managed to wrestle open the door, stepping quietly into the snug Surrey home that she and Josh had moved into six months ago. Her lips moved on autopilot to shout a loving greeting, but today her tongue felt as paralysed as her brain, unable to process the million questions those three little words had unleashed. She decided to head upstairs for the sanctuary of the bathroom, where she could take a moment to compose herself – or at least throw up the butterflies swirling around in her gut. But before she could creep past the bedroom, a strong pair of arms bundled her up from behind.
‘Trying to sneak past me, eh?’ said Josh. ‘And without even a kiss, too …’
Lizzie turned round and looked into his teasing brown eyes, her composure melting under the warmth of his unsuspecting smile. Confusion hit her like a right hook.
‘I … um … I’m not feeling so great,’ she said, taking a step back.
‘Was it the tacos?’ She shook her head. ‘Now you mention it, you do look a bit pale. Come here.’ He wrapped her tightly in a hug, stroking her hair rhythmically with his right hand. His skin smelled fresh, like mint shower gel, and she buried her face in his Diesel sweater, hoping to avoid further eye contact for a moment longer.
Half of her wanted to tell him the truth – the whole truth – but she didn’t exactly know where to start. They had not talked much about her ex before: it was a painful can of worms she had sealed tightly shut, and Josh seemed to have the good sense not to prise it open. He knew there had been someone else – maybe even heard the name muttered by old friends – but until now Alex was merely the whispered ghost of a boyfriend past.
‘Do you think it’s all this rushing around for the wedding?’ Josh unwittingly gave her an escape route, and she took it.
‘Maybe. I am feeling a bit stressed.’ She pulled back and rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s still so much to sort out with the flowers and invitations and everything. I think my Bridezilla hormones must be kicking in.’
Josh looked relieved. ‘Freddie said that might happen.’ His annoying best mate had only been married for nine months, but now acted like he was the world’s leading authority on weddings. ‘Maybe you need a bit of a break, like a spa weekend or something? I could do some invites, if you like.’
His concern only made her feel worse. Just calm down, she told herself. Alex being back doesn’t change anything. It’s going to be fine.
‘I’m OK,’ she said slowly. ‘I was having a funny five minutes, that’s all.’ She forced a thin smile. ‘But, actually, it would be great if you could help with the invites. Thank you.’ Wedding admin wasn’t exactly Josh’s forte, as she’d found out when it came to sending the save-the-date cards, so she appreciated the offer.
‘No problem.’ He kissed her gently on the tip of her nose. ‘Just let me know if there’s anything else I can do.’
She ran her fingers through his sandy hair, which was looking adorably ruffled. ‘Well, there is one thing while you’re here …’
‘Go on.’
‘Kiss me.’
He took her in his arms and grinned. ‘Honestly, woman, I thought you’d never ask …’
2
2 October 2002
Without warning, the bedroom door flew open and Megan flounced in, forcing Lizzie to look up from her well-thumbed copy of Wuthering Heights. ‘Here’s a thought,’ Lizzie suggested affectionately. ‘Perhaps you could learn to knock. I could have been naked or anything.’
‘Like I haven’t seen that before.’
‘Yeah, well, you should probably knock before entering the bathroom as well.’
‘Whatever …’ Megan tossed her hair, making her sparkly top shimmer like something out of a pop video. ‘I just wanted to tell you that I’ve had a great idea for this evening! Dominic’s asked me to this karaoke night at Ignition and he’s bringing his housemate, so I thought you could join us. Cab’s coming in 45 minutes.’ She beamed as though she’d just extended an invite to an all-expenses-paid cruise around the Caribbean.
Lizzie’s heart plummeted. Karaoke? You’ve got to be kidding. She stretched out on the blue and white striped bedspread and faked a large yawn. ‘I’m not really in the mood for another double date, Meg. No offence, but you know they never work out.’
‘They haven’t been that bad,’ said Megan, looking insulted. ‘Nathan seemed nice.’
‘He’s about 5ft 7.’
‘And? So’s Tom Cruise.’
‘Which is fine for you. But I’m 5ft 10, in case you hadn’t noticed. Without heels!’
‘Well, Eric was tall,’ she huffed.
‘True, but I’m pretty sure Eric’s gay.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘He gave his phone number to our waiter!’
‘Really? I don’t remember.’ Megan could conveniently forget anything if it didn’t further her current plans. ‘Anyway, this one will be different. You’ll see.’
‘I don’t know …’ Lizzie hesitated. ‘I was kind of looking forward to just chilling out tonight.’
‘Why? There’ll be loads of time for that when you’re old!’ Megan strutted over to the beech Argos wardrobe and started rummaging around inside. ‘You’ve got some gorgeous stuff in here, Lizzie,’ she said, rifling her way along the rail. ‘What’s the point of buying dresses unless you bother to show them off? You can stay in and read tomorrow – it’s not like Heathcliff’s going anywhere.’
