‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
After a hurried phone conversation, he returns to his van where he sits having a drink and a chocolate bar. A half hour or so passes in which time Astrid and I turn several eager customers away and do a mail-out reminding our followers of tonight’s Christmas bash. We’re in the middle of polishing glasses for mulled wine when an unmarked car pulls up. The plumber gets out of his van and chats to the bloke who’s just arrived, pointing to the windows above the shop and Mr Love’s door. The bloke, a youngish guy with scruffy hair, opens the boot of his car and takes out a tool box of some kind.
‘What’s he got in there?’ asks Astrid.
‘Not a clue.’
The dude heads over to Mr Love’s door, kneeling down in front of it.
‘He must be a locksmith,’ I say, my suspicions mounting but not alerting Astrid to my concerns of why the leak has occurred.
‘They can’t just let themselves into his flat without permission.’ She puts down a glass and goes to tell them so.
‘It may be that he isn’t able to give his permission,’ I say tentatively, holding her back.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning, maybe all those brown parcels and nursey visits weren’t drugs and prostitutes. Maybe it was medication and real health workers. Maybe when you saw Mr Love that day, he had discharged himself from hospital. I hate to say it, Astrid, but I think Mr Love may have had an accident…I think he may be needing help.’
The blood drains from Astrid’s face.
‘Probably best you let them get on with what they’re doing.’
The locksmith cracks the last of the locks, the plumber and he head upstairs, and as they do, an ambulance arrives, blue lights flashing, its siren wailing.
‘You know what this reminds me of?’ I ask Astrid, watching Mr Love being placed in the back of the ambulance on a stretcher. The paramedic told us it was ‘touch and go, at best’.
‘What?’ asks Astrid, trembling on the sofa. I hand her a mug of sweet tea.
‘When Harry and Sally are driving to New York and Harry starts on about Sally not succeeding as a journalist in New York. And he says something about dying a New York death where nobody notices for weeks until the smell drifts into the hallway. That’s what this reminds me of. Let’s just be thankful he had the bath running when he fell.’
‘I’m not sure how appropriate it is to be comparing Mr Love’s plight to something that Harry, a fictional character, said.’
‘Right, I know.’ I watch the ambulance doors being closed. ‘But what else is there to say?’
‘We could discuss the fact that we’ve been working away, ignoring him deteriorating, on his own, above us? Or the fact that I’ve been too preoccupied with moaning about him not paying us to check on him.’
‘We can’t blame ourselves; he wouldn’t have opened the door anyway.’
Astrid shrugs her shoulders a little in acceptance. ‘But doesn’t it give you the chills? Doesn’t it give you any sense of perspective, or pose any greater life questions?’
‘Of course it does, but…’
‘What?’
‘Dwelling on it won’t help, life goes on.’
‘Does it?’
‘Yes,’ I answer.
‘You do realise this is most likely the end of Love Books, don’t you? And the end of our income.’ She wraps her hair round her finger so tightly that the tip of it turns white. ‘As of now, we have nothing.’
‘That’s not true,’ I say, sitting down beside her. ‘We can still run the place, even if he’s unwell.’
Astrid looks at me as if I’ve lost my mind. ‘Nina, you heard what the ambulance guy said: he’s not going to get better. The best outcome is that he’s put in a home, in which case he’ll most likely be deemed incapable, and the company will be put into administration. We’re out of work.’
‘We’ll be okay,’ I say, trying to reassure her, but wondering if she might actually have a point.
She shakes her head. ‘In a couple of weeks the house will be gone, and there won’t be anything from the divorce settlement.’
‘Aidan won’t divorce you. He’ll get better.’
She looks at me candidly and says, ‘He already filed the papers.’
‘No.’
‘Way,’ she says, sipping her tea. ‘He’s gone back up north. Moved in with his sister. It’s over.’
None of it makes any sense. ‘I don’t know what to say.’ I place my hand on hers.
