The Time of Our Lives
Page 6
I look down at my canapés. One of them has a sort of creamy mushroom paste in, which I give to Clarky because I don’t like mushrooms, and he’ll eat pretty much anything. The other is a ham and cheese thing that isn’t too bad, I just wish I had twenty of them. It’s past lunchtime now, and the lack of food makes me really happy I decided not to drink. I can see Zach, Ed and Clarky getting quite merry already. Hopefully they are different drunks to the ones they were when we were at uni. The last thing we need today is to see these guys regress ten years.
‘Tommy boy,’ Clarky sings as Tom approaches our table.
‘Hey, how’s it going?’ he asks everyone.
Everyone makes small talk for a few minutes. Everyone but me. I just watch Tom as he chats. He’s got this easy way with people. He treats every word uttered to him like it’s important, which makes people feel important, and everything he says in response just oozes with charisma. You know how men have a bad reputation for not really listening? Well, Tom isn’t like that. Tom has a brain like a hard drive, storing every little detail.
‘Luca, can I borrow you?’ he says.
‘Are we allowed to leave the table?’ Clarky asks, worried.
‘It’s not school,’ Tom laughs. ‘We’re not eating our mains for a while, we’re allowed to circulate.’
‘I’m not going to chance it,’ Clarky says seriously.
‘You’ll take a risk, right, Luca?’
‘Course she will,’ Fiona tells Tom.
‘Yep,’ I reply reluctantly.
What could be better than hearing all about my not-quite ex’s perfect life? Literally anything, I’d imagine.
Chapter 8
Then – 20th December 2008
Thinking about how quickly this year has gone really scares me. If you ever need reminding how quickly your life is passing you by, just think of how quickly one Christmas turns into the next. I said this to Fifi earlier today and she told me it was just my black lipstick talking. Maybe it is just the goth in me, making me all doomy and gloomy … either way, I don’t think I should be thinking about this at a Christmas party, do you?
It’s weird how festive cheer brings out a different side of people. Matt and Clarky, who are usually all about the banging tunes and the fit birds at a party, are dressed head to toe in ugly festive suits. Matt’s suit is covered in colourful baubles and Clarky’s is covered in penguins – if I were as short as he is, I’m not sure I’d invite the comparison. They’re both currently on the coffee table, raising their glasses as they dance to Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’.
‘I love this song,’ Tom says, slinking up alongside me, just as the song finishes. Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas’ starts playing. ‘And I hate this one.’
‘Same,’ I laugh.
‘Also, hello,’ he says, belatedly greeting me, kissing me on the cheek.
‘Hello,’ I reply.
It’s such a bittersweet feeling, when he kisses me on the cheek. We’ve grown really close since the night he saved me, but as much as I want us to be more than friends, he’s taken on a sort of protective big brother role instead. When I look at him, my stomach does somersaults. When he touches me, I feel this rush of something through my body. This surge of energy that makes me dizzy. But when he looks at me, I think he just sees a victim. Someone helpless who he needs to take care of and protect from the big, bad world.
Matt dances over, wrapping a piece of tinsel around Tom’s neck, flossing it like a tooth as he attempts to dance with him. Matt is usually the coolest guy in the room, until Tom turns up and dethrones him. They’re like apples and oranges though. While Matt is fun-loving and goofy, Tom is laidback and charming. Tom doesn’t dance, he’s too cool to dance. He’d never try so hard, and that just makes him all the sexier.
‘Tom, Luca, Tom and Luca,’ Matt sings before his bizarre gyrating grinds to a halt. ‘I see a lot of you two.’
‘I do live with you,’ I point out.
‘And I’ve just finished a long project with you,’ Tom laughs.
Matt hooks an arm around each of us, pulling us in for a group hug.
‘Together,’ he insists with a knowing grin. ‘I see a lot of you together. Hey, you know Ed’s hammered already, he’s had to go to bed.’
I laugh at how quickly Matt’s attention flits from one thing to another.
‘Poor Ed,’ Tom laughs. ‘It’s the last party of the year and he’s out for the count already.’