Just then there was a noise from upstairs, and the sound of Tom Jones singing Sex Bomb began to echo around the landing. Lizzie immediately knew what that track meant: their other housemate, a cheeky Welshman called Gareth, had a hot date in his room, and any hope of a quiet night had now gone out of the window. A triumphant smile flickered across Megan’s face.
‘Fine, I’ll get ready,’ Lizzie grumbled, rolling off the bed and plugging in her hair straighteners. ‘But you’re going to owe me big time.’
Facing the wonky mirror in the bar’s dimly lit loos, Lizzie applied a slick of lip balm and frowned at her reflection. Two tired brown eyes glared back at her in annoyance. She could have bet a month’s rent before leaving the house that she wouldn’t fancy Dominic’s flatmate, and her instincts had been spot on. Though admittedly he wasn’t the worst-looking guy Megan had ever tried to set her up with, he was clearly a complete sexist, and when he’d started on the subject of women’s sport she’d had to make her excuses and escape to the ladies.
Give it one more hour out there and then you can leave, she promised herself. Hopefully by then Gareth will have stopped his Sexbombathon, and you’ll be able to go to bed in peace.
She slipped the balm into the pocket of her vintage red tea dress, a total bargain she’d snapped up at Oxfam, then smoothed her hair and strode out of the door – smack bang into a barman carrying a tray full of drinks. Lizzie watched in horror as glasses came crashing down around them, spilling their contents everywhere in torturously slow motion. A lone Bacardi Breezer just managed to stay on the tray, wobbling defiantly from side to side like a skittle.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she winced, wondering why she’d ever agreed to leave her cosy bedroom. Her left arm felt cold and sticky. ‘I … I didn’t see you there.’
‘Evidently,’ he growled, surveying the front of his soaked black T-shirt.
‘Are you alright? I’ll pay for the drinks.’ A surreptitious check of her dress revealed that he had borne the brunt of the spillage, which was both unfair and a big relief.
He set down the tray, glanced straight at her for a second, then surprised her with a wry smile. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, his voice low and smoky. ‘There’s no point crying over … well, two pints, a Hooch and what I think might have been a Malibu and Coke.’ He sniffed the top of his T-shirt. ‘Yep … coconut.’
Despite her mortification, Lizzie found herself laughing. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’ve always liked coconut. But I still feel terrible.’
‘Don’t. It’s an occupational hazard.’
‘What, spilled drinks or clumsy girls?’
‘Both, I guess. Are you OK?’
‘Yes – well, apart from my rubbish eyesight, obviously. I swear I’m not as drunk as you must think.’
He smiled again, and Lizzie noticed that he was quietly attractive, with unruly dark hair that flopped into striking blue-grey eyes, and a jawline scattered with stubble; not the pretentious, landscaped kind, but the sort that suggested he had better things to do than shave every morning. He was tall – she guessed around 6ft – with broad shoulders, and his damp T-shirt clung just tightly enough that she could tell he was in good shape. She was beginning to stare now, she knew, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away.
In the end, he moved first, gesturing to the broken glass on the floor: ‘Well, I suppose I’d better sort this lot out before someone loses a toe.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She paused. ‘I really am sorry.’
‘You said that already,’ he teased. ‘Maybe we’ll bump into each other again sometime.’ And with that he disappeared into a room behind the bar.
Realising that she hadn’t even caught his name, Lizzie was surprised by the sudden surge of disappointment inside – but not half as surprised as when the karaoke compere made his next announcement: ‘Alright, now I’m looking for Lizzie Sparkes … Lizzie Sparkes, please come up.’ Lizzie looked round frantically, hoping by freak coincidence that someone else might share the same moniker, but then she spotted Megan and the boys howling with laughter.
‘Oh, there you are, Lizzie,’ shouted Megan, singling her out with an exaggerated pointing gesture. ‘You’re on.’
Lizzie tried frantically to get the attention of the chubby compere, wanting to let him know that it was all a stupid joke, but he interpreted her frenzied waving as a sign that she was coming and began to queue up the mysterious backing track. Blind panic set in. What have they picked? The contents of her CD collection flashed before her eyes. Britney Spears? Sugababes? S Club 7? There was only one thing for it: she would have to go up there and put a stop to this confusion.
Taking a deep breath, she jostled her way up to the makeshift stage, a blush creeping across both cheeks. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a mistake …’ she said to the host, but her voice was lost over the opening bars of the music as he thrust a microphone into her hand. Lizzie froze as she recognised the intro. It was Tragedy, a guilty pleasure she enjoyed playing on her Steps Gold CD – maybe a little too loudly if Megan had noticed – but would never dream of performing in the shower, let alone in public. The three cocktails she’d consumed earlier churned uneasily in her stomach.
Shit, shit, shit. I’m actually going to have to go through with this. The opening lines popped up on the ancient monitor in a garish shade of neon green, as if to further highlight her public humiliation.
Megan’s going to meet with some kind of tragedy when we get home, that’s for sure.
Mumbling along to the first verse, Lizzie tried to keep in time with the loud audio, her voice quivering almost as much as her legs. In desperation, she held out the microphone to the audience, encouraging her fellow students to sing along for the catchy chorus.
To her amazement, they did.
