Billy looks at me with intent as he leans forward and kisses me.
‘I’m not going anywhere, Sophie. I love you. Completely and utterly love you.’
I can’t help the smile that creeps across my blotchy face as his words engulf me. Years ago I’d have run a mile at such a declaration, but right now, with Billy, those words are more than comforting – because they mirror my own feelings towards him.
When Billy arrives at my house on Sunday to pick me up for our ‘date day’ there’s a gleaming red sports car parked in the driveway.
‘Erm, what’s that?’ I ask as I walk out of the house and pull the door closed behind me.
‘My car!’
‘I thought you didn’t have a car here.’
‘I didn’t, but I wanted to take you somewhere so I got someone to drive it down here for me.’
‘It’s a bit flash, isn’t it?’ I tease.
‘An impulse buy when I was younger and more reckless.’
‘I see … Where are you taking me?’ I ask, giving him a quick kiss hello.
‘London.’
‘What?’ I know it might sound hard to believe, as we only live just over an hour away from the capital, but I’ve only been up to London a handful of times and those trips were with Mum and Dad when I was younger. I remember the excitement of waiting at the train station and watching all the other trains whizzing past at great speed, making my hair fly around wildly, before eventually getting on the train to London with my jam sandwiches and Worcester-sauce-flavoured crisps. Then when we got to London we’d walk down by the river, where I’d be allowed to have an ice-cream cone, with a chocolate flake sticking out of the top. We always ended up in Trafalgar Square, which is where Dad would place me on top of one of the gigantic statues of a lion and I’d sit there feeling extremely important because I was so high up.
‘Can we feed the pigeons?’ I squeak with excitement.
Billy fails to stifle a laugh.
‘Sadly not. It’s against the law now.’
‘What? Since when?’ I demand, failing not to show my disappointment.
‘Dunno … years ago.’
‘Why?’
‘Something to do with them pooing all over the statues and disfiguring them, I think.’
‘But that’s ridiculous!’ One of the things I loved more than anything about our trips to London was feeding the pigeons in the square. I’d squeal and laugh as what felt like hundreds of birds gathered around me in a quest to nibble on my hands full of seeds. Once all the seeds were dispersed evenly amongst them (there’d always be one fat one trying its best to scoff the lot), I’d run through my newly gathered friends and send them flying into the air. I’d twirl around underneath them, enjoying their flight as though I was some mad pigeon queen in charge of her flock. ‘Please tell me you’re still allowed to sit on the lions?’ I say in desperation.
‘Yes …’
‘Well, that’s something, I guess.’
‘… but there has been talk of banning that as well.’
I stare at him in disbelief as he opens the passenger door for me to climb in. I do so in the most unladylike manner, as I’ve never had to get into such a low car before. I make the error of deciding to get in head first for some reason and then try to work out how to get my bum, which is left sticking up in the air outside the car, inside as well. I scramble around for a few seconds until I’m finally in the seat. I look up to find Billy watching me with a smirk on his face.
‘Anyway, I wasn’t planning to take you to Trafalgar Square. I want to take you to my flat, to show you where I live.’
‘Ah … so it’s time to see the bachelor pad,’ I say, closing the door on him.
Billy is still laughing when he opens his door, climbs in and pulls on his seatbelt. He presses a button in the middle of the dashboard and I jump, as a massive roar suddenly comes from the engine … no key necessary.
An hour and a half later we’ve parked the car in a private underground car park, full of cars that are probably worth more than our house in Rosefont Hill, taken the lift to Billy’s floor and arrived outside his London pad as he unlocks the door and gets me to walk in first.
His home is beautiful, and nothing like the bachelor pad I was expecting – there’s not a hint of black leather or glass anywhere. It’s huge, but homely. Dark wooden flooring, exposed brick walls and chunky toffee-coloured furniture fill the apartment and make it feel more like a luxury country cottage than a city flat.
One side of Billy’s home is a complete row of enormous sash windows, letting in an abundance of light. I walk over to them, look out and see that they overlook a huge park below.
‘That’s Hyde Park,’ says Billy, without me even having to ask.
Looking back inside the flat I notice the framed photographs which occupy the walls, not ones of him acting or on the red carpet, showing off his accomplishments as I might have thought, but action shots of him with the same group of people, laughing and playing.
‘My family,’ he offers, confirming my thoughts and proving to me again how close they must all be.
I turn to face him.
‘This is beautiful. It’s not what I was expecting at all.’
‘What did you expect?’
‘Seriously? I thought it would be ultra modern with all sorts of gadgets, like clapping to turn the lights on or voice control window blinds or something. I expected to see big black leather sofas or glass tables, awards on display or at least massive photos of you in the films you’ve been in.’
‘Wow! I didn’t realize you thought I was so self-centred!’ he laughs.
‘No, not at all! I just … this is so homely.’
‘I’m glad you see it like that,’ he says, before he slowly takes a deep breath, exhales quickly and continues. ‘Sophie, I’ve got some news …’
‘Right, what’s happened?’ I ask, taken aback by the sudden desperation in his voice.
