The One: A moving and unforgettable love story - the most emotional read of 2018. Maria Realf

Alex reached underneath and retrieved two presents: one small and square, the other longer. ‘These are for you,’ he said simply, and Lizzie wondered whether he had spent as long shopping for her as she had for him, not sure how extravagant to be with those tricky first Christmas gifts. She had placed hers under the tree for him to open that morning: the first was a chunky charcoal-coloured jumper that matched his eyes, which he was now wearing; the second was the new Badly Drawn Boy CD, but the main surprise was a customised leather guitar strap with Alex’s initials embossed on it, which he had been chuffed to bits with.

      ‘Does it matter which one I open first?’

      ‘Do the bigger one first.’

      She peeled off the wrapping paper, not sure what to expect, and pulled out a rectangular box. Inside, buried beneath layers of white tissue paper, was a beautiful A5 notebook in soft pink leather. On the first sheet was written:

      For words on pages. Alex xxx

      ‘I … I … don’t know what to say,’ she whispered. ‘I love it.’

      ‘Good.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Because I love you.’ The words that had been hovering unspoken for weeks were finally released into the wild.

      The room began to spin before Lizzie’s eyes as she tried to absorb the news, feeling warm and dizzy and ecstatic all at once. She threw both arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely. ‘I’m totally in love with you, too, in case you hadn’t guessed.’

      ‘Well, in that case, I think you can open the second surprise.’

      She smiled. ‘Would you have taken it back if I hadn’t said anything?’

      ‘I don’t know. Luckily for you it was the right answer.’

      Lizzie began to open the smaller parcel, her hands still shaking from his sudden declaration. The wrapping paper fell away to reveal a small, hard box bearing a fancy gold-embossed logo. A ring? No, don’t be daft – it’s only been three months. Would I say yes, though, if it was?

      She opened it slowly and gasped. Softly nestled on a red velvet cushion was a delicate silver heart pendant, the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen in real life.

      ‘Turn it over.’ She gently lifted it out of the box and read the inscription on the back: Forever.

      ‘It’s beautiful,’ she beamed, holding it up against her top. Alex leaned behind her and fastened the clasp, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck.

      ‘I was going to put both our names on, but it would have taken the engraver all day,’ he laughed. ‘And been really tiny.’

      ‘No, it’s just right,’ she said, turning her face back to his. ‘They’re both perfect. The best presents anyone has ever given me.’ Alex looked pleased with himself, and she knew what a gamble this must have been. Good job I didn’t buy him those novelty headphones.

      He gestured to the notebook. ‘Now you can get started on that bestseller.’

      ‘Maybe not right this second …’ She kissed him again.

      ‘Alright then, maybe after lunch. Did I tell you my mum makes a mean Christmas feast?’

      It was 3pm in the afternoon and the Jacksons were all well fed, the scent of the succulent turkey still lingering throughout the house. Alex’s mum had dished up a banquet of epic proportions: juicy meat with a herby stuffing, crispy golden roast potatoes, sausages wrapped with sticky pancetta, slivers of colourful carrot and perfectly cooked brussels sprouts, all followed by Christmas pud with lashings of brandy butter. Everyone dived in for seconds, and it took all of Lizzie’s willpower not to go back for more than that. She was glad she hadn’t now, though; the waistband on her skirt wasn’t expanding anywhere near as easily as her stomach.

      ‘Right, I think it’s time for some games,’ said Mr Jackson, who was well on his way to a merry Christmas, having necked four glasses of wine over dinner. ‘What do we want to start with? That one with the humming?’

      ‘Definitely no humming,’ said Connor. ‘You lot couldn’t carry a tune if it came with handles.’

      ‘How about charades?’

      ‘Oh, yes, I love charades,’ piped up Mrs Jackson, still wearing her paper party hat. ‘Shall we split into teams?’

      Alex raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t think Lizzie is used to Christmas charades, Mum. Maybe we could just chill out after lunch and watch telly?’

      ‘No, I’m intrigued,’ said Lizzie. ‘Sounds like it’s a bit of a Christmas tradition.’