Seconds later Megan jumped up on stage beside her, tucking a straw behind one ear like a headset mic and belting out the rest of the lyrics. A group of girls near the front stood to perform the Steps dance routine in perfect unison, as though they’d been rehearsing for precisely such an occasion.
Just when Lizzie was starting to think that this karaoke business wasn’t all bad, the song came to an end and the audience went wild. ‘Good work, ladies,’ said the compere. ‘Well, who’s brave enough to come up and follow that? Looks like it’s going to be Tony, taking us back to the 80s …’
‘That was amazing!’ said Megan, sauntering off stage with rock-star swagger. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you.’
‘I didn’t exactly have much choice,’ replied Lizzie, not sure whether to hug her or slug her.
‘Don’t be mad. It was meant to be a joke. I never thought for a minute you’d actually get up there! I’d have stuck you in for two songs if I’d known you were going to bring the bloody house down.’
Lizzie smiled in spite of herself, still buzzing from the adrenaline. ‘I guess it was kind of fun, wasn’t it?’
‘Steady on, Kylie.’ Megan stopped and sniffed. ‘Can you smell coconut?’
‘I think that might be me. I knocked a tray of drinks everywhere just before you put me in for Pop Idol.’
‘Oh, so you’ve really outdone yourself tonight, then?’ They both cracked up and Lizzie realised she’d already forgiven her friend, though she wasn’t exactly sure when.
‘Yes, I have. So the next round’s definitely on you.’
Suddenly Lizzie felt a tap on her shoulder, and spun around to face the enigmatic barman from earlier. Damn, please say he didn’t just see me making a fool of myself … She could feel the hot blush seeping back, hoping the redness wouldn’t be visible beneath the bar’s crappy lighting.
He began to clap. ‘I’m impressed. You didn’t say you were going to sing.’
‘I didn’t know I was going to sing. My housemate stitched me up.’ She motioned to Megan, who raised a quizzical eyebrow as she backed away, no doubt already planning a full interrogation as to the identity of this mystery man. ‘I’ve never done anything like that before.’
‘Well, the crowd certainly seemed to enjoy it.’
‘Yeah, I suspect the alcohol might have had a lot to do with that.’ She wished she were better at accepting compliments from attractive guys.
‘So what do you do when you’re not pursuing your pop career?’ He leaned in to make himself heard as the karaoke kicked off again, and Lizzie could detect the subtle scent of leather, still imbued with a splash of coconut. The rest of the room blurred into the background.
‘I’m at uni, studying English. Second year,’ she shouted over the tinny backing track. Trying to chat in noisy bars was always tricky, but she wasn’t ready to give up on this conversation just yet.
‘How are you finding it?’
‘Good,’ she replied. ‘Most of the time, anyway. How long have you worked here?’
‘Only about six months.’ He moved closer, his lips almost touching her ear. His breath felt warm against her cheek. ‘I’m a student, too.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Scientology. With contemporary dance.’
‘Very funny.’
‘Oh, alright.’ He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘Hospitality.’
‘So you work here for experience?’
He laughed. ‘Not really, more to pay the bills.’ Lizzie immediately wished she hadn’t sounded quite so naive.
Just then a bloke with a hairy beer belly protruding from his shirt interrupted their conversation. ‘Hey, mate, could we get the same again over here?’
‘Be right with you.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Guess I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?’
‘Maybe you could see me at the weekend,’ said Lizzie, surprised by the confident words spilling from her mouth. Did I just ask him out?
‘Sounds great. I’m free Sunday. I’ll give you my number.’ He pulled a pen from his jeans and jotted the digits down on the back of a peeling coaster. ‘I’m Alex, by the way. Alex Jackson.’ He held out his right hand.
‘I’m Lizzie,’ she whispered, a faint current coursing through her fingers as she pressed her palm to his. ‘Sparkes.’
3
12 weeks to go …
‘How much?’ Lizzie asked incredulously, fishing around in her wallet for more cash as the sales girl on the ticket desk drummed her long nails. ‘What does that include?’
‘That’s just the admission fee,’ the girl replied politely, taking Lizzie’s notes and handing back a few loose coins in change. ‘Everything else can be paid for inside the wedding fair.’ She slid two fancy white tickets across the counter.
‘What are these made from, real brides?’ Lizzie grumbled. The two women behind coughed impatiently. ‘Oh, alright, we’re going,’ she said, as Josh led her away from the queue by the elbow.
Stepping through the main entrance, Lizzie was struck by the sheer scale of the hall before them, which was filled with a seemingly endless succession of stalls: fairytale dresses floating on rails, chocolate fountains dripping with temptation, sweet bars bursting with candies of every colour, and travel agents barely visible behind huge piles of honeymoon brochures. The air hummed with the sound of thousands of brides and their entourages, all chattering loudly in chorus. It was an utterly surreal experience, as though one of her wedding magazines had sprung to life on steroids. She wasn’t sure whether to dive in or bolt for the emergency exit.
