He Will Be Mine: The brand new laugh out loud page turner!

by Kirsty Greenwood

  SunshineKennedy90212: No charge necessary for a Crown Kisser, but… we were thinking of hiring a dog-sitter/walker for our darling Yorkie Winklepuff. But I’m just thinking that maybe you could help out while you’re here and save me the task of finding someone for another two weeks. I’ve been slammed at work and Brandon is dealing with some other shit right now. Do you have any experience with dogs? He’s a tiny little thing but quite spirited!

  I have zero experience with dogs. Zero. I consider writing that, but I can’t let a tiny dog get in the way of what is looking to be an amazing offer of a free place to stay. How hard can it be to walk a dog? I’ll just pop some headphones in so I don’t have to talk to anyone and whip it around the block to do its business…

  NoraHarcourtLove: I have tons of experience with dogs.

  I type before even thinking about it.

  SunshineKennedy90212: Oh, perfect!

  She seems so pleased that I panic and double down in a major way.

  NoraHarcourtLove: My family bred dogs.

  I regret the lie as soon as I write it. Bred dogs?! Why did I even put that? Why not just put a tiny lie, like that I had a pet dog as a child? Why am I such an idiot? I consider telling the truth, but reversing now would make me look even crazier than I already do.

  SunshineKennedy90212: Are you kidding me? That’s awesome! What are the chances?! I’ll prepare your bed! Here’s the address, text me when you land. This is so exciting!

  Eek.

  Okay then.

  This is actually happening. I’m actually doing this.

  Shiiiiiiiit.

  Because I’ve not gone on holiday since Mum and Dad died and I live in the constantly raining north of England where I mostly stay inside, I have a distinct lack of hot-weather-appropriate clothes. I yank an old suitcase out from the bottom of my wardrobe. The last time this case was opened was on a holiday in Greece I took with friends four years ago. Back when I had friends. I get a hazy memory of laughing with the other members of the band I was in at the time, everything colourful and vivid and sparkly. And then my heart sinks as I remember the period of time after losing Mum and Dad, all the texts and phone calls I ignored, the invitations I declined. Eventually the friendships fizzled and I was alone. Left in peace to watch my movies and read my books and not have to face anything I didn’t want to.

  I pull the crumpled items out of the suitcase one by one. The smell emanating from the case is of sun cream and happier, simpler times. I lay the summer clothes out on my bed. A bunch of sundresses, some jean shorts, an unopened pack of T-shirts, flip-flops, a few swimming costumes, a lovely gigantic wide-brimmed sun-hat. It’s going to be weird to wear such skin-baring items. On account of the weather here, and boobs that want to greet everyone ten minutes before me, I tend to cover up most of the time. That’s not going to be an option in Los Angeles. Where I am going. Tomorrow.

  I sit down on my bedroom rug and take a few deep breaths to calm my heart as it nervously jumps about at the prospect of this pilgrimage. I pick up my phone and scroll onto YouTube to see if there are any new videos of Gary since I last looked… thirty minutes ago. Seeing his face, hearing his voice, will make me feel better about this whole thing.

  Aha, there’s a new interview on there! It’s from a series called ‘A Grown Man Answers Your Questions’. I’ve seen this before. It’s pretty cute – an adult man answers questions from teenagers on every topic from making friends at a new school to body odour. I click on the link hungrily, my breath calming a little as I see his face smiling at the camera. It’s not a professional video, it looks like it’s been filmed on his phone. It seems odd seeing his face without a ton of production values thrown at it. No styling and make-up, no professional mic and lighting. Just him, looking slightly tired and with a heavy scattering of dark stubble on his chin. Wow. He is truly, truly hot. He introduces himself.

  ‘I’m Gary Montgomery and this is “A Grown Man Answers Your Questions”. Quick disclaimer – I’m thirty so technically a grown man, but I cancelled a meeting today so I could read my book, eat grilled cheese and drink beer in my underwear… so take my answers with a pinch of salt because I am definitely still working on getting my shit together.’

