‘What’s that?’ He nodded to a black and white flyer, its bold, boxy designs demanding attention from the top of the pile.
‘Oh.’ I looked at him, a little sheepish. ‘It’s an application form.’ I shrugged.
‘For?’ He smiled, encouraging me on, all of a sudden.
‘An art competition – Art Today’s Voices of Tomorrow,’ I explained, the paper in my hands now hidden from view, as his eyes found their way back to my face.
‘Never heard of it.’ The guy shrugged. I didn’t expect him to. I guess it was pretty niche if you weren’t into that kind of thing. ‘But for what it’s worth’ – he fixed his eyes back on mine – ‘I think you should apply.’
‘Thanks.’ I smiled, looking down at the paper. ‘But I don’t take advice from strangers.’ I looked at him again, a playful grin matching the look in his eyes.
‘I’m Sam,’ he said, pushing himself to standing, offering me a hand to pull me up. Sam. ‘Hope to see you around, Jess.’ He looked again from my paintings to me, turning to leave.
‘I think he likes you,’ Zoe whispered, forcing her heavy eyes ajar. I looked up to see the door close, but could have sworn I heard him laughing from the other side.
Chapter 2
1 August 2020 – Sydney, Australia
Sam and my backpack walked half a step in front of me, as I felt my brain fall further and further behind. At the next bend he turned, smiled and asked, ‘You okay?’ No, I wasn’t okay – shocked, scared, excited, but miles away from the humdrum of okay. What the hell was happening?
I silenced the thought, pressing onwards through the now relenting rain, cursing even the weather for calming at Sam’s cue. He made everything better.
Together we followed the pavement tracing a deserted Coogee Beach, winding up the ever-ascending roads until my heartbeat was racing once again. I’d been up and down this hill far more times than I’d liked over the past few weeks, walking the way from the six-person house share that turned out to have only one bedroom and two beds – “at least they are doubles” – to whatever nondescript bar or coffee shop I could hand my CV into. My bedmate’s wandering hands this morning were the final straw. At least at the Coogee Backpacker I’d have my own bunk – for a night or two at least. I knew Sydney was expensive but that much to be nestled into a room with drunken travellers all about a decade younger than me? All about the same age I was around the time I met Sam. I tried my best to ignore the threat of dorm rooms: Sam was here, we were here, heading back to his. Sam didn’t say much as we went, and I was glad – partly because my brain was struggling to master coherent thoughts, never mind sentences. Mostly because this bloody mountain was killing me and all my effort was going into pretending I wasn’t already out of breath. Finally, almost at the top of the hill, he turned left onto Oberon Street. I’d passed the big cream house he gestured to a number of times that week, dreaming of earning enough to afford my own room, never mind my own place. Never for one millisecond did I imagine Sam would be inside.
‘Here it is.’ He smiled, walking down a handful of stone steps and along the path to a big blue door. I tried desperately to calm my heartrate as I watched him walk away. He hadn’t changed a bit: strong shoulders, slim legs and an effortless T-shirt-meets-jeans style that I knew for a fact took less than three minutes to curate.
‘Three-four-one O-ber-on,’ I read the brass door numbers aloud, trying to say anything other than the thousand thoughts flooding my mind. ‘Hey, that kind of rhymes.’
Sam looked at me with his best puppy-trying-to-do-algebra expression – a face I’d seen countless times before, as I made an equally familiar mental note to: shut up. ‘Erm… yeah, sure, if you like.’ Puzzlement was soon replaced by joyful disbelief as he took me in again. ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’ His laugh was full and unreserved, and I cursed every hair on my arms for standing on end. ‘What are the odds?’ He looked from me to the ocean stretching out behind us. All my energy was going into not asking that question, my mind refusing to entertain the thoughts filling my heart: It’s Sam. He’s here. It’s finally happening. Again.
