Measuring Up

A young woman proves herself in this charming short story by Lydia Jones.

OH, no: a fly in the sugar!” “Don’t you mean ‘fly in the ointment’?” Jake grins. “No, I don’t – I mean, there is a fly in the sugar. Look.”

An enormous bluebottle is languishing on the cake’s icing, like a hippo in a river.

Its legs are so sticky that it can’t even fly off when I swat at it.

“The whole cake’s going to have to be binned.”

“Don’t be daft; who’s going to know?”

“I am; you are. It’s your mum’s birthday and the first time I’ve met her.

“I don’t want to poison her.”

“Hardly likely, Erin. Can’t you scrape off that bit?”

He’s trying to be helpful; his blue eyes are earnest.

I feel an urge to hug him and tell him how I feel.

But I remind myself it’s early days, and I don’t want to rush him.

Not when he’s still grieving for Madeleine.

****

Even minus cake, tea with his mum goes well. We wash it down with a couple of G and Ts in the garden.

“Darlings, the sun has got to be over the yardarm somewhere.”

We share a conversation about how we like our gin unsullied by anything other than tonic and a slice.

“I saw a bright purple one the other day.” I giggle.

“Ugh!” Jake’s mum mock shudders and we laugh.

“Thanks,” Jake says when we’re alone. “For making an effort with her.”

I look up in surprise. “She’s lovely. Sorry about the cake.”

“Come here.” He puts his arms out and I walk into them. “Mum’s just glad to get an invite.”

I think again about Madeleine and how Jake has been a self-confessed hermit since she broke his heart last year.

I’m not usually underconfident. I mean, everyone has exes.

But anyone would be more than a bit intimidated by the ghost of Madeleine.

Madeleine is the daughter of his parents’ oldest friends.

Jake met her when her family relocated back from France.

Everything else I’ve gleaned from Facebook. (OK, OK: I couldn’t help looking her up.)

She has long strawberryblonde hair and the kind of luminous complexion Renoir painted. She’s an aerobics instructor.

“It just didn’t work out between us,” is all Jake said when I asked.

A shutter came down over his eyes, and I knew the subject was closed.

In short, Madeleine was everything I am not.

It scares me to think I might just be Jake’s rebound relationship.

“You can only be yourself,” my sister says.

“I know that, Amber. But what if that’s not enough?”

“Then the man’s more of an idiot than his cricket whites would suggest.”

“Oh, gosh.” I giggle. “Don’t knock the cricket club – that’s sacred.” Amber winces in distaste. “Seriously – I think it’s the club kept him sane when – you know, they broke up.

“I’m meeting his cricket mates on Saturday. Bit nervous, actually.”

“You can only –”

“Be myself,” I finish for her. “I know . . .

“But I gather Madeleine made them pretty lavish teas.”

“You have not been roped into teas?” Amber gapes.

“Jake asked.” I shrug. “I want to see the club.”

“On your own head . . .”

****

It’s sunny, so perfect cricket weather. I unpack my contribution and haul it into the clubhouse.

“Hey!” one of the cricketers calls when they come in for the break.

“Ham sandwiches with white bread. We’re not used to this, are we?”

I colour, getting an immediate mental image of Madeleine smiling over her cordon bleu creations.

But, disappointment or not, sandwiches disappear. Jake winks my way.

For a second I feel 10 feet tall.

“Don’t make a habit of it, love,” a motherly woman says, smiling. “Doesn’t do

How could someone like me ever live up to Jake’s glamorous ex?

the great lumps any harm to look after themselves.”

She introduces herself as Karen.

“My husband and lads have played here years. I’ll show you the best sunbathing spots.”

She stops suddenly. “That is – unless you want to follow the cricket?” I chuckle.

“Any walls where I could watch paint dry?”

“Girl after my own heart. Come on then.”

We settle into deck chairs; Karen dozes off and I begin to mull over everything.

All Jake’s mates were friendly enough but I can’t help feeling they were comparing me with Madeleine.

I’m exhausted. I didn’t realise how nervous I’d been about this.

I close my eyes and let the sun’s warmth wash over me.

****

“Erin! Erin!”

Jake is prodding me.

“It’s time to go.

“Karen said you looked tired so she let you sleep but I think you’ve had enough sun.”

“Wow! You’ve – er – caught some colour, Erin.”

It’s the sandwich eater. I can see he’s trying to keep a straight face.

My hand flies to my cheeks which I realise suddenly are stinging not just from embarrassment.

The rest of Jake’s friends appear and I wish I could hide under this deckchair.

They’re not laughing unkindly, but I need a mirror – now.

Honestly: tomatoes couldn’t possibly be redder.

“You certainly made an impression.” Jake smiles.

Yes, as the girl who made them supermarket white bread sandwiches and got sunburnt sleeping in a deckchair. Marvellous.

