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

by Kirsty Greenwood

  ‘You liked the product, huh?’ he asked with a conspiratorial look, like we were in on some sort of secret.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered, a bit confused. Who wouldn’t enjoy ice cream on the beach?

  He then asked me if I wanted to try the special sundae, which was apparently even more special. Of course I said yes – and he was right! It was amazing and I spent the next hour on the beach wandering around and playing with Winklepuff, listening to a ‘Get Pumped!’ playlist on Spotify, feeling oddly confident and saying hi to strangers, not caring that very few of them seemed to hear me. I thought to myself that there must be something about ice cream that I find very soothing, maybe something to do with having it on happy family occasions as a kid…

  When I eventually arrived back at the house, feeling very floaty, sun-soaked and ready for a snooze, Kennedy dragged me back out to a walking art tour in Downtown LA. Then today, after another early-morning swim, Kennedy went to work to do her weather report and then we met for lunch at a super-healthy place called Flower Child, where I saw actual Bette Midler eating a salad, which tickled me pink.

  Brandon has shown up on our jaunts a couple of times, acting awkward and nervy around me, which has been a little bit annoying. He even joined us swimming this morning, although Kennedy swears she didn’t tell him we were going. He kept swimming over to me and starting up conversations, which I then had to respond to because I am staying at his house for free. I suppose when he isn’t telling me I’m ordinary or scoffing at my reasons for being in LA, he’s actually not the worst person in the world. Close, though.

  Now Kennedy, as part of her mission to help me to find joy, has brought me to the nearby Venice Beach boardwalk.

  ‘This place looks very cool,’ I say, looking around at the pop-up food huts and street performers and little market stalls selling delicate pieces of silver and turquoise necklaces and wooden beaded bracelets in all different colours. ‘Are we going shopping?’ I ask as Kennedy indicates that I keep following her down the boardwalk. We pass a little hut selling candy floss. ‘We’re getting candy floss? I love candy floss!’

  ‘It’s called cotton candy and, no, we are not eating that junk! Ew!’

  Kennedy continues walking until the density of the crowds thins out and the smooth and dusty grey boardwalk stretches ahead of us, lined with the beach and the ocean on one side and shops and chunky palm trees on the other. Kennedy smiles with all of those perfect teeth and points at a little painted sign above a colourful wooden hut.

  ROLLERBLADES FOR HIRE.

  I feel the colour drain from my face, which cannot be easy considering how sun-reddened it is.

  ‘We’re going rollerblading!’ Kennedy confirms, beaming. ‘It’s one of the funnest “corny LA” things to do and it’s a great way to keep fit.’

  I pull a face. ‘But I already swam and walked today,’ I grumble, looking down at my warm, comforting, round body that is used to being indoors and sitting down for lots of the time. ‘I’m knackered! And I really don’t think I’ll like rollerblading.’

  ‘You didn’t think you’d like early-morning swimming and you’re a natural,’ Kennedy reasons. ‘Even if you do spend half the time floating about and staring at the sky instead of actually swimming.’

  She’s right. Just a few days of swimming in a warm and peaceful ocean has improved my mood considerably. But skating is totally different. And my balance is terrible; I have been known to trip over thin air! I tell Kennedy this.

  ‘You can do it. I believe in you, girl!’

  ‘I really don’t think so, Kennedy. Last time I skated on wheels, I was twelve and I roller-skated down a hill that was much steeper than I initially calculated – perspective is not my strong point. I went so fast, lost control of which direction I was supposed to go in and rolled right into a hedgerow full of stinging nettles.’

  Kennedy looks like she’s trying not to laugh at what, frankly, is a traumatising formative memory of mine. ‘I had to soak myself in vinegar for over an hour to take out the sting. I stank like a chippy the whole next day.’

  ‘A chippy? What the sweet hell is a chippy?’

  ‘A fish and chip shop!’ I roll my eyes. ‘The kids at school kept asking me for pudding, chips and peas with pea wet. It was awful.’

  Kennedy goggles. ‘Pea? Wet?’

  ‘You know? Pea soup. Pea juice,’ I explain, exasperated. ‘Anyway, the point is that I don’t think I will be attaching wheels to the bottom of my already unstable feet. It’s lovely of you to bring me here, but I think it’s probably a no-go.’

