Just My Type: The brand-new HILARIOUS novel from the author of THE YEAR OF SAYING YES

by Hannah Doyle

  Shitting hell I’ve lost my mind in the middle of Switzerland and all because my pre-Swiss diet consisted mostly of chips, burgers, noodles, pastries and anything delicious, basically. Perhaps now would be a good time to reflect on my diet. Maybe make some healthy lifestyle changes?

  Or. . .

  I’m pulling on my jeans and sneaking out of the door within seconds. That waiter said something about a chef, which means there must be a kitchen, which means I must be able to find it and bloody well make myself some food. I tiptoe across the room and am out the door. After lights out! I have very little idea, because there are no clocks in this place, but it must be pushing 9pm by now. I am so naughty! I am on a mission! I am—

  ‘Can I help?’

  Balls. I am busted.

  I spin around, racking my brains for excuse for being out of my prison cell bedroom. In front of me stands a member of staff I’ve not seen before. He’s tall and lightly tanned with cheekbones so angled they look like diamond edges.

  ‘I was, um, going to do some meditating?’

  A pause. A raised eyebrow. ‘After lights out?’

  ‘I find it really helps with my. . . chakras.’

  The hint of a smile. Then that deep voice again. ‘Would you like me to show you to the meditation room?’

  My face crumples. ‘I don’t actually want to meditate. I’m just so bloody hungry!’ I blink through the dimly lit hallway at the name badge on his suit jacket. ‘Ralph, I need some carbohydrates.’

  ‘I hear that chef has some pearl barley. . .’

  ‘Let me stop you right there, Ralph. I’ve already eaten as much pearl barley as your tiny bowls would allow and it has done nothing. NOTHING, I TELL YOU. Please, you have to help me!’

  He looks stern and not a little displeased that I’m pawing at his pristine shirt. And then he says, ‘I could take you out for supper?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Supper. Out.’

  ‘But I’m not allowed to leave this place,’ I hiss, terrified. What if the walls have ears or whatever that phrase is. What if Ralph is testing me and the wrong answer lands me in Greedy Pig classes all day tomorrow?

  ‘We’re not that strict,’ he says with a little laugh. ‘I was going to a place in town to pick up some food, but why don’t you join me and we could eat in? The restaurant is well known for its traditional rösti.’

  Rösti as in potato cakes?!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Date Four: Real Talk with Ralph

  Heaven is a corner table with red checked linen in a little wooden restaurant in Switzerland. In front of me is something called a Fitness Plate, a bafflingly inaccurate description of my dinner. When I read those words on the menu, Ralph shot me a knowing look which dared me to try it. Turns out that was a good move. . . the plate is bigger than my head and on it sits a GIANT potato rösti and a schnitzel with both ham and cheese inside. The tiniest corner is taken up with one slice of tomato and a sprig of cress, but this meal remains otherwise untroubled by the concept of five-a-day. If this is fitness in Switzerland, I’m going to move here.

  However, as much as I love my food, I have to say that tonight’s main attraction is my dinner date. Ralph has slung his suit jacket over the back of his chair and has this hugely sexy brooding thing going on. It’s like he doesn’t want to give too much of himself away just yet, which obviously means I am desperate to knock down his walls and find out every single detail about him. He keeps leaning back in his chair, all calm and collected as his eyes basically pierce into my soul. It’s unnerving and very hot at the same time.

  ‘I’d love to hear what brings you here,’ I say, nibbling on the bit of cress.

  ‘Well, I’m Swiss,’ he begins slowly, almost languidly. He pushes the bread basket over to me before I’ve even realised that I’m out of bread myself. This guy is gooooooood.

  ‘I’ve travelled all over with work, and my last hotel was in Japan, but I always knew I’d come home eventually. The spa opening came at exactly the right time.’

  Kerpow. Good-looking, worldly and mysterious? Ralph is giving me all the feels right now. He asks me about my job with actual interest and then says, ‘Let’s play a game. Imagine that we don’t need to work. What would you be doing?’

  Um, running my fingers along your ridiculously chiselled cheekbones and then maybe just ripping your clothes off for the rest of days?

