Valentine's on Primrose Hill (A Short Story)

by Nikki Moore

  ‘He sounds like a good guy,’ Leo’s deep voice trickled into her ear, making her shiver.

  ‘He is. The best thing about him is that even though he lives in a multi-million town house in Knightsbridge with four cars on the driveway and is a famous music producer to rival Simon Cowell - except without the high-waisted trousers, alarming amounts of chest hair and smug smirk - he isn’t pretentious at all. He does however have an impressive set of straight white teeth.’

  ‘Cosmetic dentistry?’

  ‘No. I’ve been jealous of Matt’s wide, flawless grin since I was seven and he was sixteen. I totally hero-worshipped him growing up.’

  ‘So that’s what a guy has to do to earn your adoration,’ Leo joked. ‘Straight white teeth added to Georgiana’s ideal man list. Tick.’

  ‘Ha-ha. No, actually my ideal man would have to make me laugh, support me and love me for who I am.’

  ‘Utter crap,’ Leo teased, ‘he’d have to be a millionaire with a six-pack!’

  ‘Nah, an eight-pack at a minimum, like Jason Derulo. You can see his abs on stage from miles away.’

  ‘No, that’s probably just his gold bling.’ He paused. ‘So, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’

  George’s heart jumped in a double ka-boom in her chest. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Uh, how long can you stay?’ He cleared his throat, ‘London prices are extortionate, and it’s a pretty nice house.’

  ‘For as long as we want. We’re family. The deal is that we keep it secure and do maintenance on it instead of paying rent. Matt doesn’t have a mortgage or need the income. Dad insisted we’d pay bills though, Mum too. She finds it hard accepting help off Uncle John.’

  ‘What about your family home?’

  ‘My parents have rented it out to keep it as an investment, but we’re not planning to move back any time soon. Why?’

  ‘I just wondered. It was pretty radical moving from Somerset to London.’

  ‘Yeah, and I was scared at first. I felt really threatened by such a big change.’

  ‘So why did you agree?’

  ‘I didn’t want to disappoint Dad. I’ve already short-changed my parents in the biggest way possible. I’m not the daughter they had any more.’ She whispered. ‘I felt like I’d never live the life they’d hoped for me.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true at all,’ he said huskily. ‘There’s no way you’ve short-changed them. And how do you feel now?’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t counted on Mum getting me Buttons, or falling in love with him. Or you. No– I don’t mean that I’m in love with you,’ she blustered. Oh, shit. ‘I mean that I hadn’t counted on meeting you. That we would talk so much, that you would bring me out of myself. That I could trust you.’ Argh, she hadn’t meant to say that either. God, this was excruciating. It was so bad. Her face was bright red, she was sweating. ‘I’m going to have to go to bed soon.’ She faked a yawn. ‘I’m really tired.’

  ‘It’s okay. Relax.’ He laughed. ‘You are adorable sometimes. You sounded so mortified. I’m not that bad you know. A woman could fall for me.’ He paused. ‘If she tried very hard, had lots of patience and didn’t mind that my job is pretty much my life.’

  ‘Nah,’ George covered her embarrassment with teasing, ‘that’s too big of an ask. You’re way too annoying. But you sounded confident. Have you got some extremely easy-going girls ready for Valentine’s Day or something?’ It was painful to ask. She wanted to know and not know. But it was only three days away, and she would rather prepare herself now if he said he was going on a date.

  ‘No, absolutely not.’

  George was shocked at the amount of relief coursing through her. How had he become so important to her in a few short weeks? Maybe it was because they were so open and candid with each other. It felt intimate, and intimacy usually went hand in hand with romance. And friendship. Two out of the three wasn’t bad, she supposed.

  ‘Which reminds me, I want to ask you something. Will you meet me tomorrow night, at around six on Primrose Hill?’

  ‘Yes, okay,’ her pulse quickened. ‘What’s it about?’

  ‘Just a friendly favour,’ he answered casually.

  George let out a breath, deflated. ‘No probs. See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Great. Oh, and by the way, I enjoy our chats and messages too,’ he remarked. ‘They make me laugh, and I look forward to them. Night.’

