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

by Kirsty Greenwood

  ‘Did you ever think I had a chance with him?’ I ask, biting my lip.

  Kennedy looks down at her knees and fiddles with the edge of her vest top. She scratches the back of her neck. ‘Honestly? No. Not that you couldn’t get someone like him. You are funny and beautiful and, now that the shyness is fading, really fun to be around. But no. He has a girlfriend.’

  ‘Fiancée.’

  ‘Yes. And he’s a movie star… ya’ know?’

  I frown. ‘Why did you encourage me then? Help me with everything? Make the Creepy As Fuck Soulmate Procurement Wall with me?’

  She shrugs. ‘I figured that you were working through something. Something that you believed in. I also figured you had enough people telling you were out of your mind. I wanted to be your friend.’

  ‘You were. Are.’

  ‘And you may not have gotten Gary Montgomery, but you’ve gotten a little bit of joy back, right? Joy ahoy! More time spent doing that would be awesome…’

  That’s true. I have done more this last week than I have done in the past two years. I had forgotten how amazing it feels to have your face in the sun, to feel the anticipation of what might happen next, how real, vivid, moving life outside of my cosy house is so much more powerful than I remembered. I mean, I’m never going to be an extrovert gallivanting at parties, but maybe, when I get back to Brigglesford, I’ll leave the house a little more, try to remake a place for myself in the real world…

  But still, I can’t stay. ‘I told Imogene I’d be back tomorrow. She’s booking a flight!’

  Kennedy sighs and folds her arms across her chest. ‘So tell her not to book it. To be honest, Nora… I expected you to be here another week and I haven’t found another morning dog-sitter for this guy.’ She ruffles Winklepuff’s soft head. ‘You would be leaving me in the lurch. You want to leave me in the lurch? It’s my interview tomorrow! You know how hard I’ve worked for it. My mom will be so upset if I don’t get the job! You want to put this stress on me? After I invited you into my home? Let you borrow my white T-shirt? Used my wildly impressive journalistic skills nefariously in order to help you with your outrageous capers? You would do that to me? Wow. I am shook. I thought we were becoming real friends. My god, Nora. I let you use my Olaplex hair conditioner and that shit is expensive! This is how you repay me?’

  I tut. ‘You are massively guilt-tripping me!’

  Kennedy leans in closer and peers at my face through narrow eyes. ‘Is it working?’

  I laugh in spite of the sad, sorry feeling I’m wrapped up in, at this beautiful, nerdy, sunny, kind-hearted stranger who offered me a place to stay and pledged, albeit drunkenly, to help me to rediscover some joy in my life. Why? Because she is a good person. That’s it. She thinks I deserve happiness. I can’t leave her in the lurch, no matter how gut-punched I’m feeling. That would be really shitty of me. I’ve already been selfish enough.

  ‘Well, I did promise to look after Winklepuff,’ I say. ‘And you did let me use your Olaplex… Okay, I’ll text Imogene and tell her to expect me back on the original return date.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Kennedy says, standing up from the porch so quickly that it makes Winklepuff jump a little. ‘We will go out tonight!’ she announces. ‘Things may not have worked out with Gary, but you can still seek joy for yourself in other ways. We could go out for plant-based tacos! It’s no use staying in and moping around. You need a distraction.’

  I’m not sure plant-based tacos are the key to my own personal joy.

  ‘I thought it was your big anchor interview tomorrow,’ I say. Don’t you have to work?’

  ‘It is and I do and I’m fully prepared! But, I mean, I have to eat, right? We can just head out for a little while.’

  I imagine going out somewhere with sweet alcoholic drinks and good music. It sounds like a lovely relief from the way I’m feeling right now.

  ‘Deal. But not plant-based tacos. At least not for me. Do you know anywhere that does a good cheese toastie in this city?’

  I send a text to Imogene telling her to hold off booking flights as I’ll just stick to the original plan. Then, after a couple of hours of work and a short nap, I shower and start to get ready for the evening. My will to not stay in bed crying for the whole evening is revived only by the thought of a lovely, soothing cheese toastie.

