Just Saying: An absolutely perfect and feel-good romantic comedy

by Sophie Ranald

  ‘Gents,’ she said, turning first to Maurice’s friends. ‘A pint of best for you, Ray, a brandy and Coke for Terry and an orange juice for you, Sadiq?’

  ‘Thanks, Shirl, you’re an angel,’ they all muttered in unison, looking anxiously at the group of women and children who’d colonised three tables in a prime spot by the window.

  ‘And another half of Guinness for me, if it’s no trouble, Shirley.’ Maurice stood and greeted his friends at the bar. ‘And for you, Alice? Another sherry?’

  ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt,’ one of the women said, ‘but my little boy has sensory issues and when his blood sugar level drops he really does need to replenish nutrients fast. So if you could possibly just give me a fresh orange juice and add it to our tab…’

  Shirley looked at her, hard. One hand was on her hip, the other expertly angling a glass below the beer tap. I had a feeling that, pleasing the punters or no, she was about to say exactly what she thought about people dishonouring the sacred system of the pub queue, and probably point out that if bottled J20 was good enough for Sadiq, it was good enough for this woman’s little snowflake too.

  At the same time, I realised that, now Maurice’s crew had shown up, the intimacy that had sprung up between us was well and truly over. I had no desire to be a fifth wheel in a game of dominoes, however the hell you played it.

  So I stood, too, moving to the opposite side of the bar to Maurice – to the hatch I’d seen Shirley glide effortlessly through, and where she now stood, looking exasperated.

  ‘You look like you could use an extra pair of hands,’ I said.

  Seven

  It was late afternoon by the time I left the Nag’s Head. Emerging into the bright sunshine from the gloom of the pub made me feel all kinds of weird – or that might just have been all the sherry I’d drunk. I’d refused to let Shirley pay me, so instead she’d plied me with drink after drink, saying, ‘Here, love, have another to keep your strength up,’ and, because I didn’t want to offend Maurice, I hadn’t had the heart to say that I’d never tasted the stuff in my life before and would be perfectly happy never to do so again.

  My feet were aching, my jaw hurt from smiling, and I realised that it had been hours since I’d given stupid Gordon or stupid Billings Pitt Furzedown a thought. But, as the sunlight hit my eyes, the reality of my situation hit me, too. The past few hours had been a welcome distraction – I’d felt useful, even happy. But now all my troubles descended on me again, if anything heavier than before.

  I was going to have to go home, call Joe and tell him what had happened. And then I was going to have to make some kind of plan for my future, whether that was looking for another job, applying for roles in other departments at Billings Pitt Furzedown, or just signing on for jobseeker’s allowance – whatever it was, I was going to have to do it fast.

  Ideally before next month’s rent was due.

  I said goodbye to Shirl and Maurice and headed, slightly unsteadily, down the main street towards our road. The sunshine was warm on my shoulders, the sky overhead a radiant, clear blue so deep it was almost violet. But my heart was as gloomy as my brain was foggy.

  Those words kept turning themselves over and over in my head: I’ve let everyone down.

  No matter how many times I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t my fault, that I couldn’t be held responsible for Gordon’s actions, that no one would blame me and I shouldn’t blame myself, it made no difference. I remembered reading somewhere ages ago – in a magazine at the hairdresser – that you should never say anything to yourself that you wouldn’t say to a friend, but that didn’t help me either. The voice in my head was relentless and harsh.

  I felt like a failure. I felt as if all the sacrifices and compromises I’d made had been for nothing. I’d fallen at the final hurdle, and I wasn’t sure whether I would be able to pick myself up again. I’d lost my grip on the greasy pole I’d started on at university, which had led me to law school and then my training contract and job offer, and would have led me upwards still further, to a promotion and another and maybe eventually to partnership, if I was very lucky and very good. I’d slid uncontrollably downwards, and I wasn’t sure I could face starting to climb again.

  The thought of a career that could be filled with failures and disappointments as brutal as today’s seemed more daunting than it ever had before – certainly more than when I’d arrived at the firm on my first day, full of apprehension, eagerness and ambition.

  All the hard work I’d put in since then hadn’t mattered in the end. Without Gordon, there wasn’t a place for me at Billings. It felt like I hadn’t deserved one there anyway. It felt like there was no place for me anywhere.