‘There isn’t much to say. I just have to pick myself up, dust myself down and move on because if I don’t that’s what awaits me.’ She points to the departing ambulance.
‘It’s so hard to imagine you without Aidan, and Aidan without you. He’s your love.’
‘He was my love,’ she says, her voice breaking.
‘I’m so sorry, Astrid,’ I say, stroking her hair.
‘At least I still have you,’ she says, closing her eyes, a tear rolling down her cheek.
38
We cancelled the party, closed the shop and went home to Mum, who made us burgers and milk shakes, the thing we always asked for as teenagers when we’d had a really bad day at school. Over the following week we were informed by lawyers that the business would be put into administration and both the shop and flat sold. It broke Astrid’s heart to lose the shop, the thing she’d worked so hard to transform. Without her husband, home or job she spent the build-up to Christmas with us, seemingly enjoying all that I endured, such as my mother’s carol singing round the piano and endless heating up of M&S mince pies.
I tried hard not to lick my own, self-inflicted wounds but found myself unable to stop thinking about Ben and the ending he’d written. Had he received my version? Read it? Burnt it? Passed it on? I badgered Caroline’s assistant to hear if she had any news for Castle Rock but there was nothing, and with each passing day I became more and more resigned to the fact that I had blown my golden opportunity at becoming a screenwriter.
By the time Christmas Day arrived I had come up with a master plan for the New Year. I would forget writing, and Ben, and forge a new, independent life as a social worker! I would retrain and make a worthwhile contribution to society rather than fannying around, broke and miserable, writing scripts that nobody wants.
‘Have another rum truffle.’ Astrid hands me a nearly empty box.
‘Thanks,’ I say, taking one and dropping chocolate sprinkles all over Mum’s upholstery.
‘Elf?’ she asks, scrolling through the telly menu. The mere mention of it makes me think of Ben and me driving through the park, passing the Bethesda Fountain.
‘Why not?’ I bite into the truffle, which is possibly my ten-thousandth calorie of the day. The top button on my trousers was undone long ago.
The opening animation is just beginning when my phone rings.
‘Who is that?’ asks Astrid, knowing that pretty much everyone who might call me on Christmas Day is either asleep beside us in the lounge, playing with new toys in the dining room, or in the kitchen tidying up the dinner mess.
‘Don’t know.’ I stare at ‘withheld number’ flashing on the screen. If I weren’t so tiddly I might ignore it but I am tiddly, so I answer. Astrid pauses the movie.
‘Nina?’
‘The one and only,’ I say. Astrid hums the Chesney tune.
‘It’s Ben.’
My stomach does a triple salchow. ‘Ben!’ I say, as much to Astrid as to him. All the hairs on my arms stand on end.
‘Happy Christmas!’
‘Happy Christmas to you,’ I say, realising too late Christmas isn’t a Jewish festival.
‘How are you?’
‘Uh, fine.’ I remove my cracker hat, as though he might be able to see it. ‘How about you?’
‘As well as you might expect a Jew at Christmas to be.’
‘Right,’ I laugh then pause, wondering why he’s calling me on Christmas Day.
‘I spoke to Mike yesterday.’
; ‘Oh,’ I say, hoping he’s not about to tell me Mike liked his ending better than mine.
‘Rob loves your new ending!’
‘He what?’ I say, mouthing to Astrid what he’s just told me. She does a little chair dance of delight.
‘Rob loves it. I’ve known Mike likes it for a while but I’ve been waiting for Rob’s feedback before telling you. He’s even sent it on to the original cast, all of them.’
‘OMG,’ I say, not even caring how much I despise the expression, this is surely as good as it gets.
‘That’s the reason it’s taken me so long to get in touch. I wanted it to be the best news possible. I hope it’s a good Christmas present for you.’
‘It’s the best.’ I pause for a moment and think about Marilyn’s husband laying his cards on the table. I decide it’s time for me to do the same. ‘Well, second best,’ I say tentatively, hoping I’m doing the right thing. ‘The best would be knowing you might want to get back together.’
