Construct a Couple Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the two of us and nothing else matters.
    Forget journalism, I should get a job at Hallmark! But despite my super clichés, our relationship really is the stuff those mushy cards are made of: we never argue, we like the same things – heck, I’ve even converted him to Jaffas – and everything flows, without any struggle.
    Heading down the lift, I dig out my mobile and fire off a text, telling Jeremy I’ll be there in an hour. I’m just about to push through the turnstile of the Elephant & Castle tube when the phone pings with his return message.
    In office until late tonight – see you tomorrow. Xx
    Oh. So much for a celebration, I think, joining the wan-looking commuters parading down the corridor and into the waiting carriage. The familiar anxiety floods in as I recall Jeremy’s exhaustion last night, and how difficult it was to rouse him when the pizza arrived. He barely even touched it – nothing like our usual tussle over the remaining piece (I’m always victorious; my food reflexes are highly developed).
    The train lurches into action and I grab the nearest pole, struggling to stay upright as thoughts swim through my head. All the late nights and long meetings must mean something’s up at the charity. I bite my lip, thinking how important the organisation is to Jeremy – he’s always saying helping others helps him. It sounds like something off the Cheeseball Channel, but after all he’s been through, there isn’t a whiff of cheddar about it.
    Right after the stroke, Jeremy could barely move the left side of his body. Thankfully, a few weeks in a rehabilitation centre helped him regain most of his strength, but his physical abilities aren’t what they used to be. As a former builder and property developer – someone who loved to plunge in and get his hands dirty – the stroke was a real blow. Starting the charity gave him something new to focus on and provided a way of accepting the changes in his life. Witnessing Jeremy’s dedication and determination made me fall in love with him that much more.
    Sometimes, if I’m honest, I can’t help feeling a little annoyed he’s pushing himself so hard. In the past, I tried to warn him to ‘take it easy’ and ‘slow down’, but my words fell on deaf ears. I can sort of understand. Would I slow down if something I deeply cared about was in trouble? I shake my head, nearly hitting the man jammed in beside me. No, it’s probably best to keep my mouth shut, make sure Jeremy eats, and gets as much rest as he can. He’ll talk when he’s ready.
    So what to do tonight?  I shiver, thinking of my dingy cold bedsit in Queen’s Park. It’s the first place I rented in London – and on my limited budget, one of the few I could afford. After crashing with Kirsty and Tim for ages, I was so excited to have my own space that even the damp spots on the ceiling, the musty smell rising from the carpet, and the floppy mattress appeared charming. 
    Although at first I was slightly confused by the ‘bedsit’ description (what does that mean? You sit on the bed?), the small room overlooking a quiet tree-lined street seemed like the ideal base to build my life in London. I’d eagerly visited IKEA, purchasing all those things a first-time renter needs: a zillion tea-lights, picture frames, brightly coloured mugs, and metallic lanterns.
    As time went on and my relationship with Jeremy strengthened, I’d started spending more time at his house. My little bedsit acquired a general air of neglect and disuse – not to mention dust. Now, whenever I go back to grab clean clothes or pick up post, the contrast with Jeremy’s cosy confines comes sharply into focus, and I can’t get in and out fast enough.
    The tube rattles into Baker Street, and I make a split-second decision. I don’t want to face the pile of bills awaiting me, not to mention the continuous clunk of my clog-wearing upstairs neighbour. If Jeremy’s not available for neck-smelling duty, I’ll pop into