But now she was in New York, putting the key in the door of the Airbnb Nick had arranged for her – better than a hotel for giving her an idea of what living there would be like, he’d said – and the nerves were starting to switch to excitement.
The apartment was beautiful – small, but bright and funky with a spiral staircase up to the bedroom and a balcony looking out over the rooftops and into other people’s windows. In the morning, she pulled her boots and coat on over her pyjamas and walked to the nearby bodega for a coffee and a pastry, before taking them out on the balcony to watch New York wake up.
She spent her first day on a bus tour, hopping off and wandering anywhere that looked interesting. Nick took her for dinner at a stupidly expensive (seven dollars for sautéed onions) steak restaurant and gave her the hard sell on New York. She didn’t tell him that she’d all but made her mind up.
By the second morning the old Italian brothers who ran the bodega around the corner greeted her like family, the taller one teasing her about her accent and the fact that she was in her pyjamas; the smaller, rounder one telling him to be nice and patting Cat’s cheek with his wrinkled hand.
RMJ’s New York offices were a couple of minutes’ walk from Penn Station. They weren’t much bigger than the London offices, but they were more modern, with glass partitions, access to a roof terrace and, of course, views over Manhattan. Nick showed her around, introducing her to everyone, and took her into what would be her office. It was small and plain but it had a window and it was an office. Just for her. In New York.
From there, Nick took her downstairs for burgers and beers at a roof bar next to Madison Square Garden.
‘So?’ he said, as Cat was taking her burger apart because there was no way she’d fit it in her mouth otherwise. ‘What do you think?
Cat took a bite of her burger to postpone having to answer.
‘Good, right?’ Nick said.
Cat nodded, her mouth full. When she’d finished chewing, Nick was still staring at her, waiting.
‘It’s all amazing,’ she said. ‘This whole visit. The offices. The fact that you even thought of me at all.’
‘This sounds like it’s going to be a no,’ Nick said. ‘Let me try to convince you.’
‘It’s not a no,’ Cat said. ‘But it’s not a yes either. Not yet. Is that OK?’
‘Take all the time you need.’ Nick picked up his own burger. ‘I mean, I need to know within the next couple of weeks.’
Cat laughed. ‘Right.’
‘No pressure.’ Nick grinned at her from behind his bun.
Twenty-Eight
Cat sat in the window of the Upper West Side Starbucks her dad had suggested they meet in because it was easy to find. Cat could have got an Uber there, but instead she’d walked from the apartment, zigzagging between the avenues and cross streets to get an overview of bits of the city she wouldn’t normally have a chance to see.
She’d expected it to be freezing, colder than it was at home, but it was unseasonably warm for February – the sun bright and the air brisk, perfect walking weather. She’d stopped at a corner bodega for a bottle of water, paying with a handful of change she peered at but still couldn’t quite work out. The woman serving had picked the correct coins out of Cat’s hand and she’d felt like a total loser. But honestly, the coins all looked the same.
She was half an hour early, so she nursed her latte and people-watched out of the window. The traffic – both vehicle and pedestrian – was constant. Tiny elderly ladies hunched over their Zabar’s bags. Groups of tourists chattering excitedly. A crocodile of children in matching T-shirts, tiny backpacks over their shoulders. They made Cat miss Arnold. She took a photo through the window and sent it to Kelly.
As entertaining as the view was, Cat jumped every time the door opened. At eleven – the time they’d arranged to meet – she considered moving so it was directly in her field of vision, but she decided it was too desperate. She got herself another drink – fizzy water; she didn’t think any more caffeine would be sensible – and returned to her window stool, her phone on the ledge in front of her in case her dad texted that he was running late. Or something.
At eleven-thirty, Cat bought a burnt chocolate brownie and returned to her post at the window and texted Kelly to say she didn’t think he was coming.
He will, Kelly replied. He’s probably running late. Hang on. Love you.
