by Paige Toon
Polly is in hospitality, so her work doesn’t stop at the weekends.
‘Does she still live in Borough Market?’
I reel backwards and slap my hands on the table. ‘No, but sorry, how do you do that? You remember everything!’
He laughs and shrugs. ‘Only some things. Anyway, you can talk. You’ve also got an uncanny knack of remembering. How did you recall where my parents live?’
‘I don’t know. I forget to tie my own shoelaces most days.’
We smile at each other, neither of us looking away as the seconds tick by.
‘Why didn’t you come to say goodbye?’ I blurt, the words spilling out of my mouth of their own volition.
He sounds bleak when he replies. ‘I couldn’t face another one.’
‘It wasn’t long enough, was it?’ That time we spent in Sydney.
‘It’s never long enough,’ he mutters. He sounds frustrated as he continues. ‘I can’t believe you’re going back in two days. Why didn’t you tell me when you were coming?’
I sigh. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t sure I could face seeing you.’
He flinches.
‘It’s just… Things have felt pretty raw recently,’ I say.
He nods and reaches for his pint. ‘I understand.’
‘Tell me about your business,’ I say as he drinks, abruptly changing the subject. ‘How do you know Neal?’
After a bit, we order a couple of bar snacks, and later we get a couple more. I think I could stay there all night in that cosy pub, chatting and drinking, but I know I need to get to Rachel’s.
‘Jesus, it’s already six thirty!’ I exclaim, when I finally pull out my phone to check the time.
We share a mutual look of dismay.
‘It’s going to be a long way back to Polly’s couch,’ I say with a sigh.
‘Where does she live now?’
‘Croydon, south London.’
‘That’s miles away!’ He looks alarmed. ‘Why aren’t you staying at Rachel’s?’
‘I didn’t want to ask. Her boyfriend has just moved in and…’ I shrug. ‘It’s not a big deal. Tube and train. I’ll be fine.’
The atmosphere in the car feels heavier on the drive to Rachel’s. I don’t want to part company yet. It still feels too soon. There’s so much we haven’t said, so much ground we haven’t covered. I don’t even know what else I want to say, but I have this overwhelming urge just to be with him.
He pulls up outside Rachel’s and cuts the ignition, tilting his chin in my direction without looking at me.
I don’t make any move to get out of the car.
He groans suddenly and drags his hands across his face, then looks at me properly.
‘I have a spare room,’ he says.
I jolt with surprise.
‘I don’t live far from here. I could come back for you.’ He pauses for my answer.
‘Are you sure?’ I ask in a small voice.
His face lights up with his smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he breathes with relief, tension visibly leaving his body. ‘What time should I come back?’
‘In an hour or two? Can I text you?’
We exchange numbers, but he doesn’t drive away until Rachel has answered her door.
‘Who was that?’ she asks, her normally barely tameable blonde curls pulled back into a loose ponytail.
‘Alex,’ I reply.
She meets my eyes, agog.
‘It’s nothing. I’m just catching up with him while I’m here. He’s coming back for me later. We’re just friends. I might crash at his. He has a spare room.’
‘You don’t have to explain yourself to me,’ she says laughingly as I dither about on her doorstep. ‘Come in. Can I get you a glass of wine?’
‘Better not. I think I need to keep my head tonight.’
She looks amused.
The photographs of Bridget and Charlie’s wedding are out of this world. Their picnic reception took place on a pebble-and-shingle beach called Lansallos. The cove is horseshoe shaped, flanked by stunning greeny-grey rocky cliffs, and the aquamarine water makes the most stunning backdrop to the photos.
‘You’ve still got it,’ Rachel says with admiration, staring at the picture of Charlie with shining eyes as he waits for Bridget at the altar. She clicks on her mouse and moves her corresponding shot of Bridget so they’re side by side. My friend’s eyes sparkle with love and emotion.
‘These are so beautiful,’ I murmur.
