Just Haven't Met You Yet

by Sophie Cousens

  ‘He did that alongside driving the cab?’ I ask.

  ‘He spent so much time perfecting each piece, he didn’t always make much of a living out of it. Cabs put money on the table, but working with wood was always his passion,’ says Ilídio, cracking his knuckles. ‘It’s tough to watch all the talent in his brain unable to come out through his fingers any more.’

  His words make me think of Mum, all her talent for jewellery making gone with her.

  ‘But you do it anyway, even if you think you’ll never be as good as he was?’ I ask Ilídio. He shrugs and takes a slug of his beer.

  ‘Most of us will never be the best at anything we do. It isn’t a reason not to do it.’

  ‘We need some music, it isn’t a party without music!’ yells a tall South African man called Ian. He picks up a guitar and passes it around the circle. ‘Send it around to Ted.’

  Ted shakes his head and waves the guitar away.

  ‘Come on!’ says Sandy, fluffing up the back of her short blonde hair with one hand, and sloshing a bit of her sangria onto the sand with the other. ‘Give us a tune.’

  People start clapping a rhythmic encouragement. Ted takes the guitar but carries on passing it around the circle, reluctant to be left holding it.

  ‘Edward Palmerston,’ says Gerry firmly, and everyone stops talking so that Gerry’s quiet voice can be heard, ‘indulge your old man on his last night of freedom, will you? If I could play for my friends, I would.’

  ‘You know, you can’t play the Parkinson’s card every time, Dad,’ Ted says, taking back the guitar and giving Gerry a friendly scowl across the fire. ‘He tried to tell me he was entitled to the toast I was about to eat yesterday, because it was such an effort to butter his own.’

  Gerry makes a comical shrug, and a few people laugh. I’m sitting a few places around the circle from Ted, but I can see his face in the firelight. From what I know of him, I can’t imagine he’d enjoy performing to a crowd.

  ‘Any requests?’ Ted asks, his eyes flitting around the circle and then landing on me.

  ‘“Shake It Off” by Taylor Swift,’ says Gerry, waving his cane in the air.

  ‘“Hippy, Hippy Shake”,’ shouts Raymond.

  ‘“Shake Your Body”,’ says Ruth.

  ‘“Shake, Rattle and Roll”,’ says Sandy, laughing.

  ‘I’m seeing a theme here,’ says Ted, tilting his head in amused disapproval.

  People fall silent as he strums a chord, and then launches into a simplified version of ‘Shake It Off’. He only has a few basic chords, his voice is not perfect, but there’s something about his performance – it’s full of soul and I can’t take my eyes off him.

  Sandy whispers in my ear, ‘Didn’t I tell you he was talented? More sangria?’

  Gerry and his friend Ruth are now standing in the sand, dancing hand in hand. Gerry looks like he’s having a wonderful time. I glance back at Ted, who’s looking across at me, his eyes glinting gold in the firelight. He comes to the end of the song, and I put my cup in the sand so I can clap properly. Ted spends the next twenty minutes taking requests, and I drink and dance and bask in the warmth of the occasion.

  ‘OK, last song,’ says Ted, in a mock croaky voice, ‘or I won’t be able to speak tomorrow.’

  ‘That was my plan,’ says Gerry.

  ‘Can I make a request?’ I ask, moving around the circle to squeeze in next to Ted.

  ‘Let me guess, your friend Phil?’ he says in a low voice.

  I nod eagerly, and then stop because my head is beginning to spin.

  ‘I don’t know the words to any of his horrible songs,’ says Ted, with a challenging look.

  ‘He’s lying,’ says Sandy, who’s eavesdropping.

  Ted sighs in mock resignation, looks down at the guitar, and plays a chord. I know straight away what it is. He plays ‘You Can’t Hurry Love’, and he knows plenty of the words. More people stand up to dance, but I suddenly feel too drunk to stand so I just stay seated and sway gently to the music. The song makes me think of my dad, of all those Phil Collins LPs he kept for me. It makes me think of all the times in my life this music has brought me back to myself. Then I think of the sheet music in the suitcase and feel more certain than ever that it must mean something; there is a Phil Collins-shaped trail of breadcrumbs leading me out of the woods towards something important.

