If Harry Met Sally Again

by Annie Robertson

  ‘I was there!’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yes! I was working on my script in the bar and I saw Carmen with an older man. She was all dolled up and flirting and…’ I stop, realising the colour has drained from Will’s face. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  ‘No. It’s me who should be sorry. You can’t know how sorry I am.’

  He looks between my lips and eyes, the way he used to; I know he wants to kiss me.

  My heart races, the noise of the room subsides. Will moves towards me, placing his lips on mine. We kiss. But the tingle has gone. I might as well be a teenager again, practising kissing on my wrist.

  Suddenly, Will pulls away. I wonder if he feels as I do, that it doesn’t feel right, that the chemistry isn’t there anymore. He looks up. I do too. We see Carmen, staring at us.

  Will starts to say something, an excuse of some kind, but Carmen talks over him.

  ‘If you have any intention of marrying me, Will Masterson, you’ll stop right there.’ And quick as a flash she takes her drink and throws it straight at both of us.

  34

  ‘You know, you could just rent another flat,’ says Astrid, helping me arrange the contents of my life into my pint-sized bedroom at Mum and Dad’s house. It doesn’t help that a therapy bed and all of Mum’s Botox kit is taking up half the room.

  ‘Can’t.’ I try to find a spot for the microwave under my bed.

  ‘Why not? You have your advance,’ she says, putting on James, ‘Sit Down’ on my old CD player.

  ‘I spent most of that paying Will’s half of the rent.’ I don’t mention the money I’ve been giving her and Aidan. ‘Until Mr Love pulls his finger out and starts paying us our wages again, I can’t afford a room in a house-share let alone a flat of my own.’

  ‘You know if you swallowed your pride and wrote the ending Rob wants you’d land yourself a big fat cheque.’

  I jam a box of cleaning products beside the microwave. ‘Artistic integrity is more important than money.’

  ‘So you’re just throwing in the towel?’ she asks, sitting down on the bed, which isn’t helping my cause.

  ‘Astrid, I’m not in the mood to talk about it.’

  ‘Why? Because of what happened last night?’

  I shoot her a look that says give it a rest and start on finding a space for my box of condiments and spices, which have come with me every house move for the last decade.

  ‘I told you going to the party was a bad idea. Now not only are you messed up about Will you’re also messed up about Ben.’

  ‘I’m not messed up about Will,’ I say, my head under the bed.

  ‘Well, you should be!’

  ‘Why?’ I ask, sitting up.

  ‘Because his fiancé caught you kissing him!’

  ‘His fiancé has been cheating on him and, need I remind you, she’s the reason we broke up in the first place.’

  ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right, Gillespie. You know that.’

  ‘Yes, Astrid, I do. But given I only have platonic feelings for Will it really doesn’t matter.’ If last night taught me anything it’s that any romantic notion I had for Will has well and truly gone.

  ‘I’m pretty certain Carmen thinks it matters.’

  ‘I’m pretty certain she doesn’t.’ I twist to gather up a collection of old magazines and see Astrid fighting back words. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just so unlike you, that’s all.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘To be so self-absorbed.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I say, putting the mags down in front of me with a thud.

  ‘And what’s worse is, you really can’t see it.’

  I cross my arms. ‘So, explain it to me.’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘Everything’s about you. Ooh, I want a different ending, boo hoo. Ooh, Will got off with me at his engagement party but who cares about the consequences for him and his fiancé. Gosh, Ben won’t side with me professionally; he’s so indifferent about me, and my precious script. It’s all you, you, YOU! You’re so preoccupied with yourself you haven’t even noticed how hard I’ve been working at the shop – you haven’t once apologised for dumping me with all that extra work.’

  I wait for a moment to be certain she’s done before saying, ‘How long have you been festering about this?’ I know I should be apologising but feel too under attack right now to do so.

  ‘This isn’t about me, Nina,’ she says, exasperated. ‘It’s about sorting out you! You need to get on that phone to Mike Steinfeldt and tell him you’ll write Rob’s ending. And while you’re at it, you need to call Ben and tell him you’re sorry for being a monumental, self-absorbed, douchebag.’