  I inspect myself in the mirror and even though I can’t seem to stop the tears of sadness and humiliation and guilt that are pretty much all-consuming, and my eyes are still red from wind dust and cement and having to wear contact lenses again because I lost my glasses, I notice that I actually look better than I have in years. It’s more than shiny hair. I have colour in my face. Rosy, slightly pink cheeks and a scattering of freckles across my nose. I think back to Imogene saying on the phone that I sounded more awake the other day. I feel more awake.

  Heading back into the room, I am faced with the Creepy As Fuck Soulmate Procurement Wall. The pictures of Gary and Tori, the maps and addresses, the screenshots from forums. It looks properly fucking crazy. I gawk at the poster of Gary that Kennedy put up and I try to tell myself that the cosmic prickle that shimmers all over my skin when I look at his face is just my mind playing tricks on me. I think of him and Tori in bed at home, having sex and laughing about me, about what a weirdo I am.

  Don’t start crying again.

  I want to rip the whole Creepy As Fuck Soulmate Procurement Wall down, but I’m already running late. I’ll do it when I get back in a bit. I speedily brush some super-sensitive mascara through my lashes, add a little pink balm onto my lips and slip in the tiny crystal earrings Kennedy lent to me. I dress in a palest blue sundress, which, with its gravity-defying cleavage abilities is a little more appropriate for evening time than day. I grab a thin gossamer silver shawl and wrap it around my shoulders. There. Ready.

  I swish open the curtain of my sleeping area and head into the living room to see that Kennedy is not ready for our outing but sprawled on the sofa in the yoga pants and vest top she was wearing before, her laptop resting on her belly.

  ‘You’re not ready yet?’ I ask, glancing up at the wall clock with a frown. She definitely said to be ready for seven thirty.

  She sits up quickly and pulls a face of distress. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m gonna have to bow out. I have more prep to do for my audition tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh!’ I say, feeling a little deflated. The idea of being distracted from this horrible feeling for at least a little while was appealing.

  ‘Yeah, I know. It’s so terrible. There’s been an… unexpected twist in the story… I need to research a little more before the audition. I’m so sorry! My mom has called me three times today already to check I’m prepared. I can’t let her down.’

  I wave her away. ‘Don’t worry about it. I guess I’ll just…’ I thumb back in the direction of my bedroom area when Brandon comes down the stairs dressed in a black shirt and khaki pants.

  He rolls his eyes at Kennedy. ‘Why are you not ready? You said seven thirty?’

  ‘I didn’t know you’d invited Brandon out with us,’ I frown. The last thing I need right now is Brandon ‘told you so-ing’ me.

  ‘I thought it was a siblings-only evening,’ he says to Kennedy with narrowed eyes.

  Kennedy widens her own eyes innocently. ‘I thought it would be nice for us all to get out. You’re both heartbroken and I was so looking forward to cheering you both up. But this unexpected extra work, huh? There’s nothing that can be done. You’ll just have to go without me! You may as well. I reserved a table at Jama’s on Washington Boulevard. Nora, they do a great grilled cheese there. Not that I’ve ever tried it, but I’ve heard amazing things!’

  I get the distinct feeling that we’ve been set up. Why on earth would Kennedy do this? Can’t she see that Brandon and I aren’t exactly best buds? That there is a weirdness between us. I’m about to say a polite no thank you very much when Brandon shrugs and says, ‘I suppose we could…’

  He gives me a sma
ll hopeful smile and I see something in his face that I recognise. Heartbreak. He’s hurting too.

  ‘Maybe for a couple of drinks…’ I say eventually with a resigned sigh. Misery loves company, I suppose.

  ‘Just a couple,’ he agrees, shoving his hands into his pockets.

  ‘Perfect!’ Kennedy says, getting up from the sofa and almost pushing us out of the door. ‘Look at that! Your Lyft is here! Have fun, you guys!

  ‘We’ll be back pretty soon, probably,’ I tell her as she waves at us from the porch.

  ‘Probably won’t be gone for long at all,’ Brandon agrees.

  ‘Definitely,’ I say. ‘Back soon.’