  Then out of nowhere, I feel a flood of emotions rising up behind my eyelids and I realise I’m about to burst into tears. Where did that come from? Oh no, I’m going to drunk-cry. Drunk-crying is the worst, because you don’t even really know why you’re crying, and everyone assumes you must be upset about something, when really, you’re just drunk and all the alcohol pushes unexplained emotions out of your eyes. I quickly turn away from the group, pretending to look for my drink, then quietly take myself away up the beach.

  I bite the inside of my cheek again, trying to suppress that morose part of myself, which always rears its head at the worst moments. I turn to look at the water and take a few long inhales of sea air. Part of me just wants to walk into the waves and wash off the curdling brain fog. I haven’t drunk much in the last few years, partly for fear of finding myself vulnerable, without the mental agility to steer myself back.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  Turning around, I see Ted walking towards me and quickly wipe my fingertips beneath my eyes. He must have followed me along the beach.

  ‘Yes, just had a little too much to drink, I think.’ I smile. ‘Needed to walk it off.’

  ‘I thought you might be about to launch into a night-time swim,’ he says, his eyes searching out mine.

  ‘No, well, maybe.’ I stagger, losing my footing, and he reaches out a hand to hold me upright. ‘I liked your singing.’

  Ted looks down at his feet.

  ‘Dad was the one with the musical talent, not me.’

  ‘Well, I enjoyed it.’

  Then our eyes meet again, bright beacons in the half light, and I want to fall into his arms, partly because I’m finding it hard to stand up straight, and partly because I just want to feel what it would be like to have a strong pair of arms close around me, to lean myself against the inviting warmth of his broad chest.

  ‘Whydoyouhavethisbeard?’ I ask, the words merging into each other. I reach out to touch it, and the hair is surprisingly soft. ‘I think you’d look so much better without it.’

  Ted reaches up to remove my hand from his beard, but he keeps hold of it, and a tingle of electricity pulses up my arm.

  ‘You think so?’ he says, in an amused, gruff tone.

  I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to press my whole face right against his beard, to feel what it would be like to nestle into this warm, comforting nest, like a baby bird coming home.

  ‘I mean you’re actually pretty alright, Ted, underneath your disguise of scruffy clothes and that horrible old cap you wear. I see you in there – Beardy McHottington.’

  I swipe my other hand at his chest, and he catches it, before I stumble, so he’s now holding onto both my hands. His eyes are drilling into me in a way that makes my brain feel suddenly sober, and my feet even less steady on the sand. Then I lean forward to kiss him, all logic washed away by this wave of need. I see in Ted’s eyes that he’s not going to stop me.

  Ring, ring.

  My head darts left and right, looking for the source of the strange chirruping. It’s my phone. I pull my hands away from his, searching my handbag with fumbling fingers. Shit, how did I get this drunk? Bloody Sandy and her ‘special recipe sangria’!

  ‘Laura, ignore it, just once,’ Ted says, his voice imploring.

  I can’t not get it, it might be about work, or my suitcase. Was I really just about to kiss Ted? I finally clasp the phone and accept the call before it stops ringing. Glancing back at Ted, I see the heat in his eyes dampen.

  ‘Hello, Laura speaking,’ I say, biting my lip to make myself sound less drunk.

  ‘Hi Laura, this is Jasper Le Maistre – I
believe we may have each other’s suitcases.’

  Tiger Woman on Alcohol

  Tiger Women do not need alcohol. It poisons the brain and pollutes the soul. People use it to escape, to find confidence, to soften the edges of reality. Do not soften your reality – keep your senses sharp. You must be present to catch your prey. Drink water. Eat power. Be roar.

  Chapter 15

  ‘Jasper! Hi!’ I say, swinging away from Ted. There is a sobering chill in the wind and I rub my arm with my free hand.

  ‘I must apologise for not being in touch sooner, I hope it hasn’t been a huge inconvenience.’ His voice, it is him, it’s Hot Tampon Man! No, don’t call him that.

  ‘It’s fine, though I’m afraid I did get cold and borrow one of your jumpers, hic.’ I slap a hand across my lips. Did I just hiccup down the phone? I hear Ted make an amused sound next to me.