‘I don’t need to ask you if you enjoyed yourself, because it’s obvious that you did,’ Rachel says.
‘I loved it.’ I’m awestruck looking at the work we produced.
‘Honestly, I wish you lived here,’ Rachel says wistfully. ‘I could put so much work your way. The number of weddings I’m having to turn down because I’m too busy is unbelievable.’
‘I’m so happy it’s all going so well for you,’ I say sincerely.
‘Thank you,’ she replies with a smile. ‘Now, there’s one wedding in December that I would love to have your help with.’ The look on her face has me intrigued.
‘What’s that?’ I ask.
‘I’m sworn to secrecy.’ She grins and my curiosity is properly piqued. ‘But I need two assistants.’
‘A celebrity wedding?’ I ask with excitement.
She doesn’t deny it. ‘I’d give anything to tell you whose.’
‘Go on!’ I urge. ‘I won’t spill!’
‘You used to work at Hebe,’ she says with a laugh.
‘I’m out of that world now,’ I reply. ‘Celebrity shelebrity.’ I wave my hand dismissively.
‘You. Would. Die.’
I crack up laughing. ‘You’re terrible!’ I gasp. ‘I can’t believe you’re stirring me up like this!’
‘I’m still so shocked I’ve got the job.’
‘So who have you got assisting?’ I ask with a grin.
‘Just Misha so far.’ That’s her regular assistant. ‘I haven’t lined anyone else up yet.’
We stare at each other.
‘It’s really well paid,’ she adds beguilingly. ‘It would easily cover your airfare back here…’
‘Are you serious?’ My insides begin to fizz with excitement, but then reality bites and the disappointment is crushing. ‘I’ve already used up all of my holidays for this year.’ I sound thoroughly fed up.
‘I thought you hated your new job…’ She raises an eyebrow, sassily, and I laugh. Who knew Rachel could be so persuasive? Surely she’s not really suggesting I jack in my job and come back to the UK?
‘You wouldn’t regret it,’ she says, still dangling her carrot in front of my nose. Dangle, dangle, dangle. ‘The cred you’d get from this one job would set you up for life as a wedding photographer.’
Suddenly I’m no longer laughing. She is serious. Could this be my future? Could I be a wedding photographer? My own boss? Full time?
‘I’ll give you a couple of months before I ask anyone else,’ she says knowingly as the cogs in my head turn. ‘Think about it.’
Oh, I will.
‘Rachel has asked me to do a job with her this Christmas,’ I find myself telling Alex as soon as I’m in his car.
‘Really?’ he replies with interest. ‘Back over here or in Oz?’
‘Here. All expenses paid. I’m seriously considering it. It’s a celebrity wedding,’ I whisper. ‘But I don’t know whose.’
He chuckles. ‘Why are you whispering, then?’
I giggle, too. ‘I don’t know.’ I glance out of the window and then back at him. ‘Am I really going to stay at yours?’ I’ve sobered up since leaving the pub and this fact is only just now sinking in. ‘I don’t have any of my things with me.’
‘I’m sure I can find you a spare toothbrush and lend you a T-shirt.’
‘Yeah, and I can set off back to Polly’s early.’
‘There’s no rush, is there? I thought she was working.’
‘True. Why, are you planning on cooking me a nice fry-u
p?’
‘I’ll cook you a fry-up if you like,’ he replies with a smile.
I feel a tiny bubble of joy burst inside my stomach, but it’s deftly followed by a hefty kick.
How would Lachie feel if he could see me now, in Alex’s car, laughing away, without a care in the world?
He’d be shocked. Gutted. Disappointed.
The guilt is immense.
And then I wonder if Lachie also feels guilty spending time with Fliss. Is he seeing more of her since we broke up?
Probably.
I try to put him out of my mind.
I get out my phone and type a quick message to Polly, telling her that I’m staying ‘up here’. I don’t reveal who I’m with. She’ll only flip out if I tell her I’m with Alex, not Rachel, but she’s not my mother.