The ‘love you’ made Cat think Kelly wasn’t entirely convinced he was going to turn up and she was almost certainly right. Cat bit a corner of the brownie and berated herself for falling for it again. Her dad had let her down so many times but every single time he turned up she expected him to have changed. Why? He’d never change. He never would. People don’t.
The door opened and Cat turned. It was a short stocky man in overalls. Cat licked her finger and gathered some brownie crumbs from the plate. But why? Why ask to see her? Why get her hopes up if he had no intention of turning up? It made no sense. Unless he just wanted to torment her and why would he do that? Although he’d tormented her mum enough; maybe he missed it since she’d died.
Cat finished the brownie and texted Kelly again. He’s not coming.
Have you texted him? Kelly replied.
Cat sighed. Yeah. That would be the practical thing to do, she knew. But she didn’t want to text. Didn’t want to get the reply saying he’d forgotten or something had come up or some other bollocks. At least she still had hope. A little. Maybe.
I’ll text at 12, Cat replied. And then checked the time. He had five minutes. Or she did. Five minutes of hope left. She finished her water and tried to tell herself to enjoy being in New York. She was in New York! For business! Like an adult! She wouldn’t let her dad ruin it, like he’d ruined so many other things.
She watched the time on her phone flick over to 12:00 and thumbed it open.
Hey, she typed. Where are you?
After five minutes, she got herself another coffee and texted Kelly again. No reply.
I’m sorry, love.
And then: Are you sure you’re in the right Starbucks?
Cat rolled her eyes at her phone. Of course she was in the right fucking Starbucks, she wasn’t a complete idiot. She opened the text her dad had sent her and swivelled on her stool until she spotted a barista refilling the packaged coffee stand.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, sounding extremely English to her own ears. ‘Is there another Starbucks near here?’
The woman rolled her eyes and then smiled to soften it. ‘I think there’s, like, twenty?’
‘But not on Broadway?’ Cat said, already starting to feel panic creeping up her spine. But, no. Her dad would have texted her. Why wouldn’t he have texted her?
‘Oh no,’ the barista said, laughing. ‘There’s… how many branches do we have on Broadway?’ she called to her colleague behind the counter, an enormous blond man who Cat had noted looked like a Viking.
‘I think nineteen,’ the Viking called back without looking back from the coffee machine.
‘That’s on the whole of Broadway,’ Cat’s barista told her. ‘Did you have a cross street?’
Cat double-checked her phone again – still no new text. ‘Yeah, Eighty-first.’
‘This is Seventy-fifth,’ the barista said.
Cat’s stomach lurched and the palms of her hands prickled. ‘It can’t be.’
The barista smiled sympathetically. ‘You need to walk up about five blocks.’ She pointed out of the window back the way Cat had originally come. ‘Look for Zabar’s on your left and it’s just after.’
‘Great,’ Cat said. ‘Thank you.’ She grabbed her coffee and bag and slid off her stool. She was an idiot. A complete idiot.
As she walked, she wondered how she could possibly have fucked it up. She’d planned her zigzag journey on the map before setting off. She’d checked the cross streets as she’d walked, she was sure. How had she gone five streets beyond where she meant to end up? And why hadn’t she checked the addr
ess when she arrived? She knew why, she remembered; it was partly because her hands had been frozen and she’d been dying to wrap them around a hot cup of coffee, and partly because she’d been impressed that there’d been a Starbucks exactly where she’d expected there to be one when she’d planned her route. She’d somehow forgotten that a Starbucks on a corner was hardly the fucking One Ring.
She crossed 76th Street, narrowly avoiding a woman in short shorts on a motorised scooter, enormous headphones covering her ears, and carried on past a CVS and a Marshalls, both of which Kelly had told her she should visit, but she hadn’t yet. She crossed 79th, glancing over at a church on the opposite corner that looked like a Disney castle. And then there was Zabar’s and then the correct Starbucks.