  ‘Well, you’ll be pleased to hear I haven’t needed to wear any of your clothes,’ Jasper says, his voice as smooth as I remember it. ‘Where are you? I can bring you your bag straight away.’

  My stomach swirls, and I clasp my hand tighter around my mouth, swallowing down an involuntary gag. I don’t want Jasper to come here – he’d just drop the bag and leave. Plus, I’m far too drunk to make a good impression – I need some water, or coffee, or a time machine to go back in time and drink less sangria – anything that might sober me up.

  I look back up at Ted. Did he know I was about to kiss him? What was I thinking? Ted is technically married, way too old for me. There might be elements of hot mess about him, but no. Why am I even thinking about this? Jasper is the one I want to kiss; Jasper is the man I’ve been looking for.

  ‘I’m just at a party with some friends,’ I cough, suppressing another hiccup. ‘But if it’s not too late, maybe I could come to you to swap the bags in half an hour or so?’

  I feel my stomach lurch again. Jasper says that’s fine – in fact, he sounds keener on that idea. I shove the phone in Ted’s direction and mouth ‘address’ with pleading eyes, before sinking to my knees to try to make the world stop spinning. Wow, I really do need some water.

  ‘Yes, I’m her friend,’ I hear Ted say, clearing his throat. ‘I’m local, you can tell me the address.’

  He’s my friend, that’s nice. Would Ted pass one of those quizzes they have in teenage magazines: ‘How Good a Friend Are You?’ He bought me Jersey wonders today and found me a Phil Collins CD. He’s a really good listener. Now he’s getting Hot Suitcase Guy’s address for me, so, yes, I’d say he’d score pretty highly on a friends quiz.

  ‘Are you alright, Laura?’ Ted asks once he’s hung up.

  I sink into a starfish shape on the dry sand.

  ‘Sorry, I’m not used to drinking so much,’ I say feebly. ‘I just need some water.’

  ‘Maybe it would be better if you collected the bag tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine.’ I wave him away, trying to get up, but then after two steps, I find myself lying face down on the sand again. What is it with sand? It’s so wobbly to walk on; I’m not sure how anyone does it. It’s like a moving, shifting carpet. Even if I was sober, I’m not sure how I’d manage to walk on it.

  Without saying anything, Ted reaches an arm around me, props me up and walks me steadily back towards the footpath up from the beach. I don’t protest. When we get back to the cottage, Ted is still holding me up.

  ‘Zorry, Ted,’ I hear myself slur. ‘I’m zo embarrassed, that zangria really hit me.’

  ‘Come on, I’ll make you some tea.’

  We go inside, and Ted sits me on the bed, then fetches me a large glass of water.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, gulping it down gratefully, as he goes back through to the kitchenette to make me a sobering brew. How did I go from fine to jelly brain in – I check my watch, the party started at six and now it’s eight – OK … and I haven’t really eaten anything since the Jersey wonders. No wonder I’m wasted. I stumble through to the bathroom, realising I’m going to be sick, and manage to shut the door behind me just in time. This is mortifying. I don’t think I’ve been sick from alcohol since I was a teenager. Did Ted hear me throwing up? Cold shower – that’s the answer. I need to change anyway; my dress is damp from lying on the sand. There’s nothing as sobering as—

  ‘ARRGGGGHHHH!’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Ted knocks sharply on the bathroom door.

  ‘Nothing, just in the shower and it’s cold! Out in a jiffy joff!’

  Jiffy joff? Who says that? I gulp down some of the water as it flows over my face, then grab my toothbrush and brush my teeth in the shower. The only good thing about being sick, is that now it’s only a matter of time until I feel sober. It’s like turning your phone on and off again when it gets all glitchy. The shower helps and I emerge in my towel feeling considerably clearer-headed.

  Ted is waiting for me in the bedroom holding two cups of tea. When he sees I’m wearing only a towel, he averts his gaze, mumbling that he’ll wait outside. I’ve noticed his ears go red when he’s embarrassed. I love that Ted’s this strong, manly-looking guy, who at times can seem so sure of himself, but then something innocuous like a woman in a towel can get him all befuddled. Through the window, I see him take a seat on one of the cottage’s patio chairs. He shifts uncomfortably – it is too small for him – and I find myself smiling, grateful that he is here.