  George clutched the phone in her damp palm after he’d rung off, wondering what that had all been about. She daren’t get her hopes up. They were just friends.

  Just over twenty hours later, she walked into the park, the Victorian lamps providing little spotlights along the paths. She automatically let Buttons off the lead and started wandering up the slope toward the brow of the hill.

  Leo was waiting for her there, sitting on a bench overlooking the city. ‘Hey, you. Had a good day?’ Patting the seat next to him.

  ‘Yeah, good thanks. I went shopping.’ It hadn’t been easy, and one or two of the shop assistants had been less than subtle with their staring, but she’d survived.

  He grinned, ‘That’s great. Finally going to ditch the Goth wardrobe and wear some colour?’ He’d teased her a few times about the dark clothing she always wore.

  ‘Ta-dah!’ Unbuttoning her coat she revealed a turquoise jumper.

  ‘Argh! It burns.’ He reeled back, pretending to be blinded.

  She punched him in the arm and sat down, doing her coat back up. ‘I know you’ve got a favour to ask me,’ she took a breath and exhaled it slowly, ‘but I wanted to ask you for one too.’

  He looked almost relieved. ‘Of course. You go first.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ he watched as she knotted her fingers together. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Ready for what?’

  ‘To tell you what happened to me. My therapist suggested it, and I think she’s right.’

  ‘You’re seeing a therapist?’ he frowned.

  She lifted her chin, willing her cheeks not to burn. ‘Yes. There’s no shame in it. Sometimes talking helps.’

  ‘I’m not judging, I’m pleased for you. You’ve obviously been through a lot. I think you should talk about it. So, why now? Why not before?’

  ‘I didn’t know you well enough.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I told you last night. Now I trust you.’

  ‘Right,’ he shifted in his seat, looked uncharacte‌ristically edgy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. Go on, please tell me.’

  He picked up her hand, wrapping his warm fingers around her cold ones. She tried not to squirm, tried to focus on the heat of his hand rather than the tingles it sent through her body.

  ‘It made the regional papers.’ With her free hand she reached into her pocket, drawing out a piece of newspaper that had been folded and refolded umpteen times. Her first counsellor had said it might help her, make it real at a time when all she’d done was try to deny her new reality. ‘This is what my car looked like afterwards.’

  He drew the scrap of paper from her clutching fingers, staring down at it, drawing in a sharp breath. ‘Jesus, Georgiana! The state of your car…It’s almost crushed.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s a wonder you made it out alive.’

  ‘How did you think I got to look like this?’ she asked him, but there wasn’t as much bitterness or anger as before. Thanks to him, her parents, her puppy and her friends.

  He twisted his head to look at her, ‘Don’t do that. Don’t. You’re still beautiful. And even if you weren’t, looks aren’t everything.’

  She clenched her teeth. Did he mean it or did he feel sorry for her? Was he just trying to comfort her because of how lovely he was? ‘I don’t feel beautiful. I feel…imperfect. Like all anyone will ever see is the eye-patch. Or the way I limp slightly when it rains.’

  ‘No-one who cares about you will care about any of those things, and anyway, they make you who yo
u are. And I think you’re pretty cool.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yep. You’re not really bitter. Even though you make comments about your eye and the scar, you don’t complain, not compared to how some people would. You could be depressed right now, with everything you’ve gone through, but you somehow pulled yourself out of it. You make me laugh. I check my phone in class for your messages, even though it could get me in trouble. My concentration is shot. That’s never happened to me before. You don’t take yourself – or me – too seriously, I like that.’ He cleared his throat, threw his head to look up at the twinkling stars in the navy blanket of sky. ‘Anyway, I think you have more to tell me, so I’ll shut up. What do you remember? How does it make you feel?’ He waved the newspaper under her nose.

  She gulped. The stuff he’d just said was positively overwhelming and she needed time to make sense of it but the article clenched in his fist was bringing it all back. ‘I have nightmares about it,’ she whispered, ‘and I wake up sweaty. My favourite Rihanna album was playing on the stereo when my car got plastered along the barrier, and since the accident I haven’t been able to listen to a single one of her songs without feeling sick.’ She fell silent.

