23April
The server crashed yesterday, and we were left twiddling our thumbs for half a day while the IT crew got it back online. The order nearly fell through; can you imagine the loss wed have faced?
I caught myself, once again, listening to James halfheartedly. We were sitting in a little café on the high street opposite my office in Croydon, and he was rambling about some new project at the firm. I watched his fingers fidget with a napkin, and the thought struck me that after six months together I still hadnt met his family.
Im thirty now, the age when romance feels a bit tired and you start craving certainty. James is a solid blokehardworking, attentive, dependable. A month ago he popped the question right there in the same café where we first met. I said yes, but a knot of worry settled in my stomach. Every time I tried to bring up his parents, he steered the conversation awaytalk of the weather, a sudden urgent call. I blamed his shyness; perhaps he was uneasy about his modest upbringing or simply unaccustomed to sharing personal details.
James, when will I finally meet your parents? I asked, pushing the cold coffee cup aside.
He tensed. The napkin crumpled into a tight ball in his hand, and his eyes flickered with something like apprehension.
This weekend well go, he said after a pause.
A rush of happiness flooded me, washing away all doubts. I could already picture stepping into his familys cottage, his mother embracing me, calling me her daughterinlaw, us sipping tea with scones around a big oak table.
The days before the weekend I spent hunting for the perfect presents. I visited three shopping centres, picking a silk scarf from a boutique on Oxford Street and a bottle of French perfume for Jamess mother, a quality toolbox for his fathersomething any man would loveand a stylish handbag for his sister, which Id coveted for ages.
On Saturday morning I rose at six to make everything on time. Shower, hair, a light wash of makeup. I chose a sleek beige kneelength dress and classic heelstimeless elegance for a future daughterinlaw. I gave myself a final spin in front of the mirror and decided it was perfect.
James got into the car in silence. I turned the key, pulled onto the M25, the radio playing something gentle while roadside cafés and petrol stations flickered past. I smiled, rehearsing the upcoming introductions, while he kept a tense silence.
You look glum, I asked, glancing at him. Nervous?
Just, James clenched his fists on his knees. Dont worry if something goes wrong, okay?
I frowned and shifted gears.
What do you mean go wrong? What could possibly go wrong?
Theyre particular, he muttered, staring out the window. Just keep that in mind.
Before I could press further, the navigation announced a left turn. The village we were heading for was tinya handful of houses strung along a single lane. The road wound past crooked fences and garden plots until we reached an old timber house with peeling paint on the shutters.
I turned the engine off and surveyed the yard: overgrown grass, a stack of firewood in the corner, rusty tools leaning against the shed. I forced a smilewealth isnt measured in trimmings, but in people.
On the porch three figures were already waiting: an elderly woman in a faded cardigan, a man in a stretchedout Tshirt, and a twentysomething girl with a sour expression.
So youve finally arrived, Jamess mother said, giving me a assessing glance.
I stepped forward, extending my hand. Hello. Its a pleasure to finally meet you.
She shook my hand halfheartedly; his father merely nodded. The sister crossed her arms, stared at me with narrowed eyes and said nothing.
I turned to the boot to retrieve the gift bags. As I lifted the lid, a loud hissing split the air.
From behind the house burst a massive white goose, as big as a small dog, its neck long and twisted, eyes gleaming with malice. It barreled straight at me, wings spread, beak open.
What the I leapt aside, sending the perfume bottle tumbling onto the grass.
The bird didnt stop. It lunged with a fury I never imagined a domestic bird could muster, flapping its wings against my legs, snapping its beak at my calves. I tried to shut the car door, but the goose kept chasing me, relentless.
James! I shouted, dodging another swing.
He stepped forward, uncertain, when a boisterous laugh erupted from the porchdeep, wicked, full of glee.
Oh, it didnt pass the test! Jamess mother shrieked, clutching her belly with laughter. Look, look! Gosh has exposed her!
His sister snorted, clearly enjoying the spectacle. A real woman wouldnt be scared of a goose, she sneered. Shes trembling in her pretty dress.
Jamess father whipped out his phone and began filming, his face lit up as if this were the best entertainment of the week.
James, do something! I cried, trying to fend off the bird, but it kept attacking, pecking at my shins, slashing with its wings.
James moved again, waving his arms weakly, and for a heartbeat the goose hesitated. Then his mother barked at him, Dont interfere! Let Gosh deal with it! He knows the bad ones!
James froze, looked at his mother, then at me, and stepped back, retreating to the porch where his family stood.
I squeezed my back against the car, the goose cornering me, my dress stained, my heels slipping on the uneven ground, red bite marks on my calves. I stared at James, his mother, his sister, his father still recording, and a cold dread settled deep inside me.
They were humiliating me on purpose. This wasnt an accident. It was a testa cruel, mocking trial set up by Jamess family to put me in my place. And James did nothing.
I lunged into the car, the goose pecked at the window for a few more seconds before losing interest and strutting away across the yard.
James approached, knocked on the window. I let the glass drop just enough for him to speak.
Eleanor, calm down, please, he rushed. Its just a family traditionsome sort of test for the bride. Mum always does it to see if youre strong enough.
I met his gaze straight on, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. Inside, bitterness, anger, disappointment surged.
There will be no wedding, I said quietly but firmly.
He blinked, as if not hearing. What? Eleanor, why? It was just a joke
No wedding, I repeated, sliding the ring off my finger and holding it up through the gap. Take it back.
Youve gone mad! James protested, trying to open the door, which was locked. Dont be foolish! Lets talk.
Theres nothing left to say, I replied.
I turned the engine, the car growled, and I backed out. James lingered, clutching the ring in his fist, while the lingering silhouettes of his family laughed on the porch.
The first few miles I drove on autopilot, barely noticing the countryside. My hands trembled on the wheel, my heart thudded in my throat. Tears welled up, but I brushed them away. Id cry later at home; now I just needed to get away.
That evening my phone blew up. James called repeatedly, sent messages apologising, pleading for another chance. I read them, didnt answer. Once I picked up, heard his hurried, guilty voice, and hung up instantly.
A week later I blocked his number on every app, deleted the photos of us together, tossed the few mementos that reminded me of Jamesa Tshirt, a paperback, a coffee mug.
Life slipped back into its usual rhythmwork, coffee with friends, the gym. I tried not to think about that day, but sometimes, as I drifted off to sleep, the image of that goose, its angry eyes, and his familys cruel laughter resurfaced.
A month later a friend mentioned shed heard from mutual acquaintances that James had married a local girl his mother approved of immediately. No geese, no tests.
I listened without feeling any pain, just a light relief. That goose, that family, their derisive amusement had shown me the truth before I could have tied my life to theirs. I brushed the finger where the ring had been and smiled. Everything fell into place.