There’s a long pause from the other end of the phone. Astrid leans in, clinging to my arm in anticipation of his answer.
‘I’m not sure that is what I want,’ he says. Astrid slumps. ‘Maybe best we keep it as friends, for now.’
Friends, I think. That old chestnut.
‘Oh well,’ I say, trying to keep a stiff upper lip. ‘At least I know.’
‘Right, better we’re straight with each other. There’ll be a bit more work to do on the script so best to know where we stand.’
‘Exactly.’ I wait for him to say something else.
‘Oh, and I don’t know if you’re interested but, I’ve had some interest in my script – that’s because of you. You taught me to follow my dreams, to believe in myself.’
‘I’m happy for you,’ I say, and I mean it, even if friends is all we can be.
‘Ben,’ comes a female voice in the background. I swallow back a lump in my throat. Of course he’s back with Jen, why wouldn’t he be?
‘Just coming,’ he calls, his hand over the receiver. ‘I gotta go.’
‘I hear that. I—’
‘Yes?’ he says, expectantly.
‘Nothing,’ I say, shooing away an unhelpful thought. ‘Merry Christmas.’
‘Merry Christmas, Nina,’ he says and puts down the phone.
39
Ed and Verity’s New Year party is pretty much a carbon copy of last year’s bar the fact that this year Verity is pregnant and I really don’t want to be here, as opposed to last year when I was only slightly bah-humbug about it. Other than that it all looks much of a muchness: same drinks, same nibbles, and same guests. except for Aidan, Will or Ben.
‘I’m surprised we got an invite,’ I say to Astrid, filling my plate at the kitchen island.
‘We didn’t. The invite was for Aidan and me but, after the year you and I have had, I figured we were entitled to some free grub and champers.’
‘Agreed,’ I say, downing a glass as Verity approaches.
‘Astrid,’ she says. ‘Ed told me your news, you can’t know how sorry we are.’
‘Thank you,’ says Astrid. ‘We’ll be okay.’
‘Are you sure?’ Verity’s sympathy sounds so suffocating it’s as if Astrid has just told her she has terminal cancer. ‘Anyway, Ed and I thought it would be a good idea to give you girls some fun.’ She indicates for two Prince William look-alikes to join us.
‘Jesus,’ I mutter, taking another swig of bubbly.
‘Nina, Astrid – Hugo, George.’
George takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
‘Tell me this isn’t happening,’ I say to Astrid, as George whisks me onto the dance floor.
After being pretty much assaulted on the dance floor for an hour I meet Astrid at the buffet and tell her I’m going home.
‘You can’t!’
‘Why?’ I ask, sensing she’s not telling me something.
‘Because you won’t get a taxi?’ I laugh; she’s quoting Marie from the final scene in When Harry Met Sally. All I need now is for Ben to show up, just like Harry, and declare his undying love for me! ‘That and the fact that…’ she tails off before finishing, helping herself to more caviar.
‘What?’
‘Just wait for midnight, okay? Then you can do what you like.’
‘Astrid—’ I’m about to demand she spill the beans when I hear Ed shout, ‘Ben!’
I turn to see Ben, standing in the entrance of the kitchen, scanning the room.
‘You knew he was coming?’ I ask Astrid.
‘Of course, you moron. Why the hell would I drag you here if it wasn’t for a reason as good as this?’
I give Astrid a crusher hug and walk towards Ben who is walking towards me, seemingly in slow motion. He looks even better than he did at Will’s engagement party, and I vow then and there not to blow things the way I did that night.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, when we eventually meet under Verity’s mirror-ball in the middle of the room.
‘Looking for you.’
I can tell from the intense look in his eyes that the friends line he used on Christmas Day wasn’t entirely accurate.
‘What about Jen?’
‘What about her?’
‘Wasn’t that her on the phone?’
‘You loon!’ he smiles, placing his hand on my face. Every part of me weakens. ‘That was my sister.’
