I hold my tongue.
‘Wait here,’ I tell him, ignoring his remark.
I head into the ladies’ room, squeezing past a crowd of especially loud, excitable women on their way out. I check the doors of each cubicle, until I get to the last one, which is locked.
‘Hello,’ I call out.
‘Hello,’ I hear a panicked voice call back.
‘Joan?’
‘Yes, please, you have to help me. I’ve fallen. I can’t get back up.’
I dash into the next cubicle, put the lid down on the toilet, kick my shoes off and climb on top so I can peer over. Poor Joan is lying in a heap on the floor.
I examine the size of the gap my head is currently poking through. I consider whether I could climb over but I’m not sure where I’d have space to land and I think I’m imagining myself as way more athletic than I am, as well as having a much smaller arse than I probably do. Poor Joan is already stuck, let’s not throw my fat arse getting wedged between two toilet cubicles into the mix.
‘It’s going to be absolutely fine,’ I reassure her. ‘I’ll go get help, but I’ll be right back.’
‘I didn’t manage to get my tights back on,’ she says, sounding a little embarrassed.
‘That is not a problem at all.’ I try to sound as calm as possible. ‘I’ll get someone to open the door and I’ll fix you up before anyone sees anything, I promise.’
I carefully step down from the loo, lest we have another accident, and go to find Tom. I spot him outside the toilets, currently in a headlock, courtesy of our resident man mountain, Al Atlantic.
‘I need help,’ I tell them. ‘Kat’s grandma has fallen in one of the toilet cubicles. She can’t get up and she can’t open the door to let me in.’
The three of us rush into the thankfully still empty ladies’ room.
‘I can sort this, no worries,’ Al says confidently.
‘Listen, when you open the door, can you just give me a minute to fix her clothes. I promised her,’ I tell him quietly.
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Stand back.’
I bite my lip anxiously as I wonder how Al is going to barge the door open without hurting Joan on the other side, only to watch as he pulls the door from it’s hinges. It makes a loud noise as the plastic cracks, but Al makes it look effortless. Then he holds the door just in front of the cubicle, to maintain Joan’s privacy while I pop in to straighten up her clothes.
‘Thank you, dear,’ she says, squeezing my hand. I don’t think anyone has ever thanked me and sounded quite so grateful before.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I assure her. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m fine, really,’ she insists. ‘I just can’t get back on my feet.’
Al places the door to one side.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you,’ he says chirpily, scooping Joan from the floor with a fireman’s lift before carrying her out. Tom and I follow close behind as he carries Joan to the bar.
The bride and groom are there now, doing a lap, greeting their guests, thanking them for coming. When they notice Al carrying Joan, their smiles fall as they hurry over.
‘We took a tumble, but we’re OK,’ Al tells them, carefully placing Joan down on one of the sofas in the bar.
‘Grandma, what happened?’ Kat asks.
‘Oh, I just slipped. It was a silly thing really,’ she says. ‘I’m embarrassed more than anything.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Tom reassures her. ‘My gran got absolutely hammered when my dad remarried.’
‘Your dad remarried?’ I blurt.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘He’s really happy now. I’ve got a couple of little brothers too.’
‘No way, that’s amazing,’ I say.
Tom used to confide in me about the troubles in his parents’ marriage. They argued all the time and it would really get Tom down when he would visit home. I think he felt the most sorry for his dad; his mum had a hard time trusting him and they’d argue about it all the time, whether Tom was around or not. Listening to him talk about it taught me quite early on that, without trust, a relationship is doomed to fail. Doubt will slowly but surely rot your relationship from the inside out, leaving you with nothing but crumbled up pieces that are impossible to put back together. It’s so nice to hear that his dad is happy now – and so weird for me to be so invested in his family’s wellbeing still.
‘Al Atlantic saves the day,’ Matt says. ‘You look like you could be a superhero.’
‘I just need the cape,’ he says, flexing his biceps.
Kat beams.
‘Right, well, we’d better get back to it,’ she says, taking Matt’s arm as they head back to their newlywed duties. ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Grandma?’
‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Joan insists. ‘I just need a sit down and a stiff drink.’
‘We can sort that bit,’ Tom says. ‘We were getting one anyway.’
I realise that the ‘we’ he’s referring to includes me.
‘I’ll go see if I can find any more damsels in distress,’ Al says with an arrogance so subtle, it’s only just detectable by the most cynical ears. ‘Catch up with you later, Luca.’
Not if I can help it, buddy.
‘My God, Al is terrifying,’ I say to Tom as we stand at the bar, ordering two cokes and a whiskey for Joan. ‘The way he ripped that door off, like it was nothing …’
‘Shouldn’t you be impressed by stuff like that?’ Tom laughs.
‘I’m kind of repulsed,’ I admit. ‘Those veins in his neck … whenever he moves, they look like they’re going to burst. And he’s just such an odd colour …’
‘They’re bronze, right? Bodybuilders, I mean.’
‘He looks more like an Oompa Loompa,’ I point out. ‘An Oompa Loompa on steroids.’
Tom laughs.
Tom insists on paying for the drinks, so I take Joan her medicinal whiskey.
‘Here we go,’ I say, setting it down in front of her.
‘Thank you, love,’ she replies. Joan takes me by the arm firmly. ‘And thank you for everything you did for me.’
‘Oh, Al did all the hard work,’ I insist. ‘There’s no way I could have ripped that door off like that.’
‘No, you did way more. Thank you.’
I smile. I just did what anyone would have done in that situation.
‘You two make a lovely couple, you know,’ she says.
‘Me and Al?’ I squeak, horrified at the idea of something happening between my ex and me.
Joan laughs.
‘No, you and Tom. You could do a lot worse than Tom.’
Somehow, this gets to me even more than the idea of getting together with Alan.
I look up at Tom as he places my drink down in front of me. As he smiles widely his cheeks dimple and the skin crinkles around his eyes – both features I always used to find so attractive about him. He has this animated face that reacts to every word, every look. You always get Tom’s full attention and when you have it, you feel amazing. But I know what it’s like to lose it.
Sure, maybe I could do a lot worse than Tom. But I could do a lot better too.
Chapter 10
Then – New Year’s Eve 2008, 11.40 p.m.
And I’m late. Of course, it isn’t my fault this time, not that it matters. No one ever cares why you’re late, do they? They only care that you’re late in the first place.
I am here though, finally, after one hell of a day and as if I wasn’t already excited enough to see Tom for the first time since before Christmas, after the day I’ve had, I’m craving his touch even more. He’s just the tonic I need after a tough day. One hug from him and a few of his easy words, and I’ll forget about everything I’ve been through over the past few hours.
We’ve been texting nonstop all Christmas, chatting, flirting, sending each other pictures. We’ve had this running joke, since that night he saved me, that Tom is my hero, so when we were talking about fancy dress costumes for New Year’s Eve Tom suggest
ed, in a semi-flirtatious tone, that I might finally get to see him in spandex and a cape. Tom decided he’d go as Batman, so I said I’d go as Catwoman, so we had a sort of cute, matching theme going on, that I previously would’ve found nauseating but with Tom, I don’t care. I want to be cute and matching. I don’t care how dorky we’ll look, I just can’t wait to see him.
I dropped him a message earlier, to let him know that I was going to be a little late, but I can’t believe how late I actually am. If this is karma in action, after I did someone a favour, I’d rather opt out from this particular magical points system.
I make my way through our busy house, where the party is already in full swing, but I don’t recognise anyone I know. Then again, I’m not likely to, am I? If everyone is in fancy dress …
I can see Hannah Montana, Indiana Jones, a million Jokers, but no sign of Batman. I dash up to my bedroom – I need to change my clothes anyway – to see what kind of last-minute costume I can bash together, given that I haven’t had time to collect my Catwoman costume. What’s popular at the moment? All my clothes are dark, all my make-up is dark – it’s not like I can just knock together a Hannah Montana costume from what I already have. I think about what I do have – mostly black stuff. I’ve got it … Twilight. I’ll just stick on one of my usual gothic outfits and cover my skin in body glitter. That’s right, isn’t it? I know it’s a bit half-arsed, but it’s all I’ve got, and it’s nearly midnight.