‘There’s no way he’ll still be here,’ she muttered to herself as she pushed the door open, butterflies swirling in her belly.
She was right.
He wasn’t.
* * *
Cat was in the wine bar opposite the apartment when her phone buzzed with a text from her dad. She took a gulp of her second glass of ridiculously expensive red (seriously, they were charging double for a glass what Cat paid for a bottle at home, and that was if she was buying a decent bottle) before tapping it open.
Sorry my phone was off earlier, he’d texted. Forgot the plugs are different here.
Cat took another gulp of wine and stared out across the dark street. The front of the wine bar was open to the sidewalk and while 84th Street was quiet with just the occasional dog walker wandering past; she could look over at Columbus Avenue, still busy with trucks and yellow cabs, a Coca-Cola van making a delivery to the deli on the corner.
She’d texted her dad from the second Starbucks to tell him what had happened, how she’d fucked up. She’d half expected him to say he’d come back (assuming he’d been there in the first place) but once again he hadn’t replied. She’d bought another coffee (that had definitely been a mistake, she’d been jittery as fuck all afternoon) and waited another hour in case he popped back to check. But no. Nothing.
Cat had got an Uber back to the apartment, texting with Kelly the entire way. Kelly had assured her that it was a mistake anyone could have made and not to beat herself up about it. But Cat was furious with herself anyway. And also, unreasonably, furious with her dad for putting her in a situation where she ended up feeling like shit. Even though it was her own fault she felt like shit.
She’d dragged herself up the six flights of stairs to the apartment and spent a couple of hours in the bath, listening to increasingly morose music, before heading out to the incredibly expensive wine bar.
‘I should eat something,’ she said to herself aloud. The waiter brought a menu almost instantly and Cat ordered a plate of cheese and charcuterie, along with a third glass of wine. She texted her dad to tell him she wouldn’t have time to see him now, something had come up with work. And then she texted Nick and told him she’d take the job.
Twenty-Nine
Back in London, Cat was determined to sort everything out as quickly as possible. She took a couple of days off work and dedicated them to clearing her room, filling three bin bags with rubbish, taking two more to the charity shop and boxing everything else up. She didn’t know what she was going to take to New York with her, thought she’d probably have to put some stuff in storage and decide at a later date, but for now her room was clear and clean and she could relax.
Colin had been sweet about the New York job, telling her there would always be a job for her in London if she changed her mind.
‘I won’t change my mind,’ Cat had said. And then she’d spent a few days making sure her entire caseload was up to date.
Once her room was sorted, she dedicated her evenings to researching New York – what she needed to do before she got there, tips on relocating – and let herself feel excited, even though she woke up every morning feeling like there was a boulder on her chest. And the boulder was the idea of telling Kelly. And Harvey.
Harvey had texted a few times – cute, flirty messages that made Cat’s heart vibrate in her chest. She’d replied in what she thought was a friendly tone, but she actually wondered if maybe they couldn’t get together one more time before she left. Plus Georgie and Pete were painting the living room and it would be a relief to get away from the fumes.
Are you free tonight? she texted Harvey.
Yep. Want to go out?
Thought I could come to you.
He replied with five smiley emojis and Cat laughed. What a dork.
* * *
‘God, you’re freezing,’ Harvey said, as soon as Cat was through his door. Even so, he started to push off her coat and she wriggled out of it, pressing up against him, rubbing her face into his neck, even though she’d told herself the entire way there she wouldn’t. He smelled so good. He always smelled so good.
His hands were under her top already, palms sliding over her ribs.
‘Yeah?’ he said, his mouth right next to her ear.
‘Yeah. Please. Just—’
‘Just once, I know,’ Harvey said.
This once would make it twice, but Cat wasn’t going to think about that. It would be the last time and that was the main thing.
His skin was warm and hers was freezing. She wanted to climb inside him. He lifted her top over her head and it caught on her earring. She flailed a little from inside the fabric until she managed to free herself, and the way he was looking at her made her want to cry.