Turning the key in the door, Sam beckoned me into a large stone-floored entrance hall. He ditched my rucksack unceremoniously and led me into an open plan kitchen-living room, all clean, white and bright – nothing like the university halls we had pretty much co-existed in during our time in Nottingham. He gestured towards a spot on a beautiful grey L-shaped sofa and I sat down, still shell-shocked, still skin-soaked, my reservations reminiscent of the first time Sam had taken me back to his. My mind wandered to scenes of two lust-drunk teenagers. I forced myself to focus on the ornately hung abstract artwork that added colour to the walls. Sam had never had an eye for design but it looked like late-onset taste had finally kicked in. He was clearly doing well for himself. I groaned inwardly at my unflattering comparison. Before I had worked out how to not drench the couch, Sam was handing me a large glass of Malbec and suddenly I didn’t care. I let the corner seat engulf me whilst I took my first tentative sips of wine.
‘So, J,’ he began, taking a seat next to me. ‘And I say this with love.’ His eyes twinkled, his brown skin wrinkling at the cheeks, my mind clinging to the word. How could he be so calm, act so normal after all this time? ‘What the hell, may I ask,’ he said, ‘are you doing here?’
I could have asked him the same thing.
‘It’s a long story.’ I slumped further into the sofa, taking a massive gulp of wine. An unflattering one, one that would tell us what we both already knew: you won. I looked around the room, from the pristine kitchenette to the perfectly curated cushions placed on the other chairs around the living space. It was a big place for one person. Did he live here alone? If yes, he was doing better than I thought he was, which kind of made me feel worse. If no, well – who the hell was he living with? My pulse picked up pace at the thought.
‘Okay.’ Sam shrugged nonchalantly, mimicking my actions to a T. For a moment, forgetting so much time had passed, I leaned over to thump his arm, careful not to spill any wine. He feigned shock, but after all this time we were still predictable. The place where our skin had touched still tingled; I wondered if he could feel it too.
‘No, Sam,’ I said, as he smiled at the familiarity of my scold. ‘Your line is “well, we’ve got nothing but time.”’ I rolled my eyes mockingly.
‘Oh man.’ He threw a playful hand to his forehead. ‘I never did remember my lines.’ He smiled again, winking in a way only few people could pull off. ‘Okay, J, take two.’ He puffed up his chest and cleared his throat. ‘Well’ – dramatic pause – ‘we’ve got’ – eyes widening – ‘nothing’ – emphasis added – ‘but time.’ He grinned, revealing a set of bright white teeth, his canines still a little too pointy. ‘Better?’ he asked eagerly, his demeanour now not dissimilar from a puppy having cracked algebra.
‘Much.’ I nodded, taking another gulp of wine. Sam was here, on the other side of the world. The thought rolled round and round my mind. I studied the apartment, gorgeous and grown-up. I looked at Sam, exactly the same. What was he doing here? Maybe if I could just sound it out, find out how long he’d been here, how long he planned to stay, I could play my cards accordingly. Not that I had much in my hand to play. I scanned the room for evidence of housemates but could already tell from the way Sam’s arm reached its way along the back of the sofa, that we were alone. ‘I’ll tell you everything,’ I deflected with the best of intentions. ‘But you have to tell me what the hell you’re doing here first.’ I laughed, taking another sip of wine, willing it to settle my heartrate.
‘You always did get your own way.’ Sam laughed warmly, flirtatiously. That wasn’t true. If it was, we never would have gone our separate ways in the first place. ‘Shoot.’ He grinned.
‘Why are you in Sydney?’ I asked, starting simple but knowing that with us, nothing ever was.
‘I got offered a job here,’ Sam began, not one for using more words than necessary. ‘Soon
after we…’ He looked serious for a moment, like he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. ‘It was good money…’ Clearly. ‘…and I was only going to stay for a year, but then I met some amazing people…’ He broke off for a moment, casting an eye to a wood-framed photo of two torso-baring surfers, each with one arm slung around each other, the other cradling their boards. I should have bloody known he’d find his way back to a beach. This was a step up from his hometown of Brighton, I guess – though Sam would never admit it. I studied the photo more closely, as subtly as I could, Sam’s sentences fading into the background. One face was his, beaming from ear to ear. The other was darker, both his skin and his hair, which flopped wet and wild onto his well-proportioned face. ‘…one thing led to another and I’m still here,’ he finished, drawing my attention back to him. I could see that, but I needed to hear him say it to remind me it was real. ‘For now, at least,’ he added, a little noncommittal, as if leaving the conversation open for wherever it might go next. ‘Can I get you any more wine?’ He looked down at my empty glass, playing the perfect host. Except, it didn’t feel like he was playing, any more. It felt like he’d arrived. Meanwhile I’d felt anything but since I’d stepped foot on Sydney soil. His hand grazed mine as he passed my glass back to me.
