chapter thirty-two

i go upstairs with Freya and sit down on the feeding chair, next to the window. It's strange, now that this room is finally decorated - lilac walls , white floorboards, flower fairies, the lot it's like it was never my room, that that part of my life never even happened.

she's sucking sweetly now, outside, there's a fine wintery drizzle falling like gossaer beneath the glow of the street lamp. I look at the red neon clock on top of the drawers: 11.26 p.m., half an hour left until next year. I wonder what this year will bring: great days, shit days, shocks and surprises; moments of joy, The Black Cloud . . . If there's a guarantee of anything, it's that life won't leave a thing out and yet this year, it's like i'm ready for it. For the first time in my life, I don't feel scared.

i hear the familiar whistle and two-steps-at-a-tine if Jim coming up the stairs. He sticks his head around the door.

'Everything alright?' he says. 'Can i come in?'

'Course.' I sile and Jim sits down on the tiny pink stool we bought from Ikea and draws it close to us, his legs up by his shoulders like a gnome.

'Wow, she's going at it like Lisa from The Simpsons, isn't she?' he laughs, watching her suck like she's not been fed for a week.

'She got your hair' I say, stroking it. 'It's all growing i different directions.'

'She got y gorgeous feet too. though. And her mother's eyes.'

The floorboards reverberate with the thump, thump of the music. We hear the familiar delighted shriek of my mother and laugh with recognition.

Jim strokes Freya's head.

'I can't believe how much i love her,' he says.

'Jim Ashcroft, i say, 'you're so bloody soft'

11.40. Twenty minutes until 2008. We can hear the intro to The Killers, 'Mr Brightside' and Gina shout, 'Oh my God, i love this one!'

Jim smiles at me, then leans over and kisses me on the mouth. 'I've got something to ask you,' he says, 'something I need to clear up.'

I kiss him back. 'Oh yeah, what's that?'

He gets off the stoll and onto his knees and I laugh, nervously, because i've got an idea what he's about to do and i don't know, i don't know how i feel about it. We're alright as we are aren't we? And i don't know if i want that - not just yet! The big while wedding doesn't quite appeal anymore and I don't know if i fancy the house on a cul-de-sac and our wedding anniversary picture on the mantelpiece, and the Center Parks holidays. I don't know if i want to be like everyone else and to have the 'normal family', what the hell does that mean, anyway? Everyone's a weirdo if you look closely enough.

But he's on his knees now and he's got a glint in his eye and he's taking my hand and i'm wracking my brains for the right thing to say and then he says, 'Tess?'

'Yes?' I say, as if i'm on the precipice of a cliffe, about to fall over.

'Will you go out with me?'