‘Well, it’s funny you should say that,’ Matt starts, fidgeting on the spot like a child, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet. ‘New Year’s Eve, we’re having a big party, right here, fancy dress, be there,’ he tells us. We both get a kiss on the cheek before he dances off.
‘You wouldn’t think I lived here, would you?’ I laugh. ‘Apparently we’re having a New Year’s Eve party. And I’m invited, so that’s great.’
‘Well, I’m all for it. I was planning on coming back from Kent for New Year’s Eve anyway.’
‘Hey Tom.’
We’re interrupted by a girl I recognise from our course, but I don’t know her name. She’s wearing those fake leather leggings that are all the rage, teamed with a flowery headband. Both items are in fashion right now (and I hate both of them with a passion) but even I know that you’re not supposed to wear them together.
‘Hello,’ he replies politely.
‘We’re playing drinking games … I just … I wondered if you wanted to come and play with us?’
‘Ah, I’m not really one for drinking games,’ he says. ‘But thanks for the invitation.’
‘Ah, but it’s fun. Please?’ she begs, unwilling to take no for an answer, batting her long, sparkly false eyelashes at him.
‘Well, if it’s fun,’ he laughs.
Jealousy bubbles in my stomach. I sip my drink to try and stop it reaching my mouth.
‘What do you reckon, Luca? Shall we go play?’
The girl’s face falls. I don’t think she was inviting me too.
‘Oh, I’d love to,’ I reply, even though I’m not one for drinking games either.
‘Cool,’ she says, but you can tell from her voice that is absolutely isn’t cool.
We arrive at the dining room table just in time to see Zach locking lips with some random girl as Fifi watches on, stoically silent, but I bet she’s gutted really. You can’t fault her poker face though, which might be part of the reason Zach hasn’t asked her out yet. The sooner those two realise they’re perfect for each other and finally get together, the better.
‘Are you two joining in?’ Zach asks us, finally coming up for air.
‘Why don’t we play something else?’ the girl who invited us (read: just Tom) suggests. ‘I’m sick of spin the bottle.’
I smile at her knowingly.
‘I know what we should play,’ Zach says with a clap of his hands, hopping to his feet, dashing off before reappearing with a Jenga box. He dumps the bricks out on the table. Each one has been written on and decorated with different coloured felt-tip pens. This is Zach’s customised game of Jenga, where he’s written a series of commands, dares and prying personal questions on each brick with the idea that, when you pull one out, you have to do exactly as it says.
‘Set them up, Katie,’ Zach instructs the girl. At least I know her name now.
After playing for a while we are all a little worse for wear. We’ve got quite the crowd around us now and I’m lucky that I’ve gotten off quite lightly so far, especially compared to others. I feel like Tom hasn’t had it too rough either, with the exception of Katie waxing one of his legs, and the dare that saw him lick the sponge we use in the kitchen. For the most part, we’ve both been getting drinking commands, but I’m not much of a drinker at all, so I’m really feeling the effects.
‘Dare,’ Tom says, after carefully extracting a brick.
Zach looks at me, before turning back to Tom.
‘I dare you to tell us who you’d most like to get off with at th
is table,’ Zach says.
Tom laughs.
‘Mate, that’s a truth, not a dare,’ he replies. ‘But nice try.’
‘OK then, I dare you to kiss Luca.’
‘Mate,’ he says, laughing awkwardly again.
‘Go on, do it,’ Zach pushes. ‘Do it, do it, do it.’
The crowd join in with the chanting as I feel my cheeks flush. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about kissing Tom. I didn’t think I’d ever know what it felt like to kiss him, and if finally I did, I didn’t think it would be under circumstances like these.
‘You sure you don’t want to wax my other leg?’ Tom laughs.
‘Nope, I want you to kiss Luca,’ Zach insists firmly.
Fifi, who knows exactly how I feel about Tom, tries to talk Zach out of it.
‘I kind of want to see him get his other leg waxed,’ she says brightly.