  ‘What else?’ Leo asked, pulling her closer to his side by their joined hands. Like always she was overwhelmed by the heat of his touch, the depth of his voice, the sexy crispness of his aftershave.

  Her face creased up. ‘I was minding my own business, driving along and picturing the bottle of red wine me and a flatmate were going to open when I got in. Then there was a violent smash as he rear-ended me. My Clio spun around like I was on a fairground Waltzer and there was an instant feeling like I was going to throw up. It was that go-fast, but slow down feeling everyone talks about.’ She began to shake, reliving the horror. ‘The lorry smashed into me again, sending me into the central barrier and the car flipped on its roof then back over again. I remember glass splintering around me, piercing into my body. There was the sound of metal grinding and screaming…or maybe that was me. Then absolute stillness. After a moment rain pounded my face because the windscreen and half the roof had come off. I couldn’t look down because I was pinned to the headrest by something sticking into my head,’ she touched her eye patch with her free hand. ‘It hurt so much, so badly. Then there was this searing, horrendous pain lower down and I knew half the engine was in my lap. I wondered if that was it, if I was done.’

  ‘Oh, Georgiana,’ Leo murmured and let go of her hand. Wrapping both of his arms around her he hugged her tightly, like he was trying to absorb some of her pain.

  Slowly, slowly her arms crept up and she let herself be held. She leaned into him. There was nothing sexual in it at first. It was just comfort, compassion. She hadn’t realised how much she’d needed it. But here with Leo, someone who’d been a virtual stranger only a few weeks before, here in this windy, cold London park, she finally wept. She pushed her face into his neck and let go, let him give her what she hadn’t known she needed. She cried; tears of sadness, anger and loss trickling down her face. He held her close, stroking her back and murmuring soothing words, and she was no longer scared that the broken pieces of her couldn’t be put back together. This. This was true romance. Not a card and flowers. Not chocolates and the movies. It was letting someone else see the most vulnerable part of you, and not being afraid that they would turn away or use it against you.

  That’s when she realised she was falling in love with him. But she wasn’t ready for confessions yet.

  ‘Thank God I blacked out then,’ she whispered into the skin where his jaw met his neck, a light stubble coating it, salty from her tears. In answer his arms tightened fractionally. ‘I didn’t know anything until I woke up three days later, in desperate pain, confused and not understanding what had happened.’ As the unbelievable devastation of that moment resurfaced she wept again, quietening when he moved his hand up to smooth her hair away from her face. ‘Apparently, it took a team of paramedics and firemen half an hour to cut me out of the car,’ she said shakily, ‘and that first hour, the golden hour they call it, is so important, in terms of survival…I owe those staff my life. In fact,’ she heaved a deep breath, feeling lighter after crying, and confiding in him, ‘I’m going to go and see them, to say thank you. It feels…right. I can’t drive but I could get the train or coach. I need to conquer doing both of those things at some point.’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ He smiled, putting some space between them so he could look down into her face, rubbing the tears from her left cheek. ‘And it’s great to hear you say that. But if you don’t mind company, we’ll go together. I’d like to thank them myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For saving you, silly. The world would be a sadder place without you in it. Why else?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ There were two different ways to interpret his comment; as a loyal friend or a loving boyfriend. But he’d never even asked her on a date, so thinking about the second option would probably only lead to heartbreak hotel, and the last thing she needed was more pain.

  After a few moments, she leant back and wiped her face, aware of how muscular his arms were and the rolling, tightening lust in her pelvis. ‘Anyway, thank you for listening, and the hugs, but enough of that weepy stuff now. What did you want to ask me?’ She eased away from him, unzipping her coat so she could cool down. His body heat was incredible.

  He stared down at her, brown eyes intent. ‘I wanted to know if you wanted to hang out on Saturday. We could meet here at noon?’

  ‘That’s Valentine’s Day!’ Shock and delight unwrapped a warm feeling in her chest. She hesitated. ‘You seriously don’t have anyone else you’d rather spend it with?’

  ‘It would just be as friends,’ his cheeks turned red. ‘Like I said, this is just a friendly favour. No pressure.’