‘Remind me why we’re here again?’ she asked Josh. She had nearly passed out with shock that morning when he suggested they go along, and curiosity had compelled her to agree. She knew several of her friends had to bribe their fiancés with sexual favours just to get them within 50ft of a wedding fair.
‘Well, I know you were worried there was still lots to do, so I thought we could come here and cross off a bunch of jobs in one go.’ He reached for her hand, weaving his warm fingers through hers. ‘Then you can relax and just look forward to it.’
‘Ah, OK … makes sense, I guess.’ Lizzie tried hard to shake a disloyal seed of suspicion. Why’s he acting like Mr Wedding all of a sudden? Up until last week, Josh had shown zero interest in the finer details of the planning process. Sure, he was happy to get involved with the fun jobs, like booking the DJ and choosing a cake. But the moment she mentioned anything else – such as paying deposits or ordering stationery – he normally glazed over and went into lockdown. Then, since her little wobble at home last weekend, he kept asking if she was OK and if there were any jobs that needed doing. It wasn’t that she was complaining, really – she was grateful he was making an effort – but his sudden attentiveness was strangely disconcerting, like he’d been invaded by obliging aliens.
To be fair, it didn’t help that she seemed to have a defective bridal gene: she still couldn’t tell the difference between cream and ivory, she didn’t give a toss whether the chair bows were organza or satin, and something about those beady-eyed cake toppers was really starting to creep her out. Deep down, she had never pictured herself having the big, traditional wedding, but lately it seemed to be snowballing of its own accord. Back when she was with Alex, she used to imagine them tying the knot in a small, intimate ceremony, or eloping spontaneously up to Gretna Green. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now, knee deep in place cards and confetti.
‘So what should we do first?’ asked Josh.
‘I don’t mind,’ replied Lizzie, stepping to one side to avoid being spritzed in the face by a woman brandishing bespoke fragrances. ‘What do you think?’
‘Maybe flower arrangements?’
What did you do with my fiancé? Lizzie figured he must be keen to get that one crossed off the list so he could spend more time with the stag reps and car-hire companies. She had already told him that they would struggle to afford an Aston Martin, but she knew his James Bond dream would die hard.
‘Alright,’ she said.
Josh held on to her hand as they made their way across the huge hall, squeezing past gaggles of shrieking girls and pushy mothers. Watching him stride confidently through the crowd, Lizzie noticed that he attracted admiring glances from several women, including one trying on a wedding gown who really ought to know better. Window shop all you want, she thought, but I’m the one who’s marrying him. She felt a fresh rush of adrenaline. The events of last weekend might have thrown her momentarily, but now things were getting back on track. Who cares what Alex does? I’ve got Josh. This time, she had fallen for someone who would always be there – for better or worse.
They continued to head for the kaleidoscope of blooms in the far corner, encountering eager reps promoting stag and hen packages, glamorous ladies ladling out skincare samples, magicians performing card tricks, and even designers flogging ushers’ outfits for pets. ‘Can we get one of these for Freddie?’ Lizzie joked, picking up a sparkly dog collar and leash. ‘Then Megan could keep him under control …’
‘It’s Megan I think we should be more worried about,’ laughed Josh. ‘Anyway, perhaps you should stick that back. I don’t want the woman to think we’re shoplifting.’
‘Are you trying to say I look dodgy?’
‘Never,’ he said with a smile.
Finally, they came to the floral section, which was as overwhelming as it was colourful. Lizzie had assumed you simply chose your favourite stems and got a florist to arrange them prettily in posh vases, but now she could see that the options were endless: birdcages bursting with lush green foliage, centrepieces in oversized cocktail glasses, even topiary trimmed like hearts and bells.
‘Let’s keep this simple,’ she whispered to Josh, nudging him away from a man displaying a combination of gerberas, sparklers and citrus fruits who was frantically beckoning them over. ‘We don’t need anything edible.’
He grinned. ‘How about flammable?’
‘I’m thinking … nope.’
‘Spoilsport. What about over there?’ He gestured towards a white-haired woman in a powder-blue suit, surrounded by subtle yet stunning arrangements in tall crystal vases. Blush pinks and soft mauves mingled with creamy neutrals, looking as though they’d just been freshly plucked from a country garden.
Bingo.
The florist caught her gaze and waited for them to come closer. ‘Hello,’ she said warmly, extending her right hand. It was soft and crêpey, though her grip was surprisingly firm. ‘I’m Peggy Bloom. How are you today?’
Lizzie wondered if that was her real name or a clever marketing gimmick. ‘We’re good, thanks,’ she replied. ‘Just on the lookout for some wedding inspiration. I love what you’ve done here.’
‘Thank you. When’s your big day?’
‘Just under three months away, actually.’ Her heart began to beat faster, ticking rhythmically like a clock. The final countdown … The hit 80s anthem suddenly began playing in her head, and she realised she hadn’t caught Peggy’s last question. ‘Sorry, could you say that again?’
‘Is it a church or civil ceremony?’
‘Church.’
‘What kind of look are you going for?’
‘Nothing too fussy,’ said Lizzie. ‘Just something romantic and elegant.’
‘Do you have any particular flowers in mind?’