  He reads books! And he loves cheese toasties like me! I feel my face go hot. Only a book nerd would cancel a meeting to read their book. In all of my visions of the nameless faceless man who would become my soulmate he was carrying a book. I wonder what kinds of books he reads. Will I get to ask him? Will we share a cheese toastie?

  Gary opens a piece of paper and starts to read out the questions, providing insightful, sweet and funny answers. I laugh when he stumbles over a word, and get emotional when he gives a piece of advice on how to deal with feelings of overwhelm, telling the audience that it’s totally normal to feel that way and that it’s not weak to talk about it.

  Purpose renewed, I click off the video, select a bunch of the old summer clothes I’m going to take with me. Then I grab some basics from my wardrobe – bras, knickers, jeans and tops and I pack them into the case.

  Now, where’s my passport?

  Chapter Ten

  Gary

  Hey.

  It’s 10 p.m. and I’ve been learning lines for Nightcar and running errands all day. I’m about to crash into bed, but I wanted to add my three amazing things for today, so I don’t forget them.

  I swam in the ocean this morning just as the sun was rising. The sky was purple and the water felt incredible. It was quiet and vast, and in a few weeks of feeling a little off-kilter, it was a perfect moment of serenity.

  Janet took a visit to the dog salon to get groomed and they cut her too short – they pretty much shaved her whole body. She looks ridiculous. She is not happy about it. I am very happy about it.

  I had a Middle Eastern Lyft driver today who also moonlighted as an Adam Levine tribute act. He offered to sing all of Maroon 5’s greatest hits for me. I accepted, which surprised him because he told me that people usually were in a bad mood and said no. He was great. Maybe even better than Adam Levine himself. I’m glad I said yes, it really perked up being stuck in LA traffic, although I now have those Maroon 5 lyrics stuck in my head: ‘Look for the the girl with the broken smile. Ask her if she wants to stay a while.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Nora

  Text from Imogene: Are you there yet? What’s it like? Dan thinks me pushing you to do this is a risky move, considering your mental health, but I really do think a dose of reality will do you some good. Also, I have emailed you an article about how using fantasies to replace real life is REALLY BAD FOR YOU. Please give it a read. Love you. Im x

  After an almost eleven hour flight, I’m here! I’m actually in actual America. And, holy heck, Los Angeles is as hot as a sausage. Feeling like this is all some weird fever dream, I drag my luggage out to the front of LAX and immediately start to sweat. It’s 10 o’clock at night, but it feels as warm as a summer’s afternoon in England. I stupidly assumed that because I was landing in the evening the weather would be cool.

  I glance down at the jeans and woolly jumper I thought was such a good cosy call for the plane and mentally give myself a good talking-to for not packing a lighter option in my hand luggage. I feel the sweat beads prickle along my hairline as I open my phone, wait for it to adjust to the new time zone and open the Lyft app I downloaded this morning. Copying and pasting the address from Kennedy’s Harcourt Royals forum message, I enter it into the app, glad of the fact that these things exist to help people like me to avoid minimal public interaction. I’m actually surprised and pleased by how much I managed to avoid awkward exchanges on the way here. Well, except for when my airplane seatmate asked me if I wanted his nuts and I almost choked until I realised he was holding out a packet of KPs.

  Within minutes, a sleek and shiny blue car has pulled up right in front of me. A handsome Middle Eastern man climbs out and helps me to put my suitcase into the boot. Thanking him, I clamber into the car with a sigh of reli
ef as the cool air of a fan hits me.

  ‘Thank god for air con,’ I mumble to myself.

  ‘I know, right?’ the driver agrees, smiling at me in the rear-view mirror.

