The One Who's Not the One: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Keris Stainton

  ‘No problem,’ Cat said. ‘Actually it’s here.’

  She slid open the desk drawer to her right and handed him the file. He blinked down at it for a second before saying, ‘Right. Great. Thanks,’ and heading back towards his office. He stopped in the doorway and turned back to look at Cat.

  ‘Nick’s coming in this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Are you free?’

  Cat flicked open the red hardback notebook she used as a diary and ran her finger down the blank page.

  ‘Should be,’ she said.

  Colin gave her a thumbs up and closed his office door behind him.

  Cat kicked off her shoes and pulled her feet up so she was sitting cross-legged in her chair. She stared at her reflection in the black screen of her computer. She felt… weird. Shaken. Even though pretty much everyone she knew had been mugged at some point and it could have been so much worse. She tried to take a mental inventory of her purse, but beyond her debit card, a credit card that was forever up to its limit, and various shop loyalty cards, she couldn’t think of what else she might have lost.

  She wondered idly why Nick was coming in. He worked in RMJ’s other branch in Soho Square. Cat had originally interviewed at that branch and she’d been excited to work in those offices, right in the centre of town. This branch – off Tottenham Court Road and overlooking Bedford Square – was cool too, if a little Dickensian, particularly in winter. Nick was one of the few people at RMJ that Cat actually liked, even though he often made her madly nervous. He was just so hot. And funny. And, apparently, good at his job. For his birthday, Cat had given him a card featuring a glittery unicorn and hoped he got what it meant. For her birthday, he’d given her a card that said ‘Happy Birthday to the World’s Best Wife’ and he’d added ‘Work’ above ‘Wife’.

  She googled the phone number for her bank and, while she was on hold for the card cancellation line, doodled in her notebook. By the time the card was cancelled and a new one ordered, she’d covered an entire page with variations of the word ‘Nick’. Some in bubble writing, some scored over so many times it had come through to the next page, and some, embarrassingly, surrounded by tiny misshapen hearts. She ripped the page out and fed it into the shredder under her desk.

  She needed another coffee.

  * * *

  ‘So this is exciting news,’ Nick said, sitting at the end of the conference room table.

  Cat was sitting to his left and Colin to his right with the other three account managers making up the rest of the table.

  ‘I think some of you probably had an idea that this was on the cards,’ Nick added.

  Cat’s stomach clenched, thinking he might be about to attempt to spin closure and redundancies as ‘exciting’.

  ‘As you know part of the reason for the merger with Jonas was to expand internationally and we’re starting with…’ The fact that he paused for drama was one of the things Cat loved about Nick. ‘New York.’

  ‘Oh, shiiiiiit,’ Cat said before she could stop herself.

  ‘I know, right?’ Nick grinned at her. ‘There will be opportunities for secondment – case-based – but I’m actually going to be based out there permanently.’

  ‘No!’ Cat said, again before she could stop herself. What was wrong with her? She bit at her lips and stared ahead through the windows at Bedford Square.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Nick smiled. ‘Try not to hate me too much.’

  Cat looked back at him to find him still grinning. He thought she was jealous he was moving to New York. Right. Good. She didn’t want him to know he was the only person who made her job tolerable. (Although she suspected she may have hinted about it at the previous year’s Christmas party.) But she should have known anyway.

  ‘Tell you what though,’ Nick said, ‘I’m going to have a fantastic leaving do.’

  Of course, Cat thought.

  And she should have seen it coming.

  All men leave eventually. Some of them even take your purse with them.

  Two

  After the office meeting, Nick hung around a little, eventually sitting in the chair on the other side of Cat’s desk, and chatted a little about the New York move. He’d lived there during a year out before university and had wanted to get back for a while.

  ‘I’ve never been,’ Cat said.

  ‘Oh you should.’ Nick smiled and picked up a paperclip from Cat’s desk, immediately straightening it then starting to bend it again. ‘You’d love it. It’s the most exciting place.’

  Cat used to think London was the most exciting place. That’s why she’d moved there. But the novelty had worn off over the last few years. She wondered if anyone ever got sick of New York.