I dash downstairs, carefully pushing my way through the hoards of party-goers to find my hero, to finally get that hug I so desperately need, and the first kiss I’ve been literally counting down the days for.
Across the large living room, I spy Batman, meaningfully pushing his way through the crowd too. I don’t think he’s seen me, but I can tell that its Tom from the shape of his body – that tall, broad, sexy, manly frame he has that drives me wild. As everyone counts down the last ten seconds of 2008, I notice Tom walking away from me, so I push harder to get through the crowd. As the clock strikes midnight, I finally get to Tom, just as he grabs a woman in a Catwoman outfit and kisses her passionately. It’s the perfect New Year kiss, timed perfectly with the stroke of midnight, but it isn’t with me. It’s with someone else. Someone dressed as Catwoman. I stand in front of them for a second, staring, my jaw practically on the floor. The girl, whoever she is, kisses Tom back. Well, why wouldn’t she? She doesn’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t know that he’s supposed to be kissing me, does she?
Devastated and embarrassed, I retreat to my bedroom before Tom spots me. Yet another party I’ve ended in my bedroom, in tears, crying over a boy. I kick of my shoes and climb into my bed, hugging my pillow as I think about what I should’ve done, or what I could’ve done. He’s going to realise his mistake at some point, when he comes up for air I imagine, but then what? If I keep out of the way maybe, when he realises, he’ll come find me … I wonder if he’ll tell me? The thing that’s really bugging me is that, as soon as I saw him, costume or not, I knew that it was him. How could he not know that wasn’t me he was kissing? How could he not feel it? What the hell happens next?
Chapter 11
Now
My shoes have vanished.
While Tom escorted Joan back to her table, I headed to the toilets to retrieve the heels I had taken off in a panic. They’re not where I hurriedly left them, they haven’t been considerately placed to one side by a Good Samaritan – they’ve just disappeared.
After checking every last inch of the ladies’ room, I walk out into the bar, scratching my head.
‘Are you OK?’ Tom asks.
I wonder why he’s come back for me, which he sees on my face. That or he’s reading my mind just like he used to.
‘I thought I’d come back, make sure you got your shoes OK. It was just an excuse to talk more, to be completely honest, but erm …’
He nods towards my bare feet.
‘Yeah, they’ve gone,’ I tell him.
‘Oh,’ he replies.
‘Hmm.’
Neither of us knows what to say. Well, why would someone take my shoes?
‘Maybe they were handed in at reception,’ Tom suggests.
‘Maybe.’
‘Let’s go see.’
Is it strange, that Tom is so invested in my daft problems? You’d think he’d rather be hanging around with Cleo.
‘Hello,’ I say brightly to the receptionist. ‘Has anyone handed in a pair of pink heels?’
The receptionist blinks at me.
‘Shoes,’ I add, in case that’s the bit she’s struggling with. ‘I left them in the bar toilets and they’ve gone.’
‘You’ve lost your shoes?’ she asks.
What’s it to her if I have?! She’s looking at me like I’m crazy, for losing the shoes from my feet. I’ll bet this is the same receptionist who got sassy with Clarky for turning up without the girlfriend he just dumped.
‘No shoes,’ she replies without much concern. I suppose to her, they’re just shoes. To me they’re a huge chunk of my wage for the month and I feel sick. I guess I’m not returning them now. It serves me right, I suppose.
‘Thanks anyway,’ Tom says as he ushers me away. I think he’s worried I’m going to say something about her attitude. I’ve never been the kind of person who usually says something, but that note I left on his car has probably got him scared.
‘Well, I’ve got some trainers in my room,’ I say. ‘They’ll look a bit daft with my dress but …’
‘You’ll pull it off,’ he says with a smile. ‘Where’s your room?’