  I unlocked our front door and stepped into the hallway. The sunny, welcoming flat, which normally felt so inviting and safe, now seemed as precarious as a house of cards. I felt tears stinging my eyes again and almost ran to the bedroom, where I kicked off my shoes, flung myself down onto our bed, and cried and cried.

  I must have cried until I fell asleep, because the next thing I was aware of was the sound of a key in the lock and the front door opening. I sat up with a jerk, frightened. It was fully dark, and for a few seconds I had no idea what day it was, or even how I’d made it into our bedroom. My teeth were furry and my mouth tasted like our kitchen waste caddy smelled when we left it too long in summer. My eyes were sore and crusted with cried-off make-up. My throat closed with panic and I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe, trying to make sense of what had happened.

  Then I heard Joe’s voice. ‘Alice? Are you home?’

  I looked down at the white duvet cover, my creased work dress, my shoes on the floor next to me. It was all right. I was home. Joe was here.

  Then I remembered what had happened earlier. The stuff with work. The news about Gordon. Meeting Maurice outside the Nag’s Head.

  ‘Joe?’ My voice came out all croaky. ‘I’m in here.’

  I heard his feet on the floorboards outside and the snap of the light switch, and I blinked as brightness flooded the room.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He hurried over and sat on the bed next to me. ‘You smell… Alice, have you been drinking? Did you go out after work or something?’

  ‘Fuck. I stink of sherry, don’t I?’

  ‘Just a bit.’

  ‘Hold on. I’m bursting for a wee.’

  I hurried to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes as I did so. I used the loo, washed my face and cleaned my teeth, then went back to the bedroom and pulled on my pyjamas.

  ‘Alice? What’s happened?’

  ‘I think we need a cup of tea.’

  ‘Tea?’ Joe sounded like I’d suggested we dance the can-can round our living room. Which, to be fair, we had done once, the first night we moved in.

  ‘Tea,’ I said firmly. ‘Come on.’

  He followed me obediently to the kitchen, and while the kettle boiled I poured out the story of what had happened at work that morning.

  ‘So,’ I said at last, relieved that at least I’d managed to get it all out without starting to cry again, ‘it looks like it’s game over for me. No Gordon equals no job for me. Joe, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Sorry?’ He reached across the table and enfolded both my hands in both of his. ‘What have you got to be sorry for? You’ve done nothing wrong. Gordon has, by the sound of things. God, what a creep.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe they sacked him.’

  ‘I can,’ Joe said grimly. ‘Those are serious allegations. They did the only thing they could. Until – unless – it’s proven that whoever accused him was making things up, it has to be assumed he did it.’

  ‘Everyone thinks so. And I think they think I was one of the people who made the allegations.’ I remembered the weird atmosphere in the lift that morning – had it been only twelve hours before? My colleagues’ silence and stares. ‘They were looking at me like I had lipstick on my teeth or something.’

  ‘You probably did have lipstic
k on your teeth.’

  ‘I did not! And Rupert was smirking at me.’

  ‘Rupert smirks at everyone.’

  ‘That’s true, I suppose. But the point is, what am I going to do now?’

  ‘Okay, look, not having a job to walk into when you qualify is a setback. But that’s all it is. What you do is simple: you finish your training, you apply for other roles at Billings and if nothing opens up then you look elsewhere. There’s lots of vacancies for newly qualified people at other firms.’

  I said in a small voice, ‘But I’m not sure I want to do that.’

  I felt Joe’s hands squeeze mine ever so slightly tighter, and I knew he hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘You don’t? But it’s what you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘I thought it was. I thought I’d put in the effort, I’d earned that job and it was mine if I wanted it. But now I feel like I’ve stepped onto a stair that wasn’t there. Like I’m all off balance, and falling.’

  ‘Course you feel like that. You’ve had a shock.’

  ‘The thing is, what happened today… It’s made me realise I haven’t been sure about Billings for a while now. Like, I know it was this great opportunity and everything, but it wasn’t feeling like that. It felt almost like a trap. Like it wasn’t a job, it was a prison sentence or something.’