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Nora

  Brandon and I are sitting at a corner table in this small, quiet bistro/bar. It’s an open-mic night, which has given us somewhere to look during the many uncomfortable silences that have occurred thus far.

  After eating a massive, disappointingly bland cheese toastie and watching Brandon chow down a big bloody steak, we start to drink in earnest. It’s taken a beer and a vodka Martini for us to develop some semblance of rapport and after a lot of half-baked starts and interruptions and starting to talk at the same time before insisting that the other person go first, we’ve finally settled into a conversation. Brandon is telling me about his work in set design and, against my better judgement, I’m finding it quite interesting and far more complex than I ever would have thought. He heads up a small company that designs sets for movie studios on a freelance basis, although they generally do most of their work for 20th Century Studios. He tells me about his love for writing and, while he’s pretty secretive about what exactly he’s working on, his passion for it is something I recognise keenly in myself. When he explains that he worked as an intern on the set of the Meryl Streep and Alec Baldwin movie It’s Complicated, I gasp with delight.

  ‘I love that movie!’

  ‘Well, it was certainly a more realistic representation of relationships than all those other sappy romantic hooey movies out there.’ He laughs. ‘I’m more of an indie horror fan myself.’

  ‘I love that sappy romantic “hooey”, as you call it. It’s uplifting and magical! I love it when two people overcome all the odds to be together because they are simply meant to be.’

  ‘Like with you and Gary?’ Brandon rolls his eyes ever so slightly. He doesn’t say it in a mean way, but it stabs me in the chest, nonetheless.

  I shrug, my cheeks turning red. ‘Yeah, well, I guess I’ve watched too many of those sappy romcoms,’ I say quietly.

  Brandon clears his throat and takes a sip of his drink. ‘I mean, they’re not all bad! I get the appeal. But they are selling something that’s not real. The promise of one perfect person. If you go out thinking that’s a real thing, you’re just setting yourself up for disappointment.’

  I see the flash of pain in his eyes. He lifts his hand to order two more Martinis to our table.

  ‘So she was a human rights lawyer?’ I ask with a sympathetic smile, keen to change the subject.

  ‘And she looked like a model. Can you imagine? A smart model! The jackpot, pretty much.’

  ‘I’m sure plenty of models are smart, Brandon,’ I say, prickling. I take a large gulp of my drink and try not to ruin what is turning out to be quite a pleasant chat.

  ‘She told me I was her soulmate. We were together for three years. I was going to propose. And then she met a big-time producer and I was toast. Out of nowhere.’

  I see a slight glisten in his blue eyes and my heart goes out to him. Elsie Grainger clearly did a real number on Brandon and it’s obviously still a sore point. I change the subject.

  ‘I appreciate you not saying “I told you so” about Gary. I genuinely feel like… felt like it was real. That he might actually be the person I’ve waited my whole life to find.’ I sigh, long and low. ‘So weird.’

  ‘Here’s to weird,’ Brandon pulls a silly face and holds up his glass.

  I clink it with mine.

  By the time we’ve finished a couple more drinks and I’m starting to feel pleasantly, numbly drunk.

  ‘Hey, you should get up there,’ Brandon suggests, pointing at the little stage where a variety of amateur open-mic acts, hosted by a man who calls himself Santa Monica Homeboy, have been performing for the now almost-empty room.

  I shake my head. ‘Oh, I suffer from terrible stage fright,’ I say. ‘It’s kind of my thing. I haven’t been on a stage in two years.’

  ‘But you got up at the karaoke?’

  ‘True,’ I say, nodding. ‘But I was very drunk then.’

  ‘And now you’re sober?’ He laughs.

  He’s right. I’m drunk now too. I squint at the stage and around at the few people left sitting at the tables.

  ‘There’s hardly anyone here,’ Brandon adds. ‘Surely if you were gonna face this fear, now would be a great time to do it. A small stage, barely any audience, a city that you’ll be leaving in a few days…’

  He makes a good point. Everything has gone completely wrong. I literally have nothing left to lose. Not even my dignity. And it did feel good finding my voice at the karaoke.