  I clear my throat. ‘Do you mean because we’re retired?’

  ‘No,’ he laughs, running his hand along his jaw. I try not to gawp. ‘Because we’re filthy rich. We don’t need to earn any money. We’re billionaires.’

  ‘Oh I like this game!’ By now I’ve persuaded Ralph to order a fondue on the side, even though he assured me that fondues aren’t usually considered a side dish, and his eyes meet mine every time he dips some bread in the molten cheese. It’s making focusing extremely difficult so I nudge my chair back a bit and stare off into the middle distance while I think.

  ‘I can’t tell you mine. . . you have to go first,’ I say eventually.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s LAME.’

  ‘Well you have to tell me now.’

  ‘Okay fine. I’d still be a photographer. Sure, I’d probably give myself a few weekends off here and there, but I love what I do. Well, I don’t love working for Violet, I’d definitely not do that anymore. But I’ve been taking more pictures for my own portfolio recently and it gives me such a buzz. I’d just focus on that.’

  I’m worried that my middle distance trick is starting to make me look rude. I chance a quick look at Ralph. Yep, still delicious.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’d like to own my own hotel one day. It would still be long hours so I wouldn’t get much time off, but it’s my passion,’ he replies.

  There’s that word again. Al called my passion for photography an ‘attractive quality’ and I guess I’ve never given it much thought in terms of the guys I date. I’ve always looked for a man with some fancy sounding job but thinking back, none of my exes have been passionate about work. They’ve just been in it for the salary. Their alarms would go off at the break of day and they’d look kind of sad, marching into another Monday and for what? To brag about how much they spent on champagne at a nightclub? Ralph may be incredibly cool but the fire in his eyes is new to me, and I like it.

  ‘Tell me more about Japan,’ I say, closing my eyes as he paints beautiful pictures of cherry blossom and tea ceremonies. His cosmopolitan life is kind of intimidating and when he’s finished I say with a sigh, ‘You’ve travelled so much.’

  ‘I have, and I still love to travel. But I’m happy to be back at home. I grew up breathing in this air, I miss it when I’m away.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what it would be like to live somewhere so beautiful.’

  ‘The place is beautiful, for sure, but I always say that home is more about the people,’ he replies, blinking ever so slowly as he watches me. ‘Family, friends and loved ones.’

  My mind turns instantly to my family, to Mum, and I find myself smiling. After a bit more brooding, Ralph has started telling me an adorable story about his gran, who insists on cooking him batches of lentil soup every Sunday with strict instructions not to microwave it because she has a deep mistrust of them. It’s the cutest snippet of his evidently warm family life and I feel strangely excited to be sharing the story with him.

  ‘Are you close with your parents?’ he asks.

  Well there’s a question.

  ‘My mum is my best friend. She’s so brilliant and strong and I feel incredibly grateful to have her in my life.’

  ‘Is it just the two of you?’

  I take a sip of wine. It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this question and it won’t be the last, but I’m still not sure how to answer it. Sometimes I clam up and change the subject. Sometimes I reply with a simple yes, but I know that makes it sound like Dad is dead, which he isn’t. Usually people sense my awkwardness and a
re happy to move straight on, but looking into Ralph’s eyes is like looking into a pool of crystal clear water. I don’t feel the need to brush it aside, to pretend I’m fine, and it doesn’t seem right to mislead him.

  ‘My parents are both, um, here,’ I fumble around for the right words. ‘I only have a relationship with my mum, though.’

  It’s the first time I’ve even got close to talking about this in a long time. Because the truth is, I don’t have a relationship with my dad. Just thinking about him brings a familiar sting of hot tears to my eyes and I glance up at Ralph. He’s listening quietly, intently.

  ‘Dad and I were really close when I was little but, ah. . .’ I can’t finish my sentence. It’s just too painful. I collect myself, readjusting the napkin on my lap. ‘Sorry, I don’t feel like I can talk much more about it right now.’

  Ralph nods. ‘I understand. I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.’