  ‘It’ll be weird though,’ Nick said. ‘Not being able to come and bother you.’

  Cat nodded. It really would. Before the merger, when Rogers & Mitchell were in their old office, they’d had their own receptionist, Yvonne, rather than a main reception for the whole building. One day she’d emailed Cat asking her to come out to reception; she wanted to ‘test something’. Cat had rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, heaved herself out of her chair and taken the ten steps through the double doors to reception, where she found Yvonne wide-eyed at someone sitting on the sofa.

  ‘What’s up?’ Cat asked.

  Yvonne nodded at the person on the sofa and waggled her eyebrows at Cat. Cat assumed it was either a celebrity (which was unlikely, but not impossible; they’d done some tax work for someone off Made in Chelsea, and Colin had given VAT advice to someone who said they were working for Danny Baker), or an ex of Yvonne’s. Cat turned just in time to see the guy stretch out his legs and lean back on the sofa, his hips lifting slightly, elongating his thighs, the small of his back arching up as his shoulders pressed down, the long line of his throat—

  ‘What the fuck?’ Cat muttered under her breath.

  ‘I know!’ Yvonne said and then made shoo hands at Cat.

  Cat shooed back to her desk, sat down, wiggled a bit, and emailed WHAT THE FUCK to Yvonne.

  I thought it was just me. He’s the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in real life. Right? RIGHT?

  Cat nodded pointlessly at her computer, before replying with shaking hands. Would it be unprofessional to come out there and straddle him?

  You’d have to fight me first.

  And then the doors had opened and he’d walked into the office, nodded at Cat, who may or may not have emitted a small squeak, and strolled into Colin’s office.

  Five minutes later, Cat had another email from Yvonne and it contained a link to his Facebook page. Nick’s Facebook page. Nick Ivory. His profile photo was black and white and he appeared to be wearing a Hawaiian shirt, but it was probably designer (she’d subsequently found out it was Prada – almost seven hundred quid for a shirt he could probably have got in Topman for less than twenty). In one hand he was holding an empty wine glass, the other was curled around a cigarette. He was staring at the camera like he was challenging it. Cat didn’t know how the person who’d taken the photo could possibly still be alive. Surely they must have died of the horn instantly?

  Cat had wanted to download it and set it as her phone wallpaper, but she knew that even for her that was a bit much. But god.

  That had been two years ago. Since then, she’d spent lots of time with him in the office and a little time out of the office on various work dos and while he was still the sexiest man she’d ever met, she could at least now talk to him without panting. She liked him. And he was moving to New York. Work would be much less fun. And her wank bank would be horribly depleted.

  * * *

  Metro Man was on the same Tube on the way home. When Cat had first started commuting, she’d liked seeing the same people every day, had even harboured some fantasies about befriending the woman with the blonde bob, star-sprinkled jumpsuit and red ankle boots, or maybe the guy with the closely trimmed beard who was reading a different novel every single morning would ask her for a coffee. She’d most likely say no, but it would be nice to
be asked. But she’d soon learned that a tight smile or quick nod was the most she was going to get from anyone. Most of the time, everyone avoided eye contact as much as possible.

  Cat stood and waited for the train to pull into Queen’s Park station. There was always a bit of a scrum to get off and people never seemed to learn that if they just waited it would be fine. Someone bumped the back of her knee with a bag and she glanced over her shoulder, intending to give them a hard stare, but instead something caught her eye in Metro Man’s paper.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, leaning over and tapping the top of the paper. ‘Could you just turn back to the previous page?’

  ‘No?’ the man said, flicking the paper closed and shoving it in his bag.

  ‘Very helpful,’ Cat said. ‘Thank you so much.’

  She was still muttering to herself about Tube wankers when she reached the platform and spotted a Standard abandoned on a bench. She sat down and opened it, flicking through the pages until… yes. She was right. It was him. Sam. Her ex, Sam. In the paper.

  She called Kelly.

  ‘I really can’t talk right now, babe,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m just popping out to—’

  ‘Sam’s in the Standard,’ Cat interrupted.

  ‘Your Sam? OK, just give me a minute.’

  Cat heard Arnold talking in the background. His pipey little voice made her heart hurt.