****

Cricket season is almost over. I’ve helped out a couple times but Jake and I have got into the habit of spending Saturdays apart.

“You don’t mind, do you?” I asked.

He gave me the grin that makes my heart do somersaults.

“’Course not. We don’t have to be together all the time.”

“Two bridge pillars?” “Huh?”

I explained my sister’s theory that relationships are like a bridge being held up by two separate pillars: each independent but vital to hold up the whole. “Cool.”

An expression I couldn’t read flashed across his face but then it vanished as quickly as it came.

And so our bridge spans seasons into autumn. I think it’s going well.

Or at least it would be if it weren’t for the ghost of Madeleine.

She’s returned to France. I figure in Jake’s mind she’ll always be this mythical figure that got away.

So today I’m making a special effort, and when the moment is right I’m going to take the bull by the horns and find out exactly what happened last year.

I bought the dress with Amber.

“Wow! Where are you going in that?”

“Just a picnic by the river. I thought . . .” I blushed. “It would be – you know – cooler than jeans.”

“So would a pair of shorts! Jake will think you’ve been abducted by aliens.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You look sensational – you know you do.” She hugs me. “Hope it works.” “What for?”

“For whatever it is you want it to work for.”

Jake is taken aback. I see it instantly.

He whistles; I give a little self-conscious twirl.

“What’s the occasion?” He looks stricken.

“I didn’t forget some important anniversary, did I? The first time we shared an apple or something.” I giggle.

“No, silly. I just fancied wearing something a bit more . . . feminine.”

“You look gorgeous.” “Thanks.”

My stomach flips and my brain buzzes to find a way of introducing the topic of Madeleine. It fails.

I’m not surprised he’s floored by this number.

When we met I was ankle-deep in mud, trying to coax my neighbour’s dog from a puddle.

Jake pitched in to help. Most days afterwards he showed up at dog-walking time so I suppose you could say our romance grew around grubby puddles.

But I want him to see I can be elegant, too.

I do wish I’d gone for more practical shoes.

These wedge espadrilles make me walk like a robot.

Once I sit down it’s fine. More than fine.

We feast on our favourite foods and we lay back under branches of a willow tree and listen to music.

I still haven’t plucked up the courage to ask about Madeleine. Everything is so perfect. I can’t spoil it.

Until I spot a duckling stuck in reeds.

“Oh, poor thing! Must be a late brood. It’s only a teenager.”

“Stroppily independent: the traits obviously cross species.”

“Be serious – oh! Weeds are wound around its legs.”

And before I’ve thought, I’m on my feet dashing to the riverbank.

When I reach water’s edge one of my wedges wobbles on a willow root and I splash face-first into murky river-water.

“Erin – you OK?” Jake’s beside me in a heartbeat. “Fine.”

As my fingers find purchase in riverbed slime, I sit.

“Look.” Jake grins. “Your fall freed the duckling. See? It’s swimming back to its mother.”

“Aww.”

I am glad for an instant. Then I look at my dress. Jake follows my gaze.

“It’s ruined, isn’t it?” “Probably.”

And then, from nowhere, tears begin. Not for the dress but for everything else that’s ruined.

“Hey – hey.” He takes me in his arms. “What’s this?”

So I tell him; why I wanted to look special, how the shadow of Madeleine has loomed over me.

“You never speak about her, so I’m guessing you’re still not over her. If you’re looking for a replacement, Jake, you should know by now it’s not me.”

“I’m not looking for a replacement.”

His face is stony. I’m scared I’ve pushed too far.

“You,” he laces his fingers through mine, “are everything I want.” He shakes his head. “I admit I was dazzled by Madeleine at first.” My stomach squeezes. “But – with Madeleine, it’s all about Madeleine. Mum never liked her. She said . . .” He laughs.

“Now you’ve met Mum, you can imagine this, ‘what is the point of being thin if you only eat lettuce and drink soda water’?”

His smile dies.

“And we always had to be together.” He shrugs. “It was suffocating.”

There’s silence. On the river the duck family are quacking to their prodigal.

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No.” His swimming pool eyes look more like a lake. “I should . . .”

He sighs like all breath is leaving his body.

“I should have told you all this. I just thought if I didn’t speak about her I could banish it to the past. But it wasn’t fair on you.”

I shuffle forward in the slime; put an arm around his shoulder.

“Gosh!” He laughs. “You stink!”

“Thanks!”

“I love you, Erin,” he blurts. “I love that you’d ruin an expensive dress to save a duckling. I love that you make an effort with Mum.

“I love that even though you hate cricket you come to the club with food for the lads – not to show off – you come for me.”

“I love you,” I say, caressing his cheek in wonder. “Oops! You’ve got mud all over your face.”

And then we laugh softly. He pulls me to my feet. I discard the silly shoes and we walk back to pack up the picnic.

The End.