  ‘Ben doesn’t care about me. I was right all along about him – he is an over-stylised, over-opinionated, disloyal moron.’ I fiddle with neatening the magazine stack, knowing what I’ve said isn’t true.

  ‘You know he was right to question your objectivity, sometimes even I wonder if you have any!’

  Her words sting even more than Ben’s.

  She gets up and opens the box with all my sentimental crap in it. From it she pulls out the Valentine’s card with the elephants that I shoved in there in a moment of weakness.

  ‘Who do you think gave you this?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. Will said it wasn’t from him.’

  ‘No shit, Sherlock!’ she mumbles, now rummaging in my box of work stuff for one of my notebooks. ‘Look!’

  I take the card and the book, trying to figure out what she’s on about.

  ‘Look at the handwriting,’ she says, as if I were a complete imbecile. She points to some of Ben’s handwritten notes. ‘Notice anything?’

  I compare the two.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say, slowly. ‘It’s from Ben?’

  ‘Yes, Ben!’ She sits down beside me.

  ‘But we’d barely met back in February…’

  ‘Duh!’ she says, smacking the heel of her hand against her forehead. ‘He’s been chasing you since the moment you met! You weren’t just a convenient shag, he does actually like you.’

  ‘But he had a girlfriend in February…’ I say, unprepared to accept the truth. Because if Ben genuinely does like me then I have to be prepared to be hurt again, and I just don’t know if I’m there yet.

  ‘That doesn’t make him an out-and-out bad person, Nina. Ephron’s principle characters often started out with other love interests. Plus, need I remind you, you’re also the other woman in all of this, and there’s barely a bad bone in you.’

  ‘I guess,’ I say, slowly. ‘He did say he wanted to get my number that time at the Firehouse.’

  ‘And what, you thought it was some elaborate ploy to make sure he got a credit on a script he had no idea existed?’

  ‘I don’t know what I thought.’

  ‘Right, because you’re not thinking straight. You can’t have someone chase you for a year and then dismiss them out of hand because you have professional differences.’

  ‘Those professional differences make what we have – had – very complicated.’

  ‘It really doesn’t. It’s fate.’

  ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘You and Aidan were destined to be together, Ben and me, well, it’s just not the same thing at all.’

  ‘Nina…’

  She pauses, clearly contemplates telling me something.

  ‘What?’ I wonder what else I have or haven’t done.

  She lets out a small, derisory laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  She looks me straight in the eye. ‘Aidan left me.’

  Her words hang heavy.

  I look at her, disbelievingly, waiting for her to say, ha ha, just kidding, fooled you! But she doesn’t.

  ‘When?’

  ‘Sometime between Ben kissing you and you meeting Rob Reiner.’

  ‘But how,’ I stammer, feeling utterly appalled that I could have missed something as fundamentally important as this. ‘How did this happen?’

  �
�Things haven’t been right for a long time,’ she sighs, some of her upset with me waning. ‘But I thought it was a bell tolling far in the distance, like a dream. Then I woke up to find I’m lying right beside the sodding bell!’

  ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’

  She looks at me as if to ask, What would have been the point?

  ‘I know I’ve been distracted but all you had to do was say and—’

  ‘What?’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘You’d have dropped everything?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘Even if that was the case, it wasn’t for you to fix. Aidan and I had to figure it out for ourselves.’

  ‘You still should have said.’

  ‘Maybe I was waiting for you to notice, or for me to stop being in denial.’ She twists her lips.

  I sit on that for a bit, feeling guilty.

  ‘Do you know why he left?’

  ‘He said he felt ashamed at not being able to support me.’

  ‘He felt more ashamed about that than leaving you?’

  ‘His anxiety has really taken over. He’s trying to control whatever he can. I guess that’s depression for you.’

  ‘Wow.’ I let out a low whistle, contemplating it all.

  ‘So now not only do I have a depressed, unemployed, soon to be ex-husband, I’ll also be jobless and homeless, given that the bank is about to repossess my home.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘It is,’ she says. ‘I have documents to prove it.’