  ‘Give Arnold a kiss for me, eh?’ she told Kelly.

  ‘Roger that,’ Kelly said.

  Cat laughed when she heard Arnold say, ‘Get off me!’ And then the car doors opening and closing.

  ‘Right, I’m in the car,’ Kelly said. ‘Tell me quick. Has he killed someone?’

  ‘I wish,’ Cat said, even though she didn’t. Obviously. ‘He’s back in London, I guess. And doing a stand-up gig.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I know, right?’

  ‘Sam? Your Sam?’

  ‘Hang on,’ Cat said. She read the article again while in her ear she heard the car start, Arnold say, ‘I dropped my banana!’ and Kelly’s, ‘Hang on a second, sweetpea.’

  The headline was Sam Salt Puts the Cat Among the Pigeons. It was basically just a puff piece promoting his show; there wasn’t much information to be had. But there was a photo.

  ‘He looks good,’ Cat said, her voice breaking halfway through.

  ‘Don’t google him!’ Kelly almost-yelled. ‘I mean it, Cat. I’ll ring back in a bit, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ Cat said.

  ‘Bye, Cat!’ Arnold shouted.

  ‘Bye, babe.’

  After ending the call, she had to force herself to put her phone back in her bag. Her fingers were almost twitching to tap on Safari, to type in ‘Sam Salt’ and then ‘image search’. Instead she stared at the photo in the paper. It was a professional shot, not a photo she’d ever seen before. Sam was in focus in the middle, the background – a red stage curtain – slightly blurred. He was looking directly into the camera and smirking. It was what Cat used to call his Kermit smile, his mouth curled up on one side. And his eyes – she moved the paper from side to side – yep, his eyes followed you. Great. His hair was tufty, sticking up at the front. She remembered smoothing it down in the morning when… No. She wasn’t going to think about that.

  She closed the paper and placed it on the bench next to her. Then she picked it up again and flicked back to Sam’s photo. Brown leather jacket. She hadn’t seen that before. He didn’t have it when they were together. She wondered where he’d bought it. If it was vintage. His eyebrows looked good. She sort of wanted to brush her thumb over them. She used to do that. She used to brush both thumbs over them at once while saying, ‘Augenbrow!’ – German for eyebrows. Probably. She’d never looked it up. She’d seen it or read it or heard it and thought it was funny. She couldn’t even remember where. Whenever she did it, Sam would press her nose like a bell and say ‘Igelschnäuzchen’, which meant ‘little hedgehog snout’. And he would never tell her how he knew that. She hadn’t thought about that for so long. Had stopped thinking of stuff like that when he’d fucked off to Australia.

  * * *

  When Kelly phoned back, Cat was still sitting on the bench. She was cold and her bum was damp, but she just hadn’t been able to make herself get up. She’d made a plan – she was going to go straight to Londis and buy a bottle of wine – but she hadn’t managed to stand yet.

  ‘Do you need me to come and get you?’ Kelly asked.

  ‘No,’ Cat said. ‘Thanks. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. As soon as I can get off this bench.’

  ‘Listen,’ Kelly said. ‘You and Sam… it’s a long time ago.’

  ‘Five years,’ Cat said.

  ‘Right. And you’re doing good, right?’

  ‘Am I fuck.’

  ‘Right,’ Kelly said. ‘But you’re OK. You’ve got a home and a job and friends that you love. And Arnold.’

  ‘I live in a tiny room in a shared flat with people I cross the road to avoid. The only good thing in my job is fucking off to New York – oh, I haven’t even told you about that! I haven’t had a boyfriend since Sam, haven’t had sex for two years and I can’t even remember the last time someone kissed me.’

  ‘Presumably it was when you had sex?’ Kelly suggested.

  ‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no.’

  A woman in a bright yellow raincoat waiting for the next train shuffled further along the platform away from Cat.

  ‘Everything’s been shit since Sam,’ Cat said.

  ‘Oh god,’ Kelly said. ‘Is that the story you’re telling yourself? Stay where you are. I’m going to come and get you. We can get a takeaway and a bottle of wine. Stay over.’