  Kennedy folds her arms across her chest and looks down at her tanned, sandalled feet. ‘I told you I was going to help you to experience joy, so why won’t you just let me? Why can’t you just say ahoy to joy?’

  The corner of my mouth lifts into a smile, but then I realise Kennedy isn’t joking with the whole say ahoy to joy thing. I look hard at her. This virtual stranger who is being so generous with her time and her energy for someone who only last week she knew solely through the internet. The last time someone was this unreasonably kind to me it turned out to be my next-door-but-one neighbour Sleazy Bruce, who took my bins out for a month before revealing that I should join his pyramid scheme.

  ‘Why are you doing all this for me?’ I ask, a note of suspicion creeping into my voice. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Kennedy puts her hands together in a prayer position. ‘Because I am a very sweet person.’

  I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘I like you, okay!’ she says, throwing her hands up in the air now. ‘You’re not like my other friends here. You’re…’

  ‘Much cooler?’ I joke.

  Kennedy pulls a face. ‘Ha! You’re easy-going, I suppose. I feel relaxed around you.’ She shrugs. ‘Like I can be myself and totally nerd out… in fact…’

  ‘What?’

  Kennedy looks thoughtful for a moment before shaking her head slightly. ‘Nothing. You know, I may have been tipsy on peach wine when I promised to help you find some joy. But I meant it. Seeing my new friend find joy outside of this whole, you know, “soulmate” mission will bring me joy. And don’t you want me to have joy? After all the joy I am trying to bring to you? You would deny me joy? That is not joyful behaviour, Nora.’

  I laugh at her faux manipulation, touched that Kennedy just referred to me as a friend and not just an online friend and the fact that, for some reason, she’s trying to help me to become a happier person for the short time that I’m here.

  ‘Okay, I’ll try it,’ I say tentatively.

  ‘Yay!’ Kennedy does a cheerleader-style fist pump into the air. ‘It’s so much easier than you think. I think you’re really gonna love it…’

  I hate rollerblading. HATE it. Rollerblading is not easier than I think. Rollerblading is very, very dangerous. Rollerblading SUCKS.

  Kennedy just glides along the boardwalk in her jean shorts: tanned, toned legs moving seamlessly in time with her feet, like she was born wearing a pair of rollerblades. She receives admiring glances from passing strangers and another rollerblader calls out to her, ‘Hey nice form!’ to which Kennedy replies, ‘Thanks, you too!’

  I, on the other hand, am wobbling from left to right, my arms flung out to balance me, while simultaneously checking that a boob hasn’t escaped from my sundress or that one of the buttons running down the front hasn’t burst open, exposing my knickers for all to see, which, as it happens, are skaggy bed knickers because I need to do some laundry.

  ‘Careful, careful, aaaaaargh,’ I whisper to myself in fear. I stop occasionally and try to shuffle to somewhere I can put my hands on a building or a palm tree to get some balance, but all I end up doing is clogging up the increasingly busy boardwalk and have people yell at me.

  I like my body very much, but it was not made to be supported only by wheels. Kennedy seems nonchalant to my struggle. She looks like something out of a Tampax advert, hair flying out behind her, high-fiving an occasional passer-by, a healthy modern wom
an, unencumbered by her menstrual tide.

  Not only is rollerblading dangerous, but it’s really really hard. My thighs are on fire, even worse than when I did a workout video called Squat Nation and had to apply muscle heat rub for a week afterwards and screamed every time I got in and out of a chair. Plus, my stomach muscles are all tight because I’m holding my breath with the dreaded anticipation of these possibly being my last moments on earth.

  ‘Tell Gary I loved him,’ I try to call to Kennedy, but she’s way ahead of me and an older skinny man standing outside a store selling bongs narrows his eyes.

  ‘Tell him yourself, Lady!’ he calls as I zoom past him, my arms flapping in circles like a cartoon character.

  I try hard to catch up with Kennedy and breathe a sigh of relief as I spot a gentle downward slope ahead of us. Good. Downward slopes mean I can just keep my legs still, the hill will do all the work for me and my poor thighs can get a few seconds of relief. I try to slow down, keeping an eye on Kennedy, who is already halfway down the slope ahead. Right at that moment, an enormous gust of wind gushes into my face, blowing something into my already sore eye.