  I sit down. ‘This really is your rock bottom, isn’t it?’

  She nods.

  ‘And I’ve been a really crap friend.’

  ‘It hasn’t been your finest hour.’ She places her head on my shoulder. ‘I’m really sorry, Astrid.’

  ‘Me too.’

  We hug.

  ‘So,’ she says, letting go, taking a deep breath and gathering new energy. ‘Do you really not see how you and Ben are destined to be together?’

  ‘No!’ I laugh.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘You genuinely can’t see that you’re living out your very own Ephron romcom, and Ben is the hero of the piece?’

  I squint at her, confused.

  ‘Providence has been trying to throw you guys together for over a year – the Firehouse, the New Year’s party, the theatre and then finally the script bringing you together. It’s just like the way Harry and Sally kept meeting – the car journey, the airport, the bookshop – they were meant to be together, and so are you and Ben.’

  ‘But if you remember, I don’t believe Harry and Sally are meant to be together. Harry was too opinionated for Sally, just like Ben is for me.’

  ‘Or maybe both Harry and Ben are just smart, and it’s misconstrued as annoyingly opinionated.’

  I screw up my face doubtfully.

  ‘You know the right guy can turn out to be the wrong guy. You thought Will was Mr Right and he wasn’t. Isn’t it possible that the wrong guy, Ben, could turn out to be the right guy?’

  I turn to face her, prepared to hear her out.

  ‘Can you not see the romance in your script, the very thing that broke up you and Will, being the very thing that brought you and Ben together?

  ‘Ben may have started out as the anti-hero but, my god, the man has busted a gut to win you over. How can you not see the romance in all of this? All the elements are there: the script being an opportunity of a lifetime; the initial antagonism; you guys getting together, and then falling at the final hurdle. All that’s left is the ending. You can fulfil your dream of having your script made, if you don’t let pride stand in your way. And you can have your Ephron hero – romantic, funny, smart and kind – if you don’t let sheer pig-headedness stand in your way. You’re living the Ephron dream, Nina, your happy ending is in reach. You just have to realise it.’

  ‘You may have a point,’ I concede. ‘Although he hasn’t proved himself a romantic.’

  ‘Yet,’ she says, putting her arm around me. ‘And I do have a point, and I’m telling you all of this because I love you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Don’t you love me too?’

  ‘Only when you’re nice to me!’ I lean in and wipe my nose on her jumper.

  ‘Oh, go ahead, it wasn’t one of my favourites anyway,’ she says, quoting Harry, and making me laugh like a drain.

  35

  ‘Another year, another bonfire,’ I say to Dad as I watch Mum strike the match to light the fire, almost a week after Bonfire’s Night.

  ‘Should be a good one this year,’ he says, sitting on the patio beside me. He had the plaster on his leg removed a couple of days ago.

  ‘They always are,’ sings Mum, coming over to kiss Dad.

  ‘Guys!’ I wince, never one for displays of parental affection, which since the accident have become much more frequent.

  ‘What’s happening with that screenwriter chap?’ asks Mum.

  ‘Not sure,’ I reply. I messaged Ben, after my bollocking from Astrid to ask if we could talk but he hasn’t got back to me. I guess I deserve that.

  ‘I thought he had potential.’

  ‘You never met him.’

  ‘Your mother just wants you to be happy,’ says Dad, patting Mum’s backside.

  ‘There are other forms of happiness than having a boyfriend.’

  ‘Love and purpose equal happiness,’ says Dad.

  ‘What does aimlessness and perpetually single equal? Melancholy?’

  ‘You’re not aimless, you’ve got the script,’ says Mum.

  ‘I had the script.’ I hate having to tell them this when I’m now regretting the whole sorry incident and trying desperately to think of ways to climb out of the gigantic hole I’ve dug for myself.