Even if she sometimes acts like it, bless her.
Alex lives only a couple of miles away from Rachel’s and it takes us around ten minutes to get there. It’s dark – almost 10 p.m. – so I can’t really tell what his area is like, but, from the wide street and the trees growing outside on the pavement, I’m guessing it’s pretty nice.
He lives in a maisonette in a Victorian terrace with its own entrance on the lower-ground level. I follow him down the steps to the front door.
Inside, his place is bright and modern, with some cool designer furniture and light fittings. The kitchen is to the front of the house; the living room to the back, overlooking a private garden.
Alex flicks on the outdoor lights when I ask to see what it’s like out there and a mini-oasis is revealed, the surrounding walls almost completely obscured by ferns and bamboo and other greenery.
‘Wow!’ I say, looking at the round white table on the patio, surrounded by four differently coloured chairs. If it’s sunny in the morning, that’s where we’re having breakfast. I’ll insist on it.
The surreal feeling comes over me again, followed by another stab of guilt. What am I doing? Is this really just about closure?
Maybe there’s hope for us as friends… We used to get on so well…
‘Can I see upstairs?’ I keep my tone light as I add, ‘I want the full tour, Whittaker.’
He smiles and nods, leading the way. ‘Spare room.’ He opens the first door off the corridor. It’s at the front, above the kitchen. ‘Bathroom,’ he says of the second room. I glance inside. Sparkling clean and white, with bright blue towels. ‘And my room,’ he says, opening the last door off the corridor.
I walk past him, into his room. It’s very stylish and quite masculine with a black, grey and green colour scheme and a graphic bedspread. But I can’t really take in my surroundings because I’m too distracted by the smell.
‘Fucking hell!’ I snap, looking around and spying another door that I’m guessing leads to his en suite. ‘Where is it?’ I storm across the room and open the door.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Your aftershave, Alex. I can’t stand it any longer.’
I switch on his bathroom light and open the mirrored wall cabinet, scanning the contents.
‘Christ!’ he says, slightly affronted as he comes into the room. ‘I didn’t realise it was that offensive.’
‘It’s not offensive,’ I retort. ‘It drives me absolutely crazy. I can’t bear it. What is it? What do you use?’
He looks bemused as he reaches past me and pulls out a small rectangular glass bottle with clear, caramel-coloured liquid inside, and hands it over. I put it to my nose and inhale, closing my eyes briefly before looking up at him, straight into his amused blue eyes.
The room suddenly feels very small.
And it is small. We’re in his flipping en suite. I jerk my head towards the door. ‘Let’s go back downstairs.’
He leads the way out, but I quickly spritz his aftershave onto my wrist before following him. He throws a look at me over his shoulder, his pursed lips telling me that he knows full well what I just did. I shrug cheekily and he laughs.
‘Well, you have a very nice place,’ I say decisively when we’re back downstairs. ‘I like it. It’s very grown up,’ I add.
‘That’s a good thing?’ he checks with a frown.
‘Yes.’
He goes into the kitchen. I pull up a stool at his bar table. The whole of the downstairs is open plan with a countertop bar area separating the kitchen from the living room.
‘Drink?’ he offers.
‘Sure. What are you having?’
‘I fancy a beer.’
‘What else have you got?’
He peers in the fridge. ‘Beer,’ he states, glancing over at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’
‘I’ll have one, then,’ I tell him with a grin.
I have a flashback to Lachie cracking open a couple of bottles and chinking them as he hands them over. The image makes me wince and suddenly my nose is prickling. I quickly hop down from the stool.
‘Is this a loo?’ I call of the door under the stairs, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.
‘Yep,’ he replies.
I go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection through blurry vision.
There’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball and suddenly I miss Lachie so much, I want to sob my heart out.
I try very, very hard not to, but it’s a while before my throat returns to normal and the pricking at the back of my eyes recedes.
I return to the living room.