‘There you go,’ Tom says. ‘That’s what the audience really wants to see.’
Oh my God, he doesn’t want to kiss me. He doesn’t want to kiss me, not even while he’s drunk, to the point where he would rather have his other leg waxed – and after the first leg nearly made him cry too.
‘I don’t think he wants to kiss her, dude,’ Katie laughs.
There’s an awkward silence for a few seconds.
‘I’m just going to the bathroom,’ I say, trying to hide the crackle in my voice as I hurry out of the room.
Of course I don’t really need to go to the bathroom, I need to burst into tears, not only because I’m embarrassed, but because I’ve been harbouring this secret crush on Tom for a while now, and while something happening between us always seemed like a long shot, now I know exactly how he feels about me and it isn’t the same way I feel about him.
I close my bedroom door behind me and plonk myself down on my bed. I’m really hoping a pattern isn’t forming where I end each party in my room, in tears.
After a couple of minutes, there’s a knock at my door. I quickly wipe my tears before heading over to see who it is, cautiously opening it just enough to tell whoever it is to get lost.
‘Hi,’ Tom says.
‘Hi,’ I reply.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Erm … sure, why not?’ I say, opening the door for him.
I plonk myself back down on the bed. Tom sits next to me.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘Tiny bit embarrassed, but fine.’
‘You really have nothing to feel embarrassed about,’ he insists.
‘Hmm, I’m not so sure about that,’ I reply.
‘Luca …’
‘I think the crowd would beg to differ too, You’ll lick the sponge we use to do the washing up, but you can’t bring yourself to kiss me for a dare.’
‘Would you really want to kiss someone who just licked a dirty sponge?’ he laughs awkwardly.
I sigh deeply.
‘Anyway, who cares?’ I say, sounding like I care an awful lot. ‘Go back to the party, I’ll be back down soon.’
For a few seconds there’s nothing but uncomfortable, awkward silence.
‘Luca …’ he starts again, but quickly loses the words he was going to say.
‘Tom, really, it’s fine,’ I insist. ‘I’m just embarrassed.’
Embarrassed and heartbroken, but mentioning the latter will only make me even more embarrassed.
‘Luca, it’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I really, really want to kiss you.’
I quickly turn my head to look at him, convinced I misheard that.
‘But …’ he starts. Ah, there’s always a “but”, isn’t there? ‘That night we met properly for the first time, well, it wasn’t a great night, was it? I could see, even then, what a beautiful, funny, smart girl you were, but you were so scared and so upset. Asking you out wasn’t exactly at the top of my list that night, I just wanted to make sure you were OK. And then I started to get to know you better, and you were just as amazing as I thought you were, but I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage of you, or that I’d only helped you for some other reason, or … whatever. Sorry, I’m doing a terrible job of explaining myself.’
I smile at him. He’s such a good guy, this is exactly why I have such strong feelings for him. I really feel like he’s got my back.
‘I do want to kiss you. Properly though, not when we’re drunk, doing it because there’s a crowd of people chanting at us to do it, minutes after I’ve licked a dirty sponge,’ he laughs. ‘You deserve better than that.’
‘So you don’t think I’m too repulsive to kiss?’ I say, my eyes filling up a little.
‘Don’t be crazy.’ He takes my hands in his, squeezing them tightly, just like he did that night. ‘We’ve had a bit of a weird start and we’re going home for Christmas tomorrow so, how about we start afresh with the New Year?’
‘I’d really like that,’ I say.
‘Well, I’ll see you at the New Year’s Eve party, and then, maybe on New Year’s Day, we’ll go on a proper date?’ he suggests.
‘I’d love that.’
Tom leans forward and kisses me on the cheek. He lingers there for a second and I feel his breath tickling my neck, which sends a little shiver through my body that makes me squirm in my seat.
‘It’s going to be a long Christmas break,’ he says, finally pulling away.
It certainly is, but I can’t wait for New Year’s Eve now.
Chapter 9
Now
It was Tom’s idea for us to catch up so, now that we’re here, sitting in the cool shade of a willow tree, struggling to get a conversation started, I don’t feel much like helping him.