She was moving to New York. She was starting again. This was the last time she’d get to have him. She shivered.
‘Shit, you’re so cold,’ Harvey said, dipping his head to kiss the side of her neck. ‘Do you want to get in the shower?’
‘Fuck,’ Cat said. ‘Yes.’
She followed Harvey into the bathroom, tugging at his jumper as he undid his jeans and pushed them down, yanking off his socks and turning back to undo Cat’s jeans because her fingers were too cold to free the button. She sat on the edge of the bath to take her own damp socks off and when Harvey reached past her to turn the shower on, she bit the inside of his arm.
What if she could get him to come to New York with her? There were loads of theatres in New York, she was sure he could find work there. And they could start again together and no one would even need to know. The water thundered down behind her – rich people always seemed to have great water pressure – and Cat pulled her bra off over her head and pushed her knickers down to fall on the tile floor.
‘Careful,’ Harvey said, when she climbed into the shower after him. ‘Slippy.’
Her chest hurt. She tried to breathe slowly, inhaling the steam from the hot water, crown of her head on Harvey’s chest, her hands curled around his hips.
He looked really good wet. Even better than usual. He should be wet all the time. She pressed him back against the tiles and he winced at the cold. She kissed his neck, his shoulders, his arms. She turned around and let him slide his hands over her body, his mouth on the back of her neck. He washed her hair, his fingers gentle on her scalp and it made her shiver. No one had ever washed her hair before. She didn’t think she’d like it. She liked it. She turned in his arms and hooked one leg up against his hip, pressing their bodies together until Harvey tipped his head back, groaning, and she licked the water off his throat, his hand sliding down between her legs, fingers probing gently.
She tipped her head back so the water ran over her face and neither of them could tell she was crying.
* * *
‘Cat,’ Harvey said later, in the dark. She hadn’t intended to stay. She’d stayed anyway.
‘What?’ She’d reached his ribs now and tried running her tongue along one. Harvey squirmed away from her.
‘Why don’t we tell Sam? I’m serious.’
Cat leaned up on her elbows and stared at him. At his perfect eyebrows and straight nose and full lips. He was too pretty. It was ridiculous.
‘I can’t,’ she said. Hurt flickered acros
s Harvey’s face and Cat felt her chest tighten. She dropped her head and mouthed along his shoulder.
‘Why not?’
Cat took a shuddery breath and shuffled up the bed, leaning back against the pillows. ‘I need to tell you something.’
Harvey rolled onto his side to look up at her.
‘I’m moving to New York. That’s what I was over there for last week. I’ve had a job offer and I’ve taken it and I’m moving.’
Harvey rolled onto his other side and sat up on the edge of the bed. Cat stared at his wide back and then said, ‘Say something.’
‘What is there to say?’ he asked, looking back at her over his shoulder. ‘I think you need to leave.’
* * *
It was the right decision, Cat told herself on the Tube home. She knew it was. Nothing could happen between them. Nothing more than already had. And she’d told him it was a one-off. He’d known that. Yes, she’d come back again tonight, but she’d made it clear. It wasn’t fair for him to expect more from her.
It was for the best anyway. They never would have worked.
Thirty
Cat was woken by her phone ringing repeatedly and she almost fell out of bed trying to get to it. The screen said Kelly, but when Cat answered, it was Sean.
‘Kel’s in labour,’ he said. ‘Can you come?’
Cat pulled her boots and coat on over her pyjamas and ran straight out of the house.
‘Is she OK?’ Cat said when she finally found Sean at the hospital. She’d grabbed a taxi from home and spent the journey alternately worrying about Kelly and trying not to picture the hurt on Harvey’s face when she’d told him she was leaving.
Sean looked exhausted. To a stranger, he probably still looked perfect – groomed and smart and together – but Cat knew him well enough to see the tension in the set of his shoulders and jaw, the lines pulling at the corners of his eyes.
The One Who's Not the One: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 16