  I peer out of the window as we zoom down the highway. My hands tremble a little with nerves so I clasp them tightly together in a bid to keep them still. Oh my goodness, Gary Montgomery is somewhere in this city. He’s probably at some cool movie party or at his mansion just pottering about completely unsuspecting. I smile to myself at the thought of meeting him and then catch a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror. My smile is more than a little creepy. And I’m thinking exactly the kind of thing a stalker would think while they plot their various stalking activities. Shit, am I… a stalker? Do stalkers genuinely think that they are the one true love of the person they’re stalking? Because I genuinely think that Gary Montgomery might be my one true love… No. I’m NOT a stalker. All I want to do is meet him once. It’s like if I saw him in a bar. And I went over to talk to him. Except that the bar is across the Atlantic Ocean and I flew all the way across that ocean to get to the bar. Anyway, if I meet him and he freaks out or tells me to get lost or just doesn’t like me back, I will leave it at that and bugger off back home right away. I will remain respectful. That is very important. I will not be a creep.

  ‘Are you all right? You look very worried!’ the Lyft driver asks, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror.

  I cough and shake my head quickly, the familiar new-person anxiety tightening my throat.

  The driver continues to glance at me, expecting an actual answer because that is how conversations generally work for most people.

  ‘J-just thinkin’,’ I eventually say in a weird American accent which is odd because I am from England and have never had an American accent in my life.

  ‘First time in the US?’ the driver asks. Clearly I am not the first person to come to America and slip immediately into a phoney American accent. I flush red.

  ‘Yes.’ I nod and look down at my knees, hoping that he gets the message that I am definitely not up for small talk.

  He does not get the message. Instead he glances at my destination on his phone and does an excitable squeal. ‘Venice Beach! Very exciting. You must be excited.’

  ‘Yeah, um, I’m staying, um, with a friend,’ I tell him, which isn’t strictly true. I’m staying with two strangers and one dog who I’m expected to know how to handle like some sort of an expert.

  ‘My name is Billy Fever.’ The driver grins at me.

  ‘That is not a real name!’ Surprise and amusement make me forget my usual shyness for a brief second. Then I feel bad. Perhaps I’ve embarrassed him. ‘Sorry,’ I say in a small voice. ‘That j-just popped out.’

  The guy doesn’t look offended though. He laughs too. ‘You are right. My real name is Farooq Tabassum Hanania, but it is not catchy enough for my line of work.’

  ‘Driving?’

  ‘Oh no no no. I am a singer-slash-entertainer. This is my day job, but at weekends and on special occasions, as and when I am hired, I work as an Adam Levine tribute act.’

  I sit up straighter in my seat. ‘Are you for real?’

  The driver smiles widely. ‘Yes. I am very good at it too. Do you want to hear me perform? It will be a free performance as you are already here in the car.’

  ‘Uh, you mean right now?’

  ‘Yes. I can sing and drive at the same time. I’m a very talented man.’

  I laugh out loud. ‘Well, yes. I definitely want to hear you perform.’

  Billy Fever gives a little whoop of delight. ‘Today is a good day. I offer many people my free performance and they say no, but you are the second person who said yes today! I am on fire! I am, as they say, lit!’

  I chuckle, leaning forward in my seat.

  Billy breaks into a rendition of Moves Like Jagger and, no word of a lie, he is really really great. Maybe even better than Adam Levine himself! I get an urge to sing along and harmonise, an impulse I quickly push away. When he’s finished, I tell Billy how great he is and he responds with an excited toot of the car horn.

  ‘That is what the other passenger said too! I am having a very great day today. Would you like to sign up to my mailing list? I have twelve people signed up so far!’ he says proudly.

  It’s taken me three years to clear my email of junk mail and old newsletters that I signed up for. But Billy Fever is the first person I’ve met in LA, the first person I’ve had a conversation with since the assistant at the cinema, plus he seems really nice.

  ‘Why not,’ I answer, and he hands me a little white card with his website address and phone number printed upon it in blue ink.

  ‘Just follow the link on my website to sign up.’

  We continue our whoosh along the motorway as Billy treats me to another free performance, this time of She Will Be Loved, which makes me tear up a little, because the blissful look on Billy’s face as he’s singing it is the way I used to feel every time I performed.

  We pull up outside the back of a few houses and I can’t see much because it’s fully dark.

  ‘I believe number 34 should be through that little path there,’ Billy says.