‘Your turn.’ Sam reclined further, laying his wine-free hand along the back of the sofa again, his toned arm another testament to his surfing addiction. I took another sip. ‘So, you’re here for work too?’ he prompted, choosing to put the improbability of our situation to one side. My eyes traced his lips as he framed the question, studying each word for ways to evade the truth. I could just tell him. Tell him how my job at an all too niche magazine in London had finally ‘reached a natural end’ (aka, I’d been made redundant without the hefty pay-out – thank you, digital revolution). How my houseshare had also ‘reached a natural end’ (one boy, one girl, one bottle of tequila and the rest is history). How Zoe had suggested we move to Sydney together, before deciding to buy a two-bedroom house in Colchester instead. How on one last night out with the Art Today girls I was introduced to a friend of a friend who knew a friend who had a friend with a spare room in Sydney. A spare room that I could stay in ‘for three months until you get settled’. A spare room that turned out to be a spare corner of a bed. And then, when I had come to Sydney, it had all gone tits up and I had ended up in Woolies without a pick-and-mix, an effing clue or…
My eyes darted from Sam, tanned and toned, to his apartment, an actual home. Then to my rucksack on the floor full of my clothes, messy and worn. Sam had been training to be a doctor when we were together, and I had loved and hated it in equal measure. On the one hand, there was the ‘my boyfriend is a doctor’ prestige; on the other hand there were changing rotas, nightshifts and the fact that your worst day as a humble fine art student could never ever trump the shift in A&E dealing with a four-car crash on the motorway. Clearly, Sam had never painted in oils. He would have qualified by now, qualified into adulthood. It sometimes felt like everyone was growing up and I was just getting old. Just once I wanted someone to think I was doing better than I was and who better than my ex in a fleeting moment in a foreign country? I’d have a job soon enough anyway, not that he’d even be around by then to care. So it wouldn’t technically be a lie, just a little truth in advance.
‘Yeah, for work.’ I nodded, unable to meet his eyes. He could read me like a book; at least he used to. A silence stretched on as my mind struggled to keep up with my mouth: why did I say that? I don’t have a job. I don’t have anything here.
‘My job at Art Today ended.’ Well that part was true at least. Sam’s brow crinkled in concern as he reached his arm a little further in my direction, still instinctively protective of me. I studied it, unsure of what move to make next.
‘Oh, Jess, I’m so sorry.’ He stroked the top of my arm for a moment before pulling away. I guess neither of us knew how to sit alongside each other without a magnetic pull drawing us together. ‘That sounds tough,’ he said, pity scrawled across his face. I’d dreamt about the next time I’d see him a thousand nights over, nestled in the corner of my too-big double bed back home. Pity was never part of the plan.
‘Let me finish, Sam,’ I joked, giving him a playful push against his strong chest. Sam’s laugh filled the room again, turning my words from innocent to innuendo in one lift of his eyebrow. ‘My job at Art Today UK ended…’ Okay, so my words weren’t entirely innocent. Where was I going with this? This was honestly going to be okay. The chances of him ever following up anything I said were minimal. About as minimal as me accidentally following him to Australia. ‘…because they transferred me here to the Australian edition.’
The lie hung between us; like toothpaste out of the tube, there was no getting it back in now. I watched Sam register that I actually had a job here, his free hand playing with his facial hair for a moment before a smile spread across his face. He reached his hand out to stroke my shoulder again, closer with every fib, closer to all he’d hoped; he’d always thought art journalism was a good fit for me.
‘Jess, that’s amazing!’ He pulled me into a hug, his scent filling my senses for the first time in years. ‘You have a job in Sydney.’ He laughed again, breaking away. ‘I actually can’t believe it.’ He shook his head. That made two of us. ‘When do you start?’