  Now what am I going to wear? I have my clothes back from the hotel, the ones I wore yesterday, or the pale blue dress now laundered and dry in the machine. I go for the dress. Whoever invented dresses was a genius – nice, easily put-on-able dresses with no fiddly bits or leg holes.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say to Ted as I come outside, picking up the mug of tea and sitting down next to him.

  The first sip begins to calm my stomach. ‘I’m so sorry about this, taking you away from the party.’

  Ted gives a single nod, his face devoid of judgement.

  ‘Are you still thinking you’ll try and get your case tonight? I’ll go and get it for you if you want, if you aren’t feeling great,’ Ted offers.

  ‘If you swap the cases, then I won’t have any reason to meet him, will I?’ I put the tea down and cross my arms tight against my chest. This feels awkward, the fact we just had a weird moment on the beach and now we’re talking about me wanting to go and meet my suitcase guy.

  ‘Look, obviously I don’t know you very well, Laura, but I remember what you said when you first got into my cab – about having unrealistic expectations.’

  ‘I’m embarrassed I said that,’ I say, studiously focusing on the handle of my mug.

  ‘Just because a guy likes the book your dad read and buys the perfume your mum wore – it doesn’t mean he’s going to fill the hole in your life that they left.’

  His words are gentle, but they feel like a punch to my fragile stomach.

  ‘I don’t think you’re qualified to dabble in pop psychology, Ted – you’re a walking example of how not to process loss. Clearly, you haven’t been looking after yourself since your wife left. Is growing a beard some kind of penance until she comes back? Because it doesn’t sound like she is coming back.’

  I regret the words as soon as they are out, scratches from a cat feeling cornered. I see hurt flash in his eyes and almost leap out of my chair to beg back my cruel words. Instead, I freeze.

  Ted gives me a tight smile and stands up. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s none of my business.’

  As he starts walking back towards the beach, I call after him, ‘Wait, Ted, the address?’

  He calls back without turning around, ‘In the notes on your phone.’

  ‘Any chance you could drive me?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck, Laura. I’m not a bloody saint.’

  I don’t know why I asked that. I think I just wanted him to stay a moment until I could find the words to apologise properly. My mind hums with discomfort over my behaviour, and I’m hurt by Ted’s words, but I push those feelings down. I just
need to focus on meeting Jasper now, on seeing if my instincts about the case were right.

  I order a cab from a different taxi firm, reapply my make-up, and then pack the contents of Jasper’s bag so they look less interfered with. I still haven’t worked out how I’m going to explain the mangled jumper and the missing shoe.

  When the cab arrives, I stand for a moment in the driveway. Watching the party in full swing down on the beach, I feel a tug of remorse – an urge to stay, to re-join the party, and to make peace with Ted. On the grass, where the footpath meets the sand, I see Sandy – wildly waving at me to come back – but I just wave in reply. I look down at the case in my hands – my mind running over the contents again. It has to mean something. It has to.

  It feels strange to be sitting in the back seat of a cab again – like I’ve been demoted. It’s only a ten-minute drive before we pull up to a large granite house called Maison D’Oie, north of St Ouen’s village. These Le Maistres certainly live in fancy houses. This place is a similar size pile to Maude’s, large enough to be the setting for some kind of murder mystery with a billiard room, a scullery, and a house party full of suspects.

  As I give my reflection a final check in my compact, blending a little nude eye shadow across my lids to ease my post-sangria pallor, the driver says, ‘Don’t worry, you look gorgeous, love.’

  I give him a tight smile.

  Standing on the doorstep, I feel my heart in my throat. I’m definitely feeling more sober now, but for a moment I wish just enough of my drunker self back, to muffle the overthinking. I put the suitcase down on the doorstep and press my palms together; hear my own heartbeat, loud and fast, in the quiet of the evening. This is it. I’m finally going to meet him, the person the universe has led me to, my destiny. I ring the doorbell.

  Chapter 16

  Jasper opens the door, and I feel a wave of relief when I see his warm, handsome face. He is wearing a light grey cashmere jumper and dark jeans that look similar to the ones in his case. He brushes a hand through his thick, foppish brown hair and there is a look of recognition in his eyes. Then he gives me a smile that lights him up.