‘Yeah, cauliflowers,’ said Josh. Lizzie laughed out loud and tried to pretend it was a tickly cough.
‘I’m sorry?’ Peggy looked puzzled.
‘We’re open to suggestions,’ said Lizzie, steering the conversation back on course. ‘But I was thinking maybe lilies.’
‘Really?’ Josh seemed surprised. ‘They always remind me of funerals. How about roses?’
She gave him a bemused glance, trying to figure out if he was being serious. The aliens must be back again. ‘Don’t you think they’re a little, you know … clichéd?’
‘Not really, but I’m hardly the best person to ask.’ He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Look Lizzie, if you love lilies, have the lilies. Far be it for me to deny my beautiful bride.’ She suspected that his attempt at feigning interest in flowers was already wearing thin. He snuck a sideways glance in the direction of the stag section.
She decided to cut him some slack. ‘Look, why don’t you go off and have a look round while I run through our options with Peggy? I’ll come and find you when we’re finished.’
‘Really?’ Josh looked unsure, as though he might be snared in some kind of wedding trap.
‘Honestly, it’s fine. I won’t be long. Go sort out your stag do or something.’
‘Well, if you think I should …’
‘I do,’ she nodded.
‘OK, then – just give me a call when you’re done. Nice to meet you, Peggy …’ He bounded off before he’d barely finished his sentence, his bright blue T-shirt disappearing into the crowd. Josh’s cheerful exuberance was one of the first things she had noticed about him, and probably explained why he was one of the most popular teachers at his school. That, and his cheeky sense of humour. The pupils knew a big kid when they saw one.
Lizzie turned her attention back to the florist. ‘Right, so lilies are out, roses are out … any other ideas?’
‘Why are they out?’ asked Peggy.
‘Yeah, I know he said he didn’t care, but I can’t exactly order lilies now knowing he doesn’t like them. After all, it’s his wedding too.’
‘Ah, but flowers are a little like marriage,’ said the florist sagely. ‘Sometimes the secret lies in the compromise.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Picture this: you walk down the aisle carrying a bouquet of pure white Calla lilies. Maybe eight or ten stems, very tasteful. At the front are two beautiful displays, with Oriental lilies nestled among Vendela and Sweet Avalanche roses. Then, for your reception, we could do miniature versions for the tables. It’d be like the best of both worlds.’
Lizzie could have kissed her. ‘That sounds perfect,’ she said. ‘How much would something like that cost?’
‘How many tables are you having?’
Hmmm, something else we still haven’t sorted …
‘I’m not totally sure yet. Probably about ten.’
‘OK, no problem. If you fill out this sheet with your contact details, I can go away and put a quote together. We can always fine tune it later.’
‘Great, thanks,’ said Lizzie. She scribbled her details down on the form and passed it back.
‘Gosh, that’s a pretty ring.’ Lizzie held out her hand so Peggy could see it more clearly, the square-cut diamond winking under the artificial lights. She had not expected Josh to choose something quite so showy, but it was undeniably dazzling, with two smaller diamonds in the platinum band flanking the main attraction. ‘You’re a lucky girl, dear. I’ll be in touch soon.’
Lizzie smiled to herself as she ambled off, reminiscing about the day Josh proposed. They’d spent a brilliant afternoon over in Notting Hill, pottering around the vibrant stalls of Portobello Market before catching Spectre at the cinema. They’d cosied up on the back row, munching sweets and missing more of the film than they saw as they kissed like teenagers.
Afterwards, Josh drove her back to her flat in Shepherd’s Bush and looked at her intently. ‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, wondering why she suddenly felt nervous.
‘I can’t right now,’ he said. ‘I wish I could, but I promised Freddie I’d go round to his to watch the game. Wanna come?’
‘No thanks. You know I’m not really into football.’ Or Freddie.
‘Yeah, I figured. But I’ll ring you later, OK?’
True to his word, he called at 10.30pm, just as she was about to get ready for bed. ‘Hey,’ he said, a faint crackle on the line. ‘How was your night?’
‘Fine. Quiet one. Megan’s out and I thought I’d have a go at some writing.’
‘What for?’
‘Just for fun. I actually had an idea for a short story.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he said distractedly. ‘So did you miss me?’
‘Of course. You’re very missable.’
‘Maybe we need to come up with a plan so that we miss each other less.’
‘What do you mean?’ She paused. ‘You practically live here anyway.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I was thinking we …’ She strained to hear what he was saying, but just then the front door buzzer went off and made her jump. Aaaargh. She hated that thing. It always felt like someone had taken a tiny drill to her brain.
‘Hold that thought,’ she said. ‘Meg’s forgotten her keys again. I’ll be back in five secs.’
Throwing the phone onto the bed, she rushed to open the door – only to find Josh on his knees carrying a huge bouquet of roses and a blindingly shiny sparkler.
‘So as I was saying, I’ve been thinking … Elizabeth Sparkes, will you marry me?’