Good question. I searched my mind for a good answer. I could just say Monday and pray I’d never see him again; there was a first time for everything.
‘I’ll have to drop by and say hey,’ Sam continued. Shit, shit, shit. I could just come clean now, tell him I was joking. Or tell him that I was applying for a job there but it hadn’t quite come through.
‘Sam I…’ I began, somewhere between guilty and dumbfounded. Sam’s body lingered a little closer, his eyes darting to my mouth, watching for what it might say – or do – next, caught between delight and disbelief. ‘In two weeks.’ The words spilled out as Sam softened again. ‘I start in two weeks.’
Oh crap. You’ve done it now, Jess.
‘So you have a bit of time before then?’ Sam asked eagerly. Why, what did he have in mind? I imagined anything but the truth: I had a hell of a lot longer than a bit of time.
‘Yeah, a little,’ I lied; it was too late to go back now. ‘I wanted to see a bit of Sydney first.’
‘Alone?’ Sam said, a little too hurriedly. Did he want me to be alone? I studied his expression, questioning his motive for bringing me back here for the hundredth time since I’d arrived. My heart started to gallop, everything opening to him again. For a moment, I stalled. I could lie about this too. Just a hint of someone special, a brief flash on his face of excitement morphing into envy; isn’t that what every ex wanted? But I wanted one thing more. And looking at Sam, awaiting my response, his arm on the sofa, inching closer still, it seemed like we finally wanted the same thing, all over again.
‘Alone.’ I nodded as Sam smiled broadly and my heart leapt in my chest. ‘And you? Do you live here alone?’ Sam cast a quick look to the photo of him and his surfer bud propped up on the side table as I took in the size of the space once again. He hesitated for a moment, forcing his gaze away from the picture and back to me. ‘A lot of the time,’ he said, still a little nervous. I guess we both were. It had been so long. ‘But technically there’s the two of us here. Hey, where are you living?’ Sam drew my attention away from his hot housemate. I gave a shifty look to my abandoned rucksack, praying it wasn’t obvious. I wouldn’t take a job on the other side of the world without having somewhere to live. That would be silly – the irony of the thought caught in my mind, stalling my response. And I sure as hell couldn’t tell him I was struggling to afford a hostel. No, he was a grown-up, and he thought I was a grown-up. A grown-up wouldn’t lie. A grown-up would have an…
‘I have an apartment.’ My voice and brain became further detached. Shit, shit, shit. ‘In Randwick,’ I added for good measure. At least this lie was confined to a slightly cheaper part of town; it’s w
here I was hoping to be before all this happened anyway, before I realised I hadn’t a hope of affording a place until I got myself a job. Sam was just speeding up my timeline. I’d make it all happen before he even had a chance to realise it was ever in doubt.
Sam smiled before looking down at my rucksack, back up to my smudged cheeks. I looked like a homeless person, because in actual fact I was a homeless person. ‘It was meant to be ready today but the landlord decided to do some last-minute renovations.’ I knew my answer wasn’t enough but that I’d already said too much. I forced a smile, hoping it would move the conversation forward. Sam exhaled deeply, trying to keep up with my job, my being here; I always did exhaust him – and not in a good way, not like the first time all those years ag— stop it, brain, stop it. His hand inched ever closer along the back of the sofa. Part of me longed for it to curl around me, to draw me in, for him to lean in and kiss me, to stop any more stupid sentences falling from my stupid mouth.
‘So, you’re not allowed in your apartment yet?’
I nodded, every inch of me wanting to retreat, wanting to start again.
‘And you’ve got two weeks before you start your new job?’
I nodded, nervously. He knew; I could tell he knew. I should have known better than to lie to the one person who knew me better than I knew myself. Had known.
‘So, what are you going to do until you’re settled?’
Settled. That sodding word. The word that made anyone single, unmarried, mortgage-less or childless feel like they were in a perpetual state of flux, like they were invited to a fancy dinner party but didn’t know the right way in.
The Spare Bedroom: A totally heartwarming, funny and feel good romantic comedy Page 2