  I neck the rest of my drink and the rest of Brandon’s and when Santa Monica Homeboy is finished singing a My Chemical Romance cover, I shuffle up to the stage, really no longer giving a shit about anything.

  I ask if I can borrow Santa Monica Homeboy’s guitar. He shrugs and hands it over. I don’t put the strap across me on account of my gigantic bosom getting in the way, but I pull up a little chair and sit on it, resting the guitar on my knees.

  I think of the song I came up with this afternoon when I got back from the ceremony. The melody would go well over a C to E to G chord structure, I think. I haven’t played the guitar in such a long time and my hands begin to shake, despite the fact that the vodka has dulled my nerves. I squint out into the lights and the room beyond that consists of Brandon, smiling encouragingly and slightly drunkenly, Santa Monica Homeboy and a group of three glamorous-looking older ladies who look like they’ve accidentally stumbled into the wrong venue.

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes and start to sing the first song I’ve written since my parents died.

  I saw a way out of the grey

  A golden light peeking through a foggy day

  When I loved you

  When I loved you

  My every mistake disappeared

  No longer a fuck-up, so selfish, so weird

  When I loved you

  When I loved you

  I thought that your eyes would catch mine

  And you’d know like you know your own name

  That this was a definite sign

  That nothing would ever again be the same

  A person can get things so wrong

  But she’ll bundle it up, hide it in a song

  And every day all her life long

  She’ll think about

  Those hazy Californian days

  Those crazy, batshit, brand new days

  When she loved you

  When she loved you

  When I’ve finished singing, I open my eyes and my stomach plunges when I realise there is no applause, not even a tiny scattering. I look at the few people in the room, and two new people who must have come in while I was singing. They’re all staring at me with their eyes wide and their mouths open.

  Shit. I thought I had been doing pretty well, once I’d gotten into it. Was it really that bad? I look down at my dress to see if I’ve popped a button and that’s why everyone is gawking at me strangely. And then the three older women rise to their feet and start clapping slowly as if completely stunned. Santa Monica Homeboy also gets to his feet and shouts, ‘Sing, girl!’ to me. Brandon just looks at me, shaking his head, and raises his glass.

  My face breaks into a wide smile as I realise that these people enjoyed my song. I feel my cheeks flush red with a mixture of pride and embarrassment, my heart thumping in my ribcage.

  I ste
p down from the stage and head over to Brandon, a massive grin on my face and then, before I can say or do anything, he stands up, puts one hand on each side of my face and kisses me.

  My instinct is to pull away, because I did not ask for this kiss and also this is Brandon who I’m not interested in and who definitely is not my soulmate. But his mouth is warm and tender, and while my knees aren’t exactly knocking with desire, this is very pleasant indeed. And, honestly, after the day I’ve had, it feels so fucking nice to feel desired. To be touched, to have someone weave their hands into my hair, to grab my bottom.

  When we pull away from each other, I can’t look him in the eye. Brandon calls over to the waiter for the bill.

  ‘Oh, are we going now?’ I ask.

  Brandon’s eyes dance with amusement. ‘I’d like to keep on kissing you, but I’m not quite as keen on the audience, you know?’ He tilts his head slightly in the direction of the three glamorous ladies, one of whom is looking at us as if she would like to join us in a throuple and the other two looking slightly repulsed at our very horny display of affection.

  I hiccup and cover my mouth with a giggle. I suppose I wouldn’t mind a little more kissing… And I certainly don’t need any more to drink.

  ‘Come on then,’ I say, leading the way. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  We are silent the whole Lyft ride home and when Brandon tries to grab my hand on the way I don’t let him because, while kissing is fine, holding hands seems just a little too sweetly romantic for me right now. And sweetly romantic is not what I want tonight. At least not with Brandon. All I want is to forget how I feel. To not feel humiliated and sick and heartbroken for a little longer.

  Brandon unlocks the front door and Winklepuff scooches over to us, spinning in circles of joy at seeing us. There’s no sign of Kennedy. She must be in bed. I squint at the clock. It’s after midnight.