Lizzie was still lost in her romantic reverie when a lady transporting a four-tier cake almost ploughed straight into her: a fate not entirely unappetising, but best avoided all the same. I’ve got to stay focused. In some ways it felt like an eternity since Josh proposed, and yet the past few months had gathered a momentum of their own, hurtling towards the marital finish line. For every task they managed to cross off the to-do list, another two sprang up to take its place.
First thing I need to do is find a fiancé in this haystack.
She pulled her mobile from her pocket and hit the speed dial. Josh didn’t pick up. He probably couldn’t hear his phone in the noisy hall, what with the giggling and the squealing and the super-jolly sales people. To her right, a string quartet struck up as if to really put the boot in. Lizzie sighed and shoved her phone back in her jeans. Guess I’ll have to go and hunt for him instead.
She strolled over to the nearest row of stands, but Josh was nowhere to be seen. Behind one table, a gangly lad with raging spots glared at her like she’d just walked into the men’s toilets. ‘Can I help you? This is the stag zone,’ he said, gesturing to a poster of two bikini-clad girls on a quad bike, which hardly seemed like the most practical racing attire.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I was looking for the hen section,’ she said sweetly. ‘Though I could use a second opinion … Do you think I should go for the pole-dancing party or the mud-wrestling weekend?’
As his jaw dropped, she turned and walked off in the opposite direction, hoping Josh hadn’t wandered too far. After passing a caricaturist, a cellist and a woman dressed in medieval costume (she didn’t stop to ask why), she finally spotted him emerging from what looked like a taxi.
‘Lizzie! Lizzie! Hey, you’ve got to see this.’ He pulled her inside and onto his lap, shutting off the outside world with a slam of the door. She could feel his belt buckle digging into her back, so she shuffled sideways into the space beside him. ‘It looks like a normal cab, but really it’s a photo booth in disguise!’
‘Is this part of your Bond man-crush?’
His laughter reverberated around the shiny interior. ‘I was thinking we could have it at the reception,’ he said. ‘Guests can pose for photos, then they get a copy to take home and we get one as a souvenir. We can get everyone to sign them instead of a boring old guest book. And …’ he rummaged around in a box of props on the floor, ‘you haven’t seen the best bit yet.’ He donned a pair of red heart-shaped glasses, and placed a sailor’s hat on her head. ‘What do you think? You on board?’
Lizzie couldn’t help but smile. It’s very … Josh. ‘I don’t know,’ she said diplomatically. ‘I mean, it’s cool and everything, but do we need it? We’ve already booked the photographer.’
‘Nah, this is totally different. We’ve got to do it!’
‘Why? Because the wedding will be doomed unless we all don fancy dress?’
‘Because it’ll be a laugh. Go on …’ He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. ‘Sometimes you’ve got to live dangerously.’
His words stung unexpectedly, as though she’d been jabbed again by his buckle. It had been more than ten years since anyone had said that to her, but suddenly she could remember it like it was yesterday. She rubbed the faint line on the inside of her wrist, as though that might somehow erase the memory.
‘You OK?’ asked Josh, for the hundredth time that week.
‘Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking about something. So you really like the taxi, huh?’
‘Not as much as I like you,’ he said, cranking up the charm. ‘But I do think it’d be great.’
‘How much?’ She could feel herself relenting. After all, she had spent months trying to persuade him to have more input into the wedding, so it seemed mean to veto the first thing he’d asked for. And besides, it did look kind of fun.
‘Normally it’d be £500, but if we sign up today there’s 20 per cent off.’
‘Can we afford it?’
‘Yeah, I think so. Especially if we don’t hire the Aston Martin.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lizzie was happy to forgo the fancy car, but she knew that was a major sacrifice for Josh.
‘Yeah, we’ll find some other way of getting there. Or you’ll have to haul your arse on the bus …’
She slapped his arm playfully. ‘Hey, this bride doesn’t do buses!’
‘Fair enough. Maybe they’d let you hitch a ride in the photo booth?’
‘Stop it!’ Lizzie was giggling so hard now that her eyes began to water.
‘Well, there’s no need to cry about it,’ said Josh. He stared ahead at the high-tech screen. ‘Do you want to try it out?’
‘I guess we should.’
‘OK, when I press the button do happy face, sad face, poker face and scary face.’
‘Ooh, I like it when you’re bossy.’
‘Hey, do you want this to look good or not?’
She adjusted his oversized glasses, kissed his cheek and hit the flashing button.
‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ she said.
4
6 October 2002
Lizzie took another sip of wine as she read the coffee-stained dessert menu. She was almost too full to think about a third course, but she was having such a good time with Alex that she didn’t want their date to come to an early end. Maybe I could squeeze in a scoop of gelato, she persuaded herself. Possibly even two.
Before she could make up her mind, a sticky dough ball came flying through the air and landed on the red and white checked tablecloth with a thud. She looked around the Italian restaurant, and noticed two small boys laughing hysterically in the corner. ‘Will you two stop it?’ hissed their mortified mother from across the table. ‘Sit down and behave yourselves!’ She looked over at Lizzie and waved both hands apologetically. ‘I’m so sorry, really I am. I don’t know what’s got into them today.’ She glared back at the boys, who were now pulling faces at one another. ‘When their dad hears about this they’re going to be in big trouble.’