‘You know I’ve been going for loads of meetings in the last few weeks?’
‘Yes.’
Even though Billy’s filming schedule has been erratic and busy as usual he has had the added stress of coming back into London at any given opportunity for meetings about future projects.
‘Well, I’ve lined up my next job.’
My heart plummets at the thought of him travelling back to LA to film his next blockbuster. I knew it would happen at some point, of course I did, I just didn’t want to have to deal with it so soon.
‘Oh, right,’ I say, trying to sound more enthusiastic than I feel.
‘I didn’t want to tell you about it before, because I didn’t want to get your hopes up and it’s meant rejigging a few other projects around, but … well, I’m doing a play in London,’ he says, his face beaming with excitement.
It takes a few seconds for the words to land and for my brain to make sense of them.
‘What? You mean you’re staying here?’ I ask slowly, needing clarity.
‘That’s right! I rehearse in London for a month and then the run is for twelve weeks.’
‘That’s amazing!’ I squeal as I leap into his arms and plant my lips onto his. The relief of him remaining close by for at least another four months overwhelms me after being so certain he’d be jetting off as soon as filming had finished. My concern over what effect Billy’s leaving could have on our relationship has been niggling away at me over the past few weeks. Those worries are immediately eradicated and replaced with excitement.
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I really am,’ I say with a grin. ‘So, what’s the play?’
‘It’s a new piece by Simon Edwards called Dunked, at the Duke of York’s, near Leicester Square. You’ve been there, right?’ he says as he guides me to the sofa, where we both sit down.
‘Leicester Square? I can’t remember. Possibly. Is it near Trafalgar Square?’
‘Is that seriously the only place in London you can remember?’ he asks, causing us both to laugh
. ‘They have a load of premieres at the Odeon in Leicester Square,’ he explains.
‘Oh, I see … So, what’s the play about?’ I ask, keen to know more about the wonderful project that is keeping Billy in the country.
‘Well, it’s a modern piece, with a really small company – I think there’s only four or five of us. It focuses on this group of strangers and how their lives intertwine without them realizing. It’s quite dark, but I think that’s what I need to get further away from the whole teenybopper thing.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘It should be. I’ve never done any stage work professionally before and, although I know there’s going to be a queue of critics waiting to bash me, I hope I can prove to people that I’m not a one-trick pony, you see? I needed to do something a little bit different.’
‘I can’t believe you’re staying!’ I gush, leaning in and kissing him again.
‘Well, I thought it would make things easier for us, you know? I don’t need to take on jobs that are miles away, but more importantly, I don’t want to. I promise I don’t ever want to be far away from you, Sophie May.’
I smile at him, drinking in his declaration.
Billy’s dark chocolate eyes twinkle with excitement, as he continues to talk.
‘I want you with me every day, Sophie – to know that my days will be starting and ending with you in my arms. I’d love it if you moved to London and lived here with me.’
My mouth turns uncomfortably dry.
I’ve only ever been to London on daytrips with Mum and Dad – is it really somewhere I’d be able to call home? It’s so different from the slow, leisurely pace of Rosefont Hill – so loud and busy. So big! Could I cope with that day in, day out?
Having spent my whole life there, I feel so safe and secure with what I have in Rosefont Hill – Mum, Molly, all the locals and the shop. In London I only have one thing. Billy.
I look at his hopeful face and my head starts to spin.
Could I really do this?
Part Two
9
‘Tall caramel macchiato, extra hot with whipped cream,’ shouts Andrezj, my new Polish boss, who, before I even have time to pick up the cup he has just placed beside me, is already shouting out the next order.
‘Grande sugar-free, soya vanilla latte.’
I falter for a second, breaking down the drinks’ names, before picking up both cups and placing them under the espresso machine. At Tea-on-the-Hill the drinks menu was simple – white or black coffee, cappuccino, hot chocolate or any flavour tea you wanted (it’s only boiling water and adding a teabag – hardly rocket science). Here it’s a different story and it’s taking me a while to get my head around it – there are just so many choices!
When Billy first asked me to move to London with him I thought he was mad, we’d only known each other a few months after all, but slowly he managed to win me round, somehow keeping me calm in the process, stopping me from freaking out over how fast things were suddenly moving between us. He’d made it sound so simple; if we wanted to see each other more and wanted to give our relationship a chance, then we’d have to live together, or at least closer. It would alleviate all the stress that not seeing each other would inevitably cause in the future. And yes, I realize that to the outside world all this might seem quick; it is! But Billy’s view on waiting is that if we were to hold off for a few months then we’d only be doing so for those people who might judge us along the way, so why bother? One thing I’ve learnt is that Billy Buskin is a hard person to say no to.
Surprisingly, Mum was really calm about the news. I wasn’t quite sure how to break it to her after her earlier outburst, but Billy decided to tell her with me. Billy and Mum had struck up a nice friendship, which was largely down to him joining us on our Friday nights in together, something we all looked forward to. Billy would be the perfect gentlemen around Mum – kind, caring and attentive – but he’d also have her laughing hysterically with his funny ways. It felt good to have that joyous sound filling our home once again. Something we’ve not had for years. It finally feels as though a new chapter might actually be starting for us, which Mum and I are both happily embracing.