  It occurred to me after the incident with Will, and subsequently hearing that the wedding is definitely off, that perhaps it would be okay for Truman and Anna not to marry; lots of people don’t feel it’s right for them, and people do find themselves taking the wrong relationship too far, even to the point of the altar. But that still leaves me the issue of no happy ending, and there’s still no way I’m remarrying Harry and Sally.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, I blew it. They weren’t prepared to go with my ending and I wasn’t prepared to go with theirs, so we reached a stalemate and that’s that.’

  ‘What’s what?’ asks Narissa, arriving with Toby and the kids. Narissa and Toby have been so busy this was the first night everyone could get together.

  ‘I’m no longer working on the Ephron script.’

  ‘Oh Nina, that’s crap! I’m so sorry.’ She gives me a big sisterly hug.

  ‘Thanks, Nissy.’ It feels nice to have her support for once.

  ‘Is that why you’re living back here? You can’t afford your rent?’

  Even if her support is short-lived.

  ‘Yes, Narissa, because I have don’t have a husband to sponge off!’

  ‘If you got yourself a proper job!’ she sings, parodying Mum.

  ‘Ha-bloody-ha!’

  She tussles my hair affectionately, in a way that say ‘you’ll be okay’ without actually having to say it.

  ‘What news from Clapham?’ Dad asks Toby as Tilly and Henry load up their forks on sticks with marshmallows.

  I half expect Toby to tell Dad about their impending divorce but instead he starts to tell him about the neighbours.

  ‘Same shenanigans. I don’t know how Narissa tolerates it. If it was me at home all day I’d have gone round there and given them a mouthful.’

  ‘That’s what lawyers are for.’ Narissa laughs and reaches for Toby’s hand. ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask.

  ‘Our neighbours are excavating their garden to add a basement swimming pool – everyone on the street has signed a petition about it. I’m steering the group, visiting the lawyers, trying to put an end to it all. It’s horrible.’

  ‘I thought you loved that sort of st
uff.’

  ‘What, being the neighbourhood representative? Hardly!’

  ‘But you do that kind of thing so well.’

  ‘I may do it well but it’s not what I set out to do with my life. We can’t all be like you.’

  I furrow my brow. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning, we can’t all be pursuing our dream career, even if we want to. Some of us have other commitments.’ She nods towards the kids.

  ‘But I thought you didn’t care about a career. I thought you loved being a wife and mother, like Mum.’

  Nissy shrugs. ‘You don’t care about it until you’re robbed of the opportunity to have one.’

  ‘Oh…’ I say, slightly ashamed not to have picked up on my sister’s discontent.

  ‘So, my advice to you is to get back to your writing before you find yourself regretting it and we have to listen to you talking about what might have been for the rest of our lives. Trust me, if I had an opportunity like that, I wouldn’t be throwing it away. You don’t know how lucky you are.’

  For once I know my sister has a point.

  ‘Anyway, does this mean your trips to the lawyers were only about the neighbours because I thought…’ I stop, checking the kids aren’t in earshot.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I thought you were getting divorced,’ I whisper, embarrassed.

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea!’

  ‘Well…I don’t know.’ I can’t believe I invented issues for Narissa and Toby and, at the same time, missed Astrid and Aidan’s real troubles. ‘Just me reading too much into things as usual.’

  ‘You are funny, Neenaw. I do wonder about you sometimes.’

  ‘You’re not the only one,’ I say, my thoughts turning to Ben and of what I might do to win him, and the script, back again.

  36

  Over the next few weeks I bombarded Ben with messages, emails and voicemails but to no avail. He categorically ignored my every attempt to contact him, and who could blame him? Talk about a taste of my own medicine. To take my mind off things, and to make it up to Astrid, I threw myself into the bookshop and our Thanksgiving author signing with Tom Black.

  ‘There is something wonderfully Ephron about Thanksgiving,’ says Astrid, carving a pumpkin for the occasion.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about Ephron,’ I say, arranging clumps of bright autumn berries in bowls. In an effort to prove myself to Ben, I’ve been trying to chip away at Truman’s break-up speech but nothing I’ve written feels right and I’ve almost put myself off Ephron for life.