‘It’s OK. No harm done,’ smiled Lizzie. She turned back to face Alex and they both burst out laughing. ‘Are we still getting dessert?’
‘Only if we can get it before those little terrors,’ he joked. ‘Otherwise we might end up covered in chocolate next.’
Lizzie tried hard not to visualise that thought, but for a split second her mind went off on a dirty tangent. Alex was looking even fitter tonight than she remembered, dressed down in a pair of faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, with a well-worn leather jacket strewn over the back of his chair. He was different from her usual clean-cut type, but there was something about him that she found intriguing, more than any of the lads she had briefly dated before.
The cheerful manager came over to take their order. ‘What will you like?’ he asked in loud broken English, the words resonating almost musically around them. ‘You have one of my speciale desserts?’
‘I’m pretty full,’ said Lizzie, patting the front of her cream fine-knit dress. ‘But I think I can manage some lemon gelato.’
‘Molto bene,’ he replied. ‘We have the saying, like there are two stomachs: one for the main and one for the dessert. Always little room for dessert.’
‘Quite right, too,’ said Alex. ‘In that case, I’ll have the tiramisu, thanks.’ The manager nodded approvingly and hurried off in the direction of the kitchen.
Alex turned his attention back to Lizzie. ‘So, where were we?’
‘You were telling me about your adventures.’
Though they were in the same year at university, Alex was 18 months older, and had spent his gap year in Australia taking part in all kinds of adrenaline-inducing activities. He’d been bungee-jumping in Cairns, climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge and gone sky-diving in Melbourne. Lizzie found his stories both fascinating and terrifying. She literally couldn’t think of anything worse than jumping out of planes. In fact, she hated even boarding the things ever since a particularly bumpy flight resulted in her barfing halfway across the Atlantic. She had forced herself to get on an aircraft a couple of times since, but could never fully relax, her heart thumping and her palms sweating before it had even taken off.
‘Yeah, that was a fun year. So, where’s the best place you’ve been?’
‘Oh, I … I’m not much of a traveller.’
Alex looked surprised. ‘You don’t want to visit other countries?’
‘No, I’d love to visit other countries, but … I’m not exactly a big fan of flying.’ Ha. That’s putting it mildly.
‘Like a phobia?’
Lizzie hesitated. She had never told anyone besides her family and Megan the full extent of the problem before, and she wasn’t sure if it was something she should confess to a globetrotting boy she really liked. But there was a quiet self-assuredness about Alex that made her want to trust him.
‘Yeah,’ she confided eventually. ‘I guess you could call it a phobia.’
‘Have you always had it?’
‘No,’ she sighed. ‘When I was about 15, we hit some terrible turbulence on the way to Florida and I spent half the flight throwing up. My parents saw the funny side – my dad still calls that plane the “chunder-wonder”. But I think it put me off for life.’
‘That must be tough,’ he said, nodding sympathetically.
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ she said, trying to shake off his pity. ‘There are plenty of other things I enjoy.’
‘Like what?’
‘Loads of things … writing. Reading. Swimming. Not all at the same time.’ Alex laughed, giving her an adrenaline rush of her own. ‘Oh, and I’m totally addicted to The West Wing. Have you seen it?’
‘No, but I heard it’s good.’
‘It’s better than good. Aaron Sorkin is like some sort of writing genius.’
Alex smiled. ‘I’ll have to check it out. What sort of writing do you do?’
Lizzie confessed she’d been trying her hand at fiction, but her efforts so far just made her want to cringe. ‘You’ll get past that,’ he said. ‘You’ve just got to keep putting words on the page. They’ll make their own sense, eventually.’
Now it was Lizzie’s turn to look surprised. ‘You write?’
‘Not really – not like books or anything. But I taught myself to play the guitar a while back, and now I’m trying to come up with some of my own stuff. I could spend all day doing that.’
Lizzie was intrigued. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but why study hospitality if your passion’s music?’
Alex leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. ‘Because what I really want to do, one day, is open my own bar,’ he explained. ‘Book some bands, host some cool gigs, be my own boss. That’s the real dream, I guess.’
‘So you don’t want to be a rock star, then?’
‘Nah, I wouldn’t last five minutes being famous,’ he said. ‘I’d hate the whole circus that goes with it. But that’s OK. It’s never been about playing at Wembley. I just wanted to learn the guitar, see what happens …’ He trailed off as a waitress returned with their desserts and plonked them down on the table. ‘So anyway, what about you?’
What about me? It was hard to focus while he was looking at her so intensely. His eyes were distractingly sexy. She dipped her spoon into the soft gelato. ‘Sorry, what?’
‘What do you want to do when you leave here? Write novels?’
Lizzie laughed. ‘Well, that would be amazing, but it’s not as simple as that. The odds of me getting published are pretty slim.’
‘Why?’ asked Alex. He took a bite of his tiramisu. ‘You’ve got as much chance as anyone else.’