  ‘No you didn’t,’ I reply hastily. ‘This probably sounds really silly, but that’s more than I’ve said on the subject in forever. So, like, two sentences? Ha! But it feels kind of freeing to be able to do even that. Don’t worry, you haven’t made me feel sad. Besides, who could be blue when they’re surrounded by cheese and a hot guy?’

  ‘I’m hot?’

  Only I could go from an intimate moment to acting like an embarrassing dork in less than ten seconds. I turn back to smoothing out the table linen and mumble something about the temperature.

  ‘Lucky me,’ he says as a smile dances around his lips. ‘I don’t know if this helps, but I read something once that said, “Do not let the behaviour of others destroy your inner peace.” I think it’s a quote from the Dalai Lama. I repeat it to myself when I let myself get frustrated by something out of my control.’

  I blink a bit. I’ve never thought about all of this stuff as being out of my control before. There’s literally nothing I can do about something that’s already happened, is there?

  ‘Ralph, thank you,’ I say eventually. ‘Not just for all these carbs but for being such a wise owl. I’ve had a really good evening. I think you’ll get your hotel one day and I’d love to come and stay when you do.’

  ‘You’ll be at the top of my guest list,’ he smoulders.

  And. . . I’m going to need a freezing cold shower when I get back to the hotel.

  Mils, went on my best date yet last night! Would have texted you sooner but phone on lockdown at the spa we were staying in. So, RALPH. He rescued me from eating Violet (I was that hungry) and took me out for fondue. He had this ridiculously sexy brooding thing going on. Like, he was so mysterious and also weirdly open at the same time. Does that make sense? Just looking into his eyes made me want to open up to him. I felt hot and bothered and really comfortable around him at the same time. WTF?! Even talked a bit about You Know Who! Date number four = Real Talk with Ralph. My new type on paper score: 5/7.

  OMG your fourth date! You are on fire, Jazzy. Just think, only three more and you might even find The One.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The top button of my jeans is wrestling to break loose and I’m not going to lie, I would love to be sat around in my pants, recovering from all that fondue, right now. Sadly those kind of shenanigans are probs not acceptable in the posh business lounge at Zurich Airport. Most people in here are wearing expensive suits or head-to-toe cashmere. At least I have thoughts of date number four with Ralph to occupy my mind. The cold shower did not do the trick and every time I close my eyes, all I can see is his smouldering stare and the face of a sculpted man god. Ralph made me feel seen in a way I haven’t in a long time. I’d love a repeat performance but I also feel happy to leave it there. There’s definitely something to be said for not over-thinking dates like I used to.

  Violet’s thrilled to be back in the land of reception and has been glued to her phone ever since it was returned to her. Mostly she’s been sending love poems to Chip – ‘three days is the longest we haven’t spoken!’ – while I’ve been less excited to get my phone back. Other than the essential post-date message to Mila, I’m in no rush to dive back into my app-checking habit. This break from my phone has felt good. It’s been revolutionary to have a thought and then continue to have some more thoughts without taking a social media break every ten seconds. And though I hate to admit it, having time to think about my past might actually have made me feel a bit better?

  ‘OH NO HE FUCKING DIDN’T,’ Violet’s hands are clenched around her iPad.

  I set my third coffee of the day down (I’ve missed my old pal caffeine!) and inch Violet’s coffee further away from her in case of any erratic movements.

  ‘Look at this,’ she hands me the tablet, a picture of Chip standing rather close to a bouncy-haired lady. It doesn’t look great.

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘She’s always lurking around at events. I’m going to absolutely kill him.’

  ‘Hang on, you don’t know what’s happened yet. It’s not like they’re kissing.’

  ‘His hand is on the small of her back in this picture,’ she says, aggressively scrolling through. ‘The stupid arse. I’ve only been away for a few days!’ Suddenly fury turns into sadness and her face rumples, tears spilling down her cheeks. I actually feel sorry for her. Whatever Chip is up to, it doesn’t look good. Stuffing a tissue in Violet’s hand, I steer her towards the lounge bar. Sometimes even coffee won’t cut it.

  Violet has fallen asleep after one glass of champagne and, after the weekend’s sort-of detox I’m feeling a bit woozy myself. Our flight’s been delayed and as Violet snoozes, I take the chance to catch up on my own stuff with no distractions.