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  ‘I have rated you five stars, you have been a most delightful customer. Here, also, is a Hershey bar. They are my favourite thing about America and I think you will like them too because I have never met a person who doesn’t like a Hershey bar.’

  I take the bar with delight. This is the best cab ride I’ve ever had. I suddenly feel more positive about this whole thing. ‘Thanks, Billy,’ I say brightly. ‘I will definitely give you five stars too.’

  ‘Enjoy the City of Angels!’ he says. ‘I hope La La Land brings you everything your heart desires.’

  ‘Me too,’ I say quietly, before heading out of the car.

  I step into a strong and abnormally warm breeze and set off towards Kennedy’s house, the lyrics of She Will Be Loved dancing around my head.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nora

  I follow a little wooden sign that says Pleasant Beach Court and, heading down an orangey lamplit alleyway, I come to a side door. Number 34. This is it. This is Kennedy’s house.

  I roll and shake my shoulders which feel tight with the nerves and anticipation of meeting this person who is the closest thing I’ve had to a friend for the past year, but who I also barely know at all. I slowly blow the air out through my mouth in a futile attempt to slow down my jumpy heart. Then I wipe my fingers under my eyes to remove the errant mascara crumbs that always seem to be there no matter how many times I check. Brushing my sweaty hair out of my face, I paste what I hope is a non-psycho-looking smile onto my face. Then I reach for the doorbell and press it. It surprises me with a recording of wind chimes that’s frankly much louder than it needs to be. Immediately, I hear the sound of frantic, excited barking from inside the house.

  I take a shaky breath as I see a figure appear behind the glass door.

  Okay, Nora. Don’t embarrasses yourself. Don’t melt into a puddle of shyness. Be confident. Be sure. Smile! This is a nice person. Just one nice person who is looking forward to meeting you. Kennedy is just a nice, friendly book geek, just like you.

  The door opens to reveal the hottest woman I have ever seen in real life. Jeeeez. Without thinking, my eyes widen and I sort of lean closer to get a better look at her, because she looks like she’s been lit with one of those skin-smoothing, eye-widening photo filters. Butterscotch blonde hair tumbles softly over her shoulders, a tanned, unlined, completely glowing face smiles at me, revealing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. Her nose is slightly short, which serves to add a sort of approachable cuteness to her face. She’s wearing pale grey jersey jogging bottoms, a plain white vest that has not, unlike my white items of clothing, gone slightly pinky-grey in the wash. There’s not even one tiny little tomato sauce stain upon her top. Shrugged casually over her shoulders is a floaty cream robe with little embroidered go
lden stitches around the edges of the lapel and pockets. This woman looks better ready for bed than I probably will on my wedding day. Her grin is warm and friendly, her eyes shining with excitement and curiosity.

  ‘You must be Nora! I’m Kennedy!’ She bows a little. ‘Get in here!’ Her voice is much less delicate than expected considering her general floaty and serene vibe. She pulls me in for a full-on hug, which immediately brings a lump to my throat. I can’t remember the last time I was hugged by someone. Probably at Mum and Dad’s funeral. Imogene and I tend to favour the odd arm pat or a brief kiss on the cheek. I swallow hard and awkwardly untangle myself from her embrace, only for her to grab both my hands and swing them about happily. I allow my hands to flop about in hers, because what the heck else am I supposed to do? ‘You’re here!’ Kennedy exclaims, full of pep and cheerfulness.

  ‘Uh, I am! Hi!’ I respond, trying to match her energy and overshooting it so much that I sort of scream the words, causing Kennedy to jump back, startled.

  Great start, Nora.

  She giggles. ‘You must be exhausted. How long is the flight from the UK? Nine hours, right?’

  ‘It took almost eleven hours,’ I grimace, brushing my hair out of my face, only for this mad warm wind to blow it around once more, so that my long hair covers my face like the girl in The Ring.

  ‘The Santa Ana Winds are blowing!’ Kennedy explains, reaching out and picking up my heavy suitcase up with very little effort. She must go to the gym all of the time. Hmm. Maybe we won’t be quite as compatible in real life as we are online.