She’d never thought of it like that before. ‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But if that doesn’t happen, there are still some other options I’d like to explore. I could go into journalism, or advertising, or—’
Just then she was interrupted by a shrill cry, which rang out across the restaurant like an alarm.
‘TOMMY!’
She whipped her head around to see the mother of the two boys on her feet, frantically slapping the taller one on his back. His hands were clutching tightly at his neck, and his face was beginning to turn blue.
‘Somebody help me!’ she screamed. ‘He’s choking – my baby’s choking!’
Alex pushed back his chair, leapt to his feet and ran over. He tried to give the boy five firm back blows between his shoulder blades, but the child continued to gasp for air, his eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets. ‘Is there a doctor here?’ shouted Alex. Lizzie looked around the room, her stomach lurching violently. None of the other diners replied, but simply stared on in horror.
‘Please, somebody do something!’ yelled the mother, gesturing to the manager, who had turned a sickly shade of green. ‘Call 999!’
There’s no way an ambulance is going to make it in time. What’s the drill for choking? Lizzie jumped up and ran across to Alex, racking her brain to try to remember the advice she’d been taught for children. She’d done a basic first-aid course while training for her lifeguard qualification, but administering help to a plastic dummy in a leisure centre and trying to do it on a writhing, petrified boy suddenly seemed like two entirely different prospects. Her heart was beating so fast she could barely breathe herself.
‘Let me see,’ she said, opening the boy’s twitching mouth to see if she could spot the obstruction. Nothing. The terror in his tiny eyes was unmistakable.
His mother was standing right next to her, wailing uncontrollably. ‘Please help him!’ she cried. ‘I don’t know what to do!’
‘I need some room,’ said Lizzie, moving behind the lad. She bent him slightly forwards and used the heel of her hand to slap him five more times between the shoulder blades. He made an awful rasping sound, his hands never leaving his throat, but whatever was stuck stubbornly refused to budge.
Shit.
Instinct kicked in and she threw her arms around Tommy’s small waist, forming a fist with one hand above his belly button, and wrapping her other hand over the top. Then she pulled sharply upwards and inwards, the child’s squidgy flesh feeling much softer against her hands than the Resusci Anne she had practised on.
One.
She could feel the boy squirming against her. Try again!
Two.
She gave another thrust, desperately hoping that she was doing it right. Come on, come on, come on, come on …
Three.
The boy made an unnerving noise that sounded like retching, and a half-chewed piece of dough ball shot out of his mouth and across the table. He inhaled loudly, sucking in air in noisy gulps, then burst into frightened tears. His mum rushed forwards and wrapped her arms around him, tears streaming down her face too. ‘Oh Tommy, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’re going to be OK. Mummy’s here.’
The diners burst into a spontaneous round of applause, and Lizzie began to tremble. She couldn’t bear to think what might have happened if that hadn’t worked.
‘Hey, are you alright?’ Alex was peering at her closely with those piercing eyes. ‘That was unbelievable. How did you know what to do?’
‘I, er … I …’
‘You know you just saved that child’s life, right?’ His voice was a mixture of shock and awe.
Before Lizzie could speak, Tommy’s mother rushed over and hugged her tightly. ‘Thank you so much,’ she sobbed, her chest heaving. ‘You’re an angel. If you hadn’t been there …’ She couldn’t finish that sentence. ‘I want to do something to thank you both. If there’s anything at all that you’d like, anything you need …’ She pulled her purse from the back pocket of her jeans, her hands shaking.
‘Oh no, you don’t have to do that,’ protested Lizzie. ‘I’m just glad that he’s alright.’ The other diners were still gawping, which was making her feel more uncomfortable by the minute.
‘Well, at least let me buy your dinner,’ said the mother. Her face was all red and blotchy, make-up streaked across her cheeks.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Alex kindly but firmly, his eyes hardly leaving Lizzie’s face. ‘I would like to buy this amazing woman dinner.’
Just then the manager came over, the colour slowly trickling back into his face. ‘What you did was incredible,’ he said, pumping her hand vigorously. ‘Dinner is on the house! Pliss. Anything you want.’
Lizzie looked at Alex. He was still staring at her like she’d just walked on the moon. She nodded at the manger. ‘OK, that’s very kind of you. Thank you.’
‘Can I get you some more wine, Miss?’
She glanced back at their table where her glass and half-eaten dessert remained in situ, as if she’d simply stepped away to visit the ladies. The thought of consuming any more food or drink right now made her feel queasy.
‘Actually, I don’t think I could manage anything else,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the offer, though.’
Alex took her arm, his grip firm and strong. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine, but I could do with a bit of fresh air.’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think we could go somewhere else for a bit?’
‘Anything for the heroine of the hour,’ said Alex, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of his chair and retrieving her wallet. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’
Lizzie felt her sandals sink into Cliffstowe beach, enjoying the sensation of the cool grains tickling her toes. In the distance, the Dorset coastline was flecked with the lights from local houses, illuminating the night sky like tiny stars. A solitary seagull squawked overhead while waves crashed in the background, compiling nature’s own soundtrack.
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