  ‘Argh!’ I yelp, lifting my hand up to rub whatever the hell it is out of there. ‘Please don’t be an insect,’ I cry, immediately getting a vision of some creepy-crawly making a home in my left eyeball.

  Before I can get whatever it is out, the wind blasts again and a load of tiny sand grains from the beach splat across my face.

  ‘Argh!’ I yell again, this time more loudly, meaning the sand gets all on my tongue.

  I squint open my one working eye and see that Kennedy is now way, way ahead of me. I attempt to bring myself to a stop, but this downward slope seems to have increased my speed much more than expected and I can’t slow enough to pull a foot up onto the stopper of my boot. My heart thuds with panic as I realise that essentially I am skating down a hill with a gob-full of sand and no ability to see where the hell I’m going. Shit. I’m going to hit someone. Maybe even a child! Fuck what if I roll over a toddler causing serious injury? That would be horrible! What would Gary think? Oh my god.

  I put my hands out in front of me as I speed along with my stinging eyes struggling to stay open and shout as loud as I can. ‘Move out of the way, people! Move your toddlers away! This train is not stopping at the staa— Argh!’

  FUCK!

  I feel myself crash into something, though I don’t know what it is because the sting has forced my eyes closed. Shit, I think it’s another human. I put my hands out and have a feel around because every time I try to open my eyes it hurts like hell. It’s a large human. Not a toddler, phew.

  ‘Oof!’ growls the other person. A man. A man with a solid body.

  ‘I’m sorry! I squeak, immediately stumbling onto the ground and rubbing my eyes. ‘I couldn’t stop and I have crap in both of my eyes. Are you hurt? I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ he says. ‘Are you?’

  I recognise that voice. It sounds exactly like…

  ‘Brandon!’ Kennedy shouts, panicked. ‘Is she okay? Jeeez!’

  Brandon?

  What the hell is Brandon doing here?

  ‘I’m all right!’ I reassure them, my eyes still scrunched closed as I rub at them. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Brandon?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says, although he doesn’t sound it. I heard that ‘Oof’ and it sounded very much like the ‘Oof’ of a man in pain.

  I eventually manage to get the grit out of my eyes and open them. Stoopid sand. Stoopid weird wind. I rub my eyes again and Kennedy and Brandon come into view. They’re crouching down in front of me, expressions of concern on their perfect faces.

  Brandon leans in close and peers into my squinting eyes. ‘When the Santa Anas blow, all bets are off,’ he says.

  I frown. I’ve heard that phrase before… It’s what Jack Black says in The Holiday. Once of my favourite romantic films.

  ‘I love that film,’ I say.

  ‘Me too,’ Brandon replies with a half-smile.

  Kennedy is watching us with a weird grin on her face.

  ‘Let’s take these off,’ Brandon says, untying the laces on my rollerblades.

  ‘God, yes please,’ I respond gratefully. I fiddle with my fingers awkwardly as Brandon unties the boots. I feel my face turn red at the strange intimacy of it. ‘I’m not made to be on wheels!’

  ‘Understatement,’ Brandon grins, his eyes ever so slightly flicking up towards my thick thighs.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kennedy says, holding a hand out to help me to my feet. ‘You did tell me about your bad balance. I thought you were exaggerating. I should never have forced you! Shit, I thought it would be joyful for you.’

  ‘It’s okay! I’m okay!’ I reassure her.

  She nods slowly, looking from me to Brandon and back again. ‘Okay. Good. Um… So, yeah, I just remembered I need to shoot off… Get more work done, y’know? Brandon’s here now, so he can walk you back, right? Yeah. I’ll see the two of you back at home! Bye!’

  What?!

  Before I can protest, Kennedy gives me a brief hug, then spins on her skates and speeds off super quickly, as if she can’t wait to get away. Shit. I must have really embarrassed her, making such a massive ungainly scene in the middle of the boardwalk.

  I glance uneasily at Brandon and together, we walk, me now in bare feet, along the beach and back towards the skates rental hut.