  ‘But you never said anything.’

  ‘I couldn’t. We needed me to have that job, especially when you weren’t sure you were going to get an offer. I told myself, it’s just nerves, it’s just not liking my rotation in M&A, it’s just Rupert being a dick.’

  ‘Well, Rupert…’

  ‘Is a dick. I know.’ We met each other’s eyes and smiled, and I felt the warmth deep inside me that Joe always made me feel, like a bowl of hot soup on a cold day. If soup was sex on legs, obviously.

  ‘Okay, Alice. Maybe Billings isn’t right for you. There are other firms. You don’t have to give up.’

  ‘But other firms will also have Ruperts. And Gordons. And Joe, seriously, when I think I might never have to go back there again – it’s just the most massive relief.’

  Joe looked at me, his face serious. ‘If that’s the way you’re feeling now, I don’t think it’s going to change. I think about how full-on the next few months are going to be, the hours I’ll be working, the pressure, and sometimes it makes me want to puke with fear. And that’s in Public Law, which I love – helping people, really making a difference. People burn out in this profession – we’ve seen it. I don’t want that to happen to you. If you’re not sure now, maybe it’s just not right for you.’

  I felt a flood of relief that he understood – even if he didn’t know the whole truth. And I found myself saying in a rush, ‘I… I was on my way home, and I bumped into one of the men from the Nag’s Head. You know, the old geezers who play dominoes?’

  ‘Mmhmm.’ Joe raised his eyebrows.

  ‘He bought me a sherry, in the Nag’s Head.’

  ‘Blimey. Sherry with a dominoes player? You’re living your best life.’

  I laughed. ‘He was really kind. We chatted for ages.’

  ‘Okay. So that would be why you smell like a Christmas cake.’

  ‘Or like a pub floor after an eightieth birthday party that got out of hand.’

  ‘Well, now you put it that way…’

  I freed one hand and punched him lightly on the shoulder.

  ‘But go on,’ he said. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Maurice and I were chatting to Shirl, the landlady. She’s desperate for someone to help in the pub. I did this afternoon – I just kind of mucked in. And I’m thinking maybe I could do a few shifts there, just while I figure things out. It wouldn’t be much more than minimum wage but at least I wouldn’t be bringing in no money at all, right?’

  ‘Shifts behind the bar in the Nag’s Head? Are you sure?’

  ‘Look, I know. The place isn’t all that. But I don’t feel like I’m all that either. And it’s something I can do, and hopefully not fuck up too badly. I worked in the local pub back at home in uni holidays, remember? I know how to pull a pint of Guinness properly and everything. It would just be something to do, something to keep me busy until I decide what I really want.’

  ‘Okay,’ Joe said again. But this time he kind of drew it out, like ‘Okaaaay.’

  Like cogs were turning in his mind.

  ‘You think it’s a terrible idea, don’t you?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Alice, I love you and I want you to be happy. Whatever you want to do with your life, you know I’ll support you.’

  ‘Even if I wanted to become a burlesque dancer?’ I said, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

  ‘Mmm. Sexy. Especially if you wanted to be a burlesque dancer.’

  ‘Lion tamer?’

  Joe laughed. ‘You can’t even tame the drawer you keep your tights in.’

  ‘Lions are a piece of piss compared to tights. Everyone knows that.’ Then, serious again, I added, ‘But I do want to do this. I’m almost sure I do, at least for now.’

  ‘You know what, Alice? You’re amazing. You only found out about this thing with Gordon a few hours ago, and you’ve already got a plan. Most people would still be crying into their pints.’

  ‘It won’t bring in much money, though,’ I said. ‘It won’t be enough. Not to pay the rent and the bills and stuff.’

  ‘No, but I think there could be another way of doing that.’

  I felt a leap of hope inside me, tinged with apprehension. What if he suggested giving up our lovely flat and moving somewhere cheaper, or selling his precious vintage watch that had been his grandfather’s? It might be worth quite a bit, but not enough to pay our rent for longer than a few weeks.

  ‘What way?’ I asked impatiently.

  Joe answered slowly, as if he were thinking out loud. ‘So today I stopped off at Sainsbury’s on my way home. I bought some of those fresh ravioli you like, by the way. We should eat soon – it’s late.’