  Plugging my phone in to charge, I wait for my emails to update. Arnie’s emailed to see how the website’s doing, which is really sweet of him. So far no one has got in touch via the contacts page but I’m getting quite a few page visits, and my personal Instagram has started to grow too. It feels like a good start but I know there’s work to be done, and I remind myself not to get sucked into spending all my spare time on Violet’s job from now on. I have a sideline hustle to tend to. . . me!

  From: Becky With The Clipboard

  Subject: DENMARK

  Babes, Hi!

  Just to say we have finally got some dates together to interview for that knitwear shoot I was telling you about. You know, hot Danish brand Jump want a photographer to shoot their social media campaign for the UK launch?

  We love you and we think you’d be great. Are you free to interview next Thursday, 3pm? If it was up to me you’d be a shoe-in but we’ve got to do all the boring box-ticking stuff first. Just a short meeting with me and my boss. Don’t worry, she’s not that scary. Well, she’s like 99 per cent petrifying but you might catch her on a semi-human day. What do you think?

  Kisses, Becks

  Ps We’re now looking at three days and the shoot will be in Copenhagen.

  ARGH!!!! An actual interview for a real life job? In DENMARK? Naturally, being the serene swan that I am, I feel very cool and calm about the whole thing. Fingers shaking, I scroll back to see that the email was sent on Friday, the day we flew out here, which means that the interview is going to be THIS COMING THURSDAY. I tap back a nervy reply to say I’ll be there and try to block out The Fear. I haven’t had an interview in forever. I’ll be totally fine. I’ll definitely nail it. Right?!

  From: Mum

  Subject: Mother Knows Best

  Hi Jazzy

  I hope Switzerland was fun and you saw lots of beautiful alpine trees, I’m quite jealous! This is just a quick one, Tiger’s nephew Charlie has suggested a couple of potential weekends for you to meet up – I’ve copied them onto the end of this email. He’s studying in Edinburgh and would love to show you around the city, doesn’t that sound lovely? Call me when you get home so we can discuss!

  Mum x

  Gawd. I feel bad messaging mum to say I can’t make the suggested dates (mostly because I am free for one of the weekends) but it’s a little white lie and I’
m not going all the way to Edinburgh to meet a man who does not sound like my cup of tea, even if it would be another date closer to date number seven. I’d rather meet a man on my terms, that’s all. Nearly through my inbox, my finger wavers on one final email.

  From: hollyh@mymail.com

  Subject: Hello

  Hi Jas

  I’ve been wanting to get in touch for so long and have had no clue how best to go about it. I’m so sorry that this is out of the blue, and will no doubt bring back painful memories for you, but I just wanted to say that I miss you and I think about you every day.

  Love always, Holly

  I blindly stab at my phone until the email’s disappeared and then I order myself a big ass drink.

  Mike’s on the terrace rustling up a BBQ while Mila sloshes rosé into our glasses. Ben would love to go and talk to Mike about beef, I can see it in his eyes, but instead he’s being very sweet and listening to me ramble on about that email instead.

  ‘I wonder why she’s getting in touch now,’ Mila says. ‘Maybe she feels like there’s enough water under the bridge?’

  ‘There will never be enough water under that stupid bridge,’ I reply. Ben smushes my cheeks which is irritating and cute in equal measures.

  ‘Did you hear from her too?’ I ask.

  ‘No,’ they say in unison.

  ‘But then, it was you two who had the huge fallout and besides, you and Holly were best mates in the first place. It’s not surprising that you’d be the one she reached out to,’ Mila adds.

  ‘Weren’t you friends from primary school?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Yep. She was my oldest friend. We used to hang out at each other’s house after school and we always competed together in the three-legged race on sports day. . .’

  ‘I remember thinking how utterly cool she was when I first met you two at secondary,’ says Mila. ‘Do you remember that time when we went to prom and Holly looked exactly like Marissa Cooper from The OC? All that perfectly wavy hair and shit. I was just about dying to be her then. Not to mention the fact that she could have any—’ Mila stops short of finishing her sentence, her face falling. ‘Shit, sorry Jas. I didn’t think.’