I laugh lightly, embarrassed. ‘You’ve come all the way from New York.’
‘Yes,’ he says, looking even deeper into my eyes. ‘I have something important to say.’
‘What?’ I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
‘That I love you.’
For a moment the whole world might as well be standing still. Inside I gasp, and the world starts spinning again; outside I play my poker-face.
‘How do you suppose I’ll respond to this?’ I ask, tongue in cheek, quoting Sally from the final scene of the movie.
‘How about you love me?’ he says.
‘I’m not sure it works that way.’
‘How about like this, and I’m going to break from script for a moment so bear with me.’ He clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
‘I love the fact that you’re in no way afraid to be you even when your clothes are inside out, back to front or the wrong size. I love your weird crab walk and how you’re a complete klutz, and have no idea how sexy you are. I love the fact you always want what the other person has ordered, and that it takes you half an hour to decide which slice of cake to have. I love it that after spending the day with you I can still smell you on my clothes, and I love the way you’re so bloody minded you’ll say no to the biggest film director on the planet!’
I smile goofily at him.
‘I came here tonight,’ he says, brushing stray strands of hair from my face. ‘Because I know how much you love When Harry Met Sally, and because I know you love me, and I wanted you to have your own Nora Ephron moment. Is this good enough for you?’
I nod, dumbstruck, unable to believe that I’m living out my very own happy ending. Astrid was right, Ephron’s heroes do exist: smart, funny, kind and romantic, and I stumbled into Ben just when I least expected it.
‘And because I’ve realised that I want to spend the rest of my life with you; I want the rest of my life to start as soon as possible.’
‘You do?’
‘I do.’ He puts his arms around me. I start to cry tears of joy. He kisses me. A long, all-consuming kiss. Verity’s disco ball spins around, overhead, twinkling. We keep kissing, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ playing in the background.
Epilogue
By the end of January the script had been bought by Castle Rock, making Caroline and me the best of friends again, and Caroline possibly the most relieved and happy agent in London. The first actors’ read-throughs are scheduled for early summer when, unbelievably, my dream of meeting Billy and Meg should come true. I officially moved out of Mum and Dad’s and into Ben’s brownstone on the Uppe
r West Side. I’m free to step onto the stoop each morning with as much perkiness as Meg Ryan. Life is sweet.
Back in London, Mr Love passed away, and the shop and his flat came on the market. Knowing Astrid’s passion for the business I couldn’t let the opportunity pass her by. I bought it with the money I’d earned from the script, refitted it, made Astrid the managing director of the company and the tenant of the property. Although Aidan’s depression continued to keep Astrid at arm’s length she was able to find peace in her work and new home. Love Books has become a destination bookshop, loved by people all across the city, a haven for bibliophiles.
Ben and I arranged our wedding for Valentine’s Day. There was only ever one venue in the running – the Puck Building, home of Jess and Marie’s wedding and Harry’s proposal.
If Ben and I had been one of Nora Ephron’s married couples recounting how they met and married, our scene would have read something like this:
NINA
The first time we met properly I wasn’t into him.
BEN
You gave yourself a false name!
NINA
Right, you really irritated me.
BEN
The second time we met you pretended not to remember me.
NINA
It’s true. And the third time we met you really pissed me off.
BEN
Yeah, that wasn’t the impression I was going for. I really fancied you.
NINA
No you didn’t!
BEN
I did. I’ve always fancied you.
NINA
I didn’t fancy you. I thought you were an over-stylised, over-opinionated moron.
BEN
Then, after a while, we became friends.
NINA
Then we got together.
BEN
And then we fell out.
NINA
I fell out with you.
BEN
Yeah, I didn’t really fall out with you. You were just pig-headed.
NINA
Then he told me he loved me.
BEN
We were married six weeks later.
NINA
It was a beautiful wedding.
BEN
Yeah, we had this incredible four-tier cake, each tier a different flavour –
If Harry Met Sally Again Page 23