  ‘Oh,’ her stomach plummeted through the bench and hit the concrete floor underneath them with a thud. Her heart followed a close second. ‘No, of course not,’ she replied, praying her voice was steady, rolling her head back to gaze up at the rising moon. ‘I’m not sure, Leo. I’d planned to stay in, well out of the way of all that soppy, romantic stuff. Can I let you know, or do I need to make a decision now, so you can sort out plan B?’ She struggled to mask the jealousy that streaked through her at the thought.

  ‘I can hang on,’ he shrugged, ‘and in the meantime I’ll try not to be too overwhelmed by your enthusiasm. I might not be able to fit my head through my classroom door tomorrow.’

  She laughed, ‘I just don’t know how I’m going to feel about it, on the day. Look, I’ve made progress, a few weeks ago it would have been an automatic no.’

  ‘You have made progress,’ he agreed. ‘My work is almost done,’ he rubbed his hands together, unfolding his long body from the bench.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she shot back suspiciously, standing up and rustling the biscuit bag to get Buttons’ attention. ‘This isn’t the moment you tell me that Mum hired you to help me, is it? God that would be awful.’ If that was the case, she might cry. Again.

  ‘Don’t be paranoid,’ he answered, avoiding eye contact, ‘there’s nothing like that. I’d never met your Mum before that first day you fell over, I swear.’

  But he still looked a bit shifty, transferring his weight from one foot to another.

  ‘There’s nothing you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Nothing you need to worry about,’ he backed away. ‘I have to go, I have books to mark.’

  ‘You’re not going to walk me home?’ she said, confused.

  ‘Do you need me to?’ he stopped, jiggling his hands in his pockets.

  ‘No.’ But I want you to, she added silently in her head. ‘Don’t worry, go on. I have to find Buttons anyway.’

  ‘You sure?’ Leo walked backwards, like she was on fire and he was in danger of being burnt.

  ‘Yeah. I’ll let you know about Saturday. Go.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll message you later to say good night,’ he waved
and spun away, jogging down the hill. ‘And hopefully I’ll see you at the weekend,’ he yelled over his shoulder.

  ‘Weird,’ George muttered, turning her head back and forth and whistling for the puppy. ‘What’s his deal then, huh?’ she scratched Buttons behind the ears when he screeched up to her, claws skidding on the ground. ‘I suppose it will all become clear on Saturday, if I meet up with him.’

  By the time she got home, she’d made her mind up. Even if it was just as friends, there was no-one else she’d rather spend Valentine’s Day with. Even so, the things he’d said to her, the way he’d held her, that couldn’t just be a friends thing, could it? When he looked at her, smiled, laughed…it felt like he didn’t see the scars. They didn’t matter. He’d called her beautiful.

  L, okay, you’re on. See you on Saturday. G x

  Valentine’s Day. Maybe it wouldn’t be as dreadful as she’d thought it was going to be?

  ***

  ‘What the f–,’ George pushed away from the computer screen and stared at it disbelievingly. Her hands curled into fists and she felt room-spinningly ill. It couldn’t be true. Leo wasn’t like that. He was nice, and decent, and lovely and trustworthy. He couldn’t have done it. She bent over the desk and peered at the Facebook status again.

  Can’t believe you’ve won the bet! Someone called Ewan had written on Leo’s wall. You actually have a date for Valentine’s Day this year, you sad case! And I hope the G stands for gorgeous. Beers are on me on Sunday night, get ready to collect your reward.

  Underneath it someone else had commented, I don’t believe it, Miller has finally manned up and won something! How much did you have to pay the poor girl?

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, and dropped into the chair, feeling winded. It was all a bet? He’d asked her to spend Saturday with him to win a stupid bet with his friends? She got up, and throwing herself down on the bed, let out a low moan. He didn’t really like her. Of course he didn’t. How could he, with her imperfections and fears? No, she was just someone handy to have around to fill the gap in their immature contest. Had he been laughing at her behind her back, with his mates, about how quickly she’d responded to his messages? At the way she’d laughed at his jokes? Burying her face further into the pillow, she bit down on the cotton pillow case. She’d opened up to him the other night, shared her worst memories with him, cried on him.