‘I’m in one of the cottages that look over the gardens,’ I say. ‘Just across the car park. Shit!’
‘What?’
‘I’m going to have to walk across the gravel car park in my bare feet.’
‘I’d let you borrow mine but unless you’re a twelve …’
‘Not even close,’ I reply, although I’m probably not all that far away from a size twelve really, not compared to all the little ladies lightly prancing around at the wedding. With above average height comes above average shoe size. Still, that’s not a very sexy thing to say out loud.
‘OK, hop on.’
‘On what?’
‘On me. On my back, I’ll give you a lift.’
I laugh, but then I realise he’s serious.
‘What? No. I’m not getting on your back.’
‘So you would rather walk across gravel in your bare feet than get on my back?’ he asks with a chuckle. ‘Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘No, of course not,’ I insist.
‘Would you rather I got Al Atla—’
‘No,’ I say quickly, cutting him off. I do not want to ride my ex-boyfriend.
Tom turns his back to me and squats down a little. I exhale deeply, psyching myself up before wrapping my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
‘Oh God, I hope I’m not showing my bum,’ I say, cringing. I use one hand to try and check my dress hasn’t ridden up, but as I slip down Tom’s back a little, I quickly grab him tightly again. He secures his grip on my thighs.
For a second, I close my eyes. I take comfort from the warmth of Tom’s body, from the secure grip of his hands. I drink up the smell of his aftershave. I feel my grip on his body shift and I can’t resist resting my head on him, nuzzling my face into his neck.
‘Oi oi,’ Clarky bellows.
‘You dared to leave the table then,’ I reply defensively. Why do I feel like I’ve been caught out?
‘I’m off for a slash,’ he says. ‘Where are you two off?’
‘Someone stole my shoes,’ I reply, as though it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to happen. ‘Can you tell everyone I’ll be back in five minutes please?’
‘Only five minutes?’ he replies with a wink. ‘Sure.’
I feel my cheeks blushing and I’m so glad that Tom can’t see my face right now.
‘He hasn’t changed much then,’ Tom says as he makes his way
outside.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘I don’t think any of us have.’
‘OK, you’ll have to give me directions.’
I direct him across the gravel, under the pretty rose archway and around the corner to where you enter the cottages. The gravel is no longer a threat to my bare feet, but Tom carries me up the rickety wooden steps to my room anyway.
Tom takes my keys from me, unlocks the door and carries me inside, placing me down on one of the beds.
‘Wow, you have a twin room,’ he points out, as though I hadn’t noticed. ‘I didn’t realise they still existed.’
‘Yep, let’s not waste a double bed on a single girl,’ I say, hopping off the bed before searching around the room for the only other pair of shoes I have with me – some sparkly, pink Converse trainers. Well, at least they match my dress and my hair.
‘Now those look more like my Luca,’ Tom says with a laugh. ‘I mean uni Luca … the Luca I know.’
I am briefly taken aback by his use of ‘my Luca’ – although I suppose he did quickly correct himself, he probably didn’t mean for it to come out like that. It’s been a long time since I was anything close to being his. Just hearing him talk about those days makes my head spin a little. It feels like I’m being dragged back there.
‘They look ridiculous.’ I look myself up and down in the mirror. ‘But the bare feet looked fractionally weirder, so this will have to do.’
‘Speaking of weird,’ he starts, glancing around the room. ‘This is an odd room. The ones in the hotel are way more modern …’
He isn’t wrong. The twin beds and the décor look retro, while the flat-screen TV on the wall and the bathroom are both ultra-modern. The furniture falls somewhere in between, and the dome-shaped light fittings are positively futuristic.
I’d say I would’ve preferred a room in the hotel to one of the external cottages, but I quite like being here, out of the way of everyone else. It feels like I have an escape.
I adjust my dress, neaten my hair and reapply my lipstick while I’m in front of a mirror.
‘We’ll have to go for a drink sometime,’ Tom suggests, taking a seat on one of the single beds. ‘Now that we’re living in the same city again.’
The Time of Our Lives Page 7