‘Are you okay?’ Alex asks with concern.
I nod quickly and smile brightly. ‘Fine!’
‘You’re not,’ he states.
‘Don’t,’ I cut him off. ‘Please.’
He goes over to the sofa, running his hand through his hair and scruffing it up as he sits down.
‘How did you break up?’ he asks.
I swallow, the lump back in force as I join him at the other end of the sofa. I shake my head quickly.
‘Was it you or him? Or mutual?’
‘More him than me,’ I reply unsteadily. ‘I wanted kids. He didn’t.’
‘Ah.’
‘I guess our age difference finally caught up with us.’ I drag my fingers under my eyes to catch a couple of stray teardrops.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly.
‘Yeah. It only happened a few days before I came away.’
‘Do you think he just needs space?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No, he’s adamant. We want different things.’
He nods, scratching off the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail as he stares at it in a daze.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Yours is not a shoulder I ever had any intention of crying on.’
He gives me a rueful look.
‘Do you think you and I could ever be friends again?’ I suddenly feel compelled to ask.
‘Of course,’ he replies.
I choose to ignore the fact that there was a moment’s hesitation before he spoke.
I wake up to the smell of bacon and freshly ground coffee. For a moment, I stare up at the ceiling, scarcely able to believe that I’m in Alex’s home. I climb out of bed and sweep up yesterday’s clothes, then walk through to the bathroom, glad of the oversized T-shirt covering me down to my thighs.
I don’t look too horrendous, I note as I check my reflection. I had nothing to take my make-up off with last night, so I went to bed with it on and it’s still pretty much intact this morning.
I say a silent thank-you to the clever people at Clinique who created their high-impact waterproof mascara and reach for the toothbrush Alex gave me from an unused airline travel kit. Then I drag the same kit’s comb through my hair, take a quick shower and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
‘Hey,’ Alex says warmly when I appear at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hi.’ I smile back at him, my heart doing a funny little flip.
He’s wearing faded black jeans with a tear at the knees and a light-grey T-shirt.
‘Surprisingly. Your spare bed is ridiculously comfortable. How about you?’
He screws up his nose. He looks tired, so I’m guessing that’s a no, but I don’t ask why.
‘Tea? Coffee?’ he offers.
‘The coffee smells good,’ I reply by way of an answer.
He grabs a mug out of a high cupboard, the bottom of his T-shirt riding up to reveal a brief glimpse of dark hair trailing from his belly button downwards.
I quickly avert my gaze, my heart quickening as I’m hit with a sudden flashback to the night we slept together. It was over six years ago, but it was pretty unforgettable.
‘Can I open your outside doors?’ I ask, feeling hot as I wander across the living room. His garden really is stunning. Compact, but gorgeous.
‘Sure.’ He comes over and unlocks the doors for me before pushing them open, letting a whoosh of cool air spill into the room. He goes back to the kitchen.
‘Full fry-up, right?’ he calls.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘I’ll get out of your way after that,’ I vow. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a ton of work to do.’
He doesn’t respond.
Later, I help carry the breakfast things into the kitchen, looking around for a dishwasher.
‘I’ll take them,’ he says, our fingers brushing as I hand them over. I jolt, as though I’ve been given an electric shock, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine. Shaken, I walk out of the kitchen.
‘Well, it was good to see you.’ I’m attempting breezy, but my voice is wavering.
He clatters the plates onto the countertop and follows me.
‘Bronte,’ he says quietly, swiping my hand.
It happens again. The shockwaves quiver all the way up my arm. I pull my hand away.
He stares at me, helplessly.
‘Why do you have to go?’ he asks. ‘Spend the day with me.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? Polly’s at work. Why are you rushing back?’
‘I haven’t got any clothes.’
‘I’ll take you shopping.’
‘Really?’ I ask with a laugh, feeling all of a sudden weirdly tearful.
‘Really. We can go into Hampstead, go for a walk or something, have lunch.’