Molly, however, was a mess when I told her the news. I’ve never seen her so distraught and it was awful to see the woman I thought to be so strong in such a state. She cried non-stop for my last few days at Tea-on-the-Hill, and has made me promise to call her every day, without fail. I’m happily complying.
No one has been more surprised than me at the sudden change in my life – leaving everything that I know and am comfortable with in Rosefont Hill to move somewhere new, where the only person I know is Billy. I didn’t just drop everything carelessly and go running to London – not quite. I had time to warn people, like Mum and Molly, and to think what would make the change easier for me. I decided that independence was key. I knew that I had to find a job, hopefully in a little boutique coffee shop or privately owned bookshop, so that I could continue to support myself and have some structure to my days. Billy hated the idea, especially as, in his own words, he can happily provide for the both of us – it was difficult to explain that the very thought of living off him and flying aimlessly through my days made me want to vomit. But he took it well, even if he didn’t agree with it.
Even before moving here I started applying online for jobs, but heard nothing back. I was still searching for something by the time Billy handed over a key to his flat. Even after several weeks, not a single interesting job presented itself, meaning I had to take the first job that became available … which is how I have come to be wearing a bright orange apron and baseball cap, with a great big commercial logo emblazoned on the front. That’s right, folks, I’m now working at Coffee Matters. It’s quick, it’s frantic and there’s hardly any satisfactory customer interaction, even though we have hundreds more visitors in an hour than we’d have had in a week back home. Therefore, it’s basically the same job, minus the baking, polite chatter and any of the perks. I just have to keep reminding myself that it’s a temporary measure that keeps me financially and physically independent. Obviously, I haven’t told Molly about my new job. Not yet. I haven’t plucked up the courage, as I know how disappointed she’ll be.
‘Sorry!’ I say to the lady tapping her perfectly manicured fingernails on the counter top, letting me know that I’m taking longer than she finds acceptable to get her order to her. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I ask, politely, not letting her lack of patience irritate me.
She huffs and puffs out her lips in desperation.
‘A grande sugar-free, soya vanilla latte?’
‘Ah, righto! I’m on it,’ I say as I pick up the carton of soya milk and flash her a smile. ‘I’m new here, you see. It was my first day yesterday, so I’m still trying to get to grips with everything.’
‘Right …’ she says with a lack of interest, looking down to play with her watch, which immediately shuts me up and hurries me along.
Hours later, after feeling like a machine churning out drinks all day to ungrateful customers, I sigh with relief when I spot Billy outside, wearing a black trilby with dark glasses in an attempt to hide himself and blend in with the hordes of tourists on the streets. It’s finally home time. I look in Andrezj’s direction for confirmation that it’s OK to go, to which I just get a nod of the head and a grunt. I grab my bag and leave.
‘Ah, there you are!’ Billy says, as he wraps his arms under mine and lifts me off the ground. ‘So, how was it?’
‘Absolutely fine!’ I say, smiling, not wanting Billy to worry about me at work, especially as he wasn’t keen for me to take on the job in the first place. He’d be mortified if he knew how miserable I actually was, and insist that I pack it in straight away.
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely! How were rehearsals?’ I ask, changing the subject as I grab his hand and drag him in the direction of home. It has surprised me how close everything is in London; I always thought it was all so spread out
but in actual fact, seeing as we live in the heart of the city, we can actually walk places with ease. I’m chuffed that I haven’t been spending hours battling with the different tube lines and so on – I don’t think I’d have been so keen on that.
Billy is now in his fourth week of rehearsals alongside Ruth Banks, James Arterton and Ben Drake. The mammoth difference between working on stage and film has alarmed him, which saw him majorly concerned last week as to whether it was something he was talented enough to do. I honestly thought he was going to walk, he was so down about the whole thing. However, after a big chat with the director he seems much more positive – apparently, Billy was experiencing some sort of ‘actor’s wall’, which is similar to writer’s block, I imagine, where nothing seemed to be working with his character. Once he knew it was common to feel crap at that point in the rehearsal process, he began feeling far more relaxed about it, making him much nicer to be around!
‘Great, it’s all starting to make sense at last.’
‘That’s good!’
‘I’m quite looking forward to putting it in front of an audience now and seeing what they make of it.’
‘There’s not long to go!’
‘Less than a week.’
‘Blimey.’
‘So, what shall we have for dinner tonight, Miss May?’
I’m about to answer when a guy with a huge camera jumps out twenty yards in front of us and starts snapping away in our direction. Billy’s hand tightens around mine as we both slow our walking hesitantly, unsure what to do or which direction to turn in. I can feel my eyes widen as I make sense of the situation. He is a paparazzo and we’re in the process of being papped.
I’m in my Coffee Matters uniform.
Before I can protest or even break into a smile to make light of the situation, the middle-aged man, wearing ripped jeans, scruffy trainers and a creased t-shirt, jumps on top of the motorbike sitting next to him and speeds off, leaving us to just stare after him.
Billy and Me Page 9