  Neither of us speaks for a few minutes, just the sound of the neighbouring people, the wind and the gentle waves of the ocean our soundtrack.

  ‘How did you know we were here?’ I say eventually when the silence gets too awkward even for me.

  ‘Kennedy invited me to meet you guys here,’ Brandon answers, looking past me towards the sea. ‘I didn’t think I’d make it, but I finished work early so finally managed to track you down. Thank god I did! That was super dangerous. Like you said, you’re not built to be on wheels!’

  ‘I said I wasn’t made to be on wheels, not built,’ I say spikily, although they’re pretty much the same thing.

  ‘Kennedy can be very persuasive,’ Brandon says with a grin, ignoring my spikiness. He is trying to be nice. ‘She loves a project.’

  ‘What do you mean, a project?’ I ask.

  Brandon shrugs and looks down at me, his eyes twinkling. ‘She likes to fix things, make herself useful to whomever she’s with. She’s been doing it since we were kids. It stems from many years spent seeking the approval of our affection-withholding mother.’ He laughs darkly to himself. ‘You know, Kennedy once asked our parents to adopt a stray mangy cat we found on a family hike. It was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen. Had this weird twitch in its eyes and this one pointy snaggletooth. Kennedy begged, wanted to build the cat an activity hut, put a bow in its hair, rescue it and make it happy. Of course, Mom and Dad said no. But as soon as she got her own place after college, she adopted Winklepuff from a shelter. When you, a total stranger from the internet, needed a free place to say, she said yes, no questions asked! She’s a good person, but, like I say, she loves to rescue things and she can be quite bossy about it!’

  I turn to him with a frown. ‘I hardly think I’m a mangy cat Kennedy’s taking pity on.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant at all. I’m just saying that LA is full of perfect people, or at least pretending to be perfect. You are…’

  ‘A mangy cat.’

  ‘That’s not what I said.’

  ‘You implied it.’

  ‘Well, you are a little odd and Kennedy clearly wants to help you. Just don’t let her boss you about too much, okay?’

  ‘Odd? Ordinary? Which is it?’ I say, spiky once more. Something about this guy puts me right on the back foot. He is definitely a bit of turd. But also sometimes nice. Ugh.

  Brandon rolls his eyes. ‘You’re a very sensitive person, huh? You should relax!’

  Am I sensitive? I’ve never ever been described as sensitive before. Quiet, shy, weird, yes, always, but not sensitiv
e. Yet everything Brandon says does seem to elicit a sharp response from me.

  I shrug and look out at the sea, thinking back to the vision I had at home after I first saw Gary in Justice of The Peace. Me, floating in a warm, sparkling ocean, laughing with Gary, feeling happier than I’ve ever felt. The thought immediately makes me feel better.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Brandon says, leaning his elbow into mine as we walk. ‘My ex Elsie always said I had no tact. I should just learn to keep my mouth shut!’

  I don’t tell him otherwise and we walk on in silence, him occasionally leaning into me and bumping my shoulder playfully and smiling at me like he doesn’t think I’m ordinary at all.

  Brandon is a very confusing person indeed.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nora

  Today is the day!

  The ceremony is at 2 p.m.

  Kennedy got back from work twenty minutes ago and is meticulously curling my hair while chatting about how Erin has asked her to get together for a drink tonight and wondering whether that drink would be a date, or just a way for Erin to psych her out before her anchor audition tomorrow.

  I’m ordinarily not a cynical person, but I wouldn’t trust Erin after the way she behaved the other night, even if she did say I had hair like Penelope Cruz. I tell Kennedy this and she hmms and aaaahs, before agreeing that she should probably say no. She’s feeling confident about the story she’s decided to go with – she’s prepared a report on three women under thirty who are making strides as indie movie directors in Hollywood, which sounds awesome.

  As we chat, Kennedy finishes my hair and adds some bronzer and lip gloss to my face. Both eyes are red and sore from my various altercations with wind and dust, so I have to wear my glasses instead of my contacts. But the glasses, at least, are really cool. Large, winged and gold-framed, inspired by the ones that Esme is described as wearing in Harcourt Royals. The whole time I’m getting ready, my heart pounds with nerves and excitement for what the day is about to bring.