So …’ Tom starts, failing to reach a destination.
‘So,’ I echo.
‘How’s life?’ he asks.
Ergh, what a vague, pointless question. Unless something interesting is going on, it’s impossible to give an interesting answer. Otherwise, no one tells the truth, do they? How’s life? Oh, well, work is stressing me out, I haven’t had sex in a long time and I’m watching so much Netflix it doesn’t just ask me if I’m still watching, it asks me if I’m still alive.
‘Good,’ I reply. ‘How’s your life?’
There’s a real saltiness to my words that I can’t hide, as though I begrudge him having a life without me. It’s been ten bloody years, it’s about time I let it go.
‘It’s going well,’ he says. ‘Work is going really well.’
‘Ah, yeah, what did you say you did, car journalism?’
‘Something like that,’ he laughs. ‘What did you fall into?’
‘I work in PR, for a fashion retailer.’
‘You’ve always loved fashion,’ he says, as though he still knows me. ‘Although you’ve toned it down a lot.’
‘I’ve matured,’ I point out. ‘Do you still wear the clothes you had at uni?’
‘Some of them, yes,’ he says with an embarrassed chuckle. ‘When I was working abroad I bought new clothes, rather than move loads of stuff around with me. Then, when I moved back home, I picked up all my old things from my parents’ house and realise there was still a lot of life left in my old T-shirts.’
‘You’ve moved back to the UK?’
The last I’d heard Tom was working abroad, that’s why he wasn’t at Ed’s wedding five years ago. I have always made a real effort not to ask questions or seem at all interested when people mentioned his name over the years. I suppose it was a defence mechanism, but now that I’m in front of him, and know nothing about him, I feel completely disarmed.
‘Yeah, I’ve moved back to Manchester actually.’
I feel a pang of something in my chest. Shock? Hope? I don’t know.
‘You live in Manchester?’
‘I do.’
‘So do I.’
‘Yeah, I figured. I thought about looking you up but … I don’t know, I figured you’d be married with kids by now and wouldn’t want anything to do with me.’
Before anyone can say anything else, we’re interrupted by the bride. This doesn’t usually end well for me.
‘Luca, I need you for another bridesmaid duty,’ Kat says casually, as though I signed up for this. ‘Grandma Joan has wandered off. She does this all the time now, but I don’t want her missing from the photos so … could you find her please?’
Kat hitches up her dress, turns on her heels and walks away.
‘She doesn’t even wait for a reply,’ I point out.
Tom laughs.
‘Well, she’s a busy bride, and anyway that sounded more like an order, not a request,’ he replies.
‘Well, I guess I’d better get looking for Grandma Joan then,’ I say, slightly glad of an excuse to end this conversation and get as far away from Tom as possible.
‘I’ll help you look,’ he says.
‘You really don’t have to do that.’
‘Joan loves me,’ he reminds me. ‘It’s no trouble at all. Plus, we can continue our catch up. She likes a drink, I’d check the bar first.’
I don’t really know what I can say to that, other than thank you.
As Tom and I make our way through the marquee, I make eye contact with Fiona, who wiggles her eyebrows at me. God knows where she must think we’re going together.
As we reach the inside bar, we bump into Pete who, at first seems pleased to see me, but then he realises I’m with Tom and he looks concerned.
‘Bridesmaid duties,’ I tell him, pulling a face. ‘Grandma Joan has gone missing apparently.’
Pete laughs.
‘Buy you a drink after?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘I’m not sure what I make of that guy,’ Tom says, once we’re out of Pete’s earshot. Not that anyone asked him.
‘You don’t even know him,’ I remind him.
‘I know he’s got his hair in a flipping bun,’ he points out emphatically. ‘And a scruffy eco-friendly suit. He looks like a hippy.’
‘Oh, so just because he has a bun and cares about the environment, he’s a hippy?’
‘Oh, does he care about the environment?’ Tom asks mockingly. ‘What a dream boat.’