  I realised I was hungry, and sleepy in spite of having slept for a good two hours. But I said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘And when I was in there I bumped into Zoë.’

  ‘Zoë? Your… friend, from university? The one with the food cart in the market?’

  ‘Yeah. Except she doesn’t have the food cart any more. She’s split up with her bloke, Sean, who was working there with her that time we saw them. And he’s taken it. Because it was him that paid for it in the first place.’

  ‘Right. Why did they split up?’

  I wasn’t particularly interested in Zoë’s love life, but the idea that it was seeing Joe, just a few days before, that might have brought this on made me feel weirdly cold inside.

  ‘He’s moving up to Leeds, where he’s from. Apparently the street food scene up there is massive and he reckons it’s peaked in London. But Zoë didn’t want to move.’

  Because now she knows Joe’s here in London?

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘And she’s registered with an agency and she’s got a few kitchen jobs lined up, but nowhere to stay. She’s crashing on a friend’s sofa for the moment, she says.’

  ‘I see.’ The cold feeling in my stomach had just got colder.

  ‘So… if she were to move into our spare room, she’d basically cover your share of the rent. It would give us some breathing space for a few months, and with that and whatever you bring in working in the pub, we’d stay afloat, no problem.’

  Shit. On the one hand, Joe was offering me a lifeline. A way to mitigate my crisis, whether or not it was my fault. But on the other hand, he was reminding me that it would come at a price.

  ‘Joe…? She wasn’t just a friend, was she?’

  My boyfriend ducked his head. Then he looked at me, his blue eyes steady.

  ‘No. We slept together. We met when I was in my third year, at a festival. It was one of those drunken things, you know. We hooked up that night.’

  Don’t be a bunny-boiler, Alice. Everyone has one-n
ight stands at uni.

  But there was something in Joe’s face, like a shadow of long-ago hurt, that told me this hadn’t just been a one-night stand.

  ‘And after that?’ I asked. I’d stopped crying hours before, but now I felt like I might be about to start again.

  ‘She kind of didn’t leave. She stayed at my flat that night and the night after, and then for the next three months. And then she ended it.’

  ‘And you weren’t okay with that?’

  Joe sighed. ‘No. I wasn’t okay with it. I thought I was in love with her. I suppose I was in love with her.’

  Past the lump in my throat, I couldn’t help asking, ‘Are you still? In love with her, I mean.’

  ‘Of course not! I’m in love with you now, you noodle. And speaking of noodles, let’s cook that pasta.’

  He’d been in love with her. Properly in love. And now he wanted her to move in, here, with us? Zoë, with her toned arms and her cascade of hair that was like some kind of copper waterfall and her smile that I’d seen stop Joe in his tracks.

  Over my dead body, I thought.

  But I said, ‘Can I think about it a bit? And see whether the thing at the pub even works out?’

  And Joe wrapped me in one of his amazing hugs that made me feel like nothing bad could ever, ever happen, and kissed the top of my head and said of course, we didn’t need to rush into anything.

  But that icy sense of dread was still there, in the pit of my stomach.

  Eight

  It had only been two weeks, but already central London felt like a foreign country. Instead of dodging nimbly through the crowds as I used to, I found myself stuck behind a group of tourists, jostled and tutted at by a couple of men in suits, and sworn at by a Deliveroo driver on a bicycle.

  Instead of feeling like my natural habitat, the City seemed alien – even hostile. It was very weird and I didn’t like it one bit. But it was Tuesday and, after missing our lunch the previous week because she’d been in court, I was desperate to see Heather.

  Only two weeks, and so much had changed. I’d had a horribly awkward conversation with Samantha, telling her what I’d decided. She’d made it a million times worse (and I’d had to mute my phone so she couldn’t hear me blowing my nose) by being kind and understanding, telling me I didn’t have to work any notice, and assuring me that this didn’t have to mean the end of my legal career. Joe had brought the few possessions I’d left in the office home. I’d FaceTimed Mum and Dad and Drew to tell them what had happened, and my parents’ brave attempt to hide their disappointment and shock had been almost unbearable. And now I was going to see what my best friend’s reaction to my news would be.