  ‘I’m going to get wine. Once I stand up.’

  ‘OK, good,’ Kelly said. ‘You do that then. I’ll come and pick you up outside Londis.’

  ‘You won’t be able to stop outside Londis. You’ll have to pull into the car park. You know, on the corner.’

  ‘Yeah. I know. Don’t worry. OK? Just stand up.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘No, I mean now. Stand up now. And don’t just say you have. Do it.’

  Cat stood up, leaving the paper on the bench next to her. ‘I’m standing up.’

  ‘Can you get yourself to the Londis?’

  Cat glanced back at the bench and thought about sitting back down again. Instead, she made herself put one foot in front of the other until she was walking up the steps.

  ‘You can let me go now,’ Cat said. ‘I’ll go to Londis. We’ve said Londis too many times now. Sounds weird.’

  ‘OK, good. I’ll see you soon. Well, I’ll be about half an hour. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  * * *

  While Cat waited for Kelly she tried not to think about how Sam had left. How he’d gone to Australia for a year and ended up staying for five. How her dad had gone to Australia twenty years earlier and had never come back. How depressing it was that both of them had felt the need to go to the other side of the world to get away from her.

  She tried not to think about any of that.

  She failed miserably.

  Three

  ‘Cat!’ Arnold yelled, running down the hall and smacking right into Cat’s midriff.

  ‘Bloody hell, kid,’ she said, winded. ‘Are you trying to kill me?’

  She picked him up, even though he was too big to be picked up really, and he wrapped his legs around her waist like a chimpanzee.

  ‘I told you to be careful!’ Kelly said, passing the two of them and heading straight for the kitchen.

  ‘I’m doing my best!’ Cat called back. Arnold laughed against her neck and she sniffed his hair. He always smelled really good, which was ridiculous since he was actually a grotty, sweaty kid who quite often had glue in his hair and ketchup on his face.

  ‘You smell like…’ Cat gave another huge sniff.

  ‘School?’ Arnold guessed.

  ‘Antarctica,’ Cat suggested. ‘I’m getting snow and
ice and…’ She sniffed again. ‘Penguin poo.’

  In Kelly’s enormous, ridiculously gorgeous kitchen, Cat sat him down on the breakfast island and said, ‘You can stay there, right?’

  Arnold nodded enthusiastically as Kelly said, ‘Get him down.’

  ‘Killjoy,’ Cat said. She lifted Arnold down and watched him run out through the bifold doors to the garden before she crept up behind Kelly and hugged her around the waist, hooking her chin over her shoulder.

  ‘You smell like…’ she started.

  ‘Get off me, you mad cow.’ Kelly bumped her with her hip.

  ‘I was going to say “gin and regret”,’ Cat said. ‘But you actually smell gorgeous. What is that?’

  ‘Zadig and Voltaire,’ Kelly said, stirring some pasta shapes with a wooden spoon. Cat hadn’t even seen her open the tin. ‘Sean got it for me.’

  ‘Pfft,’ Cat said. ‘I thought it was going to be sponcon.’

  ‘This pasta’s sponcon.’ She gestured with the spoon.

  ‘Seriously?’

  Kelly laughed. ‘No, dickhead.’

  ‘I never know with you.’

  When Cat first met Kelly she was just starting out as a blogger. Over the last few years, she’d become an incredibly popular and successful lifestyle blogger, appearing in ad campaigns for M&S and Asda, and being paid by brands for sponsored content on her blog. She earned more than Sean, but Cat was convinced she worked harder too. She didn’t understand most of it, she had to admit, but occasionally Kelly got free mini breaks or spa sessions and took Cat along with her so she was one hundred per cent supportive and only a little bit jealous.

  ‘Where is Sean?’ Cat asked, reaching over and pinching a Wotsit from Arnold’s Iron Man plate.

  ‘Don’t,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m ordering Thai.’

  ‘I don’t think one Wotsit’s going to ruin my dinner. Shall I open the wine?’ She was hoping Kelly would offer one of her own bottles, much better than the £8.99 stuff Cat had picked up in Londis, along with a bag of Kettle Chips and a family bar of Dairy Milk.