It Had To Be You: An absolutely laugh-out-loud romance novel

by Keris Stainton

  Henry joins me behind the counter and I bump him with my shoulder. I don’t want him to be upset with me. Not even a little bit.

  The girl picks up a book – I think, from as much of the pastel cover as I can see, that it’s the one about mug cakes – and shows it to the boy. He dips his head shyly and takes it from her, flicking through it. He laughs and says something to her and she giggles and sort of presses against him, tipping her head back. He kisses her gently, and then glances over at us.

  I look down at the desk and out of the corner of my eye see Henry swing round so he’s got his back to the shop.

  ‘Subtle,’ I mumble.

  He laughs. ‘At least I’m not-so-subtly not looking at them. You’re not-at-all-subtly staring at them.’

  When I look up again, the boy and girl are no longer kissing. They’re standing in front of the DIY section. The boy’s behind her with his arms around her. She’s got her head on one side, scanning the book spines.

  ‘What do you think?’ I ask Henry.

  He glances over his shoulder, his brow furrowed. ‘I think they’ll stay together,’ he says when he’s turned back. ‘At least for a while. They’re pretty young.’

  ‘They look like they’re really in love,’ I whisper. ‘It’s nice.’

  The girl points to a book and says something and the boy barks out a loud laugh, before glancing over towards us again. I want to tell him it’s OK, he should laugh and kiss as much as he wants. But that would sound weird so obviously I won’t.

  They browse for a bit longer, while I pretend to work, but mostly keep watching them. They’re so lovely together, considerate of each other, but obviously really into each other too. I think back to what Freya said about feeling Dan’s kiss in my ‘lady parts’. I bet Blue Beanie Girl feels his kisses in her lady parts. I’m almost feeling them in mine and I’m just watching from the other side of a bookshop, like some sort of pervert.

  When they finally make it over to the desk, they’ve brought the mug cakes book, a book about cleaning and one about growing herbs and vegetables in pots.

  ‘We’ve just moved in together,’ the girl says, when she sees me looking at the titles. And I’m glad, because I really wanted to ask.

  ‘That’s lovely. Congratulations.’

  ‘It’s a tiny place,’ she says. ‘But it’s got, like, a roof terrace?’

  ‘More like a balcony,’ the boy says. He’s got a northern accent.

  She glances up at him and smiles. ‘Yeah. But it’s lovely. So I want to try growing stuff.’

  ‘That’s a good idea.’ I put the books through the till. ‘I’ve only ever grown cress. On a piece of kitchen towel.’

  The boy does his barking laugh again. ‘Yeah! I did that at school! And in a boiled egg. Like, the shell. So it looked like hair.’

  ‘We did that too!’ the girl says, and they gaze at each other.

  As they leave, he drops his arm around her shoulders and presses a kiss against her temple.

  ‘There’s no hope for you,’ Henry says to me.

  But when I look at him, he’s smiling too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the way home from work, I stop at the grocer’s because I promised the others I’d make moussaka. Mrs C gave me a recipe not long after I moved in and it’s my favourite thing to cook. Plus I can make a huge batch that feeds everyone for dinner and usually allows for leftovers the next day.

  The grocer’s is busier than it usually is at this time. There are at least ten Greek women standing in front of the counter, talking – in Greek – and I spot Mrs C in the middle, her wicker shopping basket hanging over her arm.

  As I pick oranges out of a plastic crate and put them in my own basket – not a lovely wicker one, just the plastic one provided by the shop – Mrs C glances over and says, ‘Ah! Sweetheart!’

  I smile at her. ‘How are you?’

  She shuffles past the other women, touching them on their arms as she does, and appears in front of me. She reaches into the basket, takes out an orange, squeezes it and shakes her head at me.

  ‘These oranges are better.’

  I put my oranges back and take some of the oranges she recommended.

  ‘It’s busy in here today,’ I say.

  She nods and points at one of the younger women. ‘Melina is having a dinner, so we all help her choose.’

  I walk around the vegetable stand and she follows me, picking out an aubergine and putting it in my basket.

  ‘For the moussaka,’ she says, smiling at me.

  ‘That’s what I’m making!’ I tell her, taking another.

  ‘You ever make briam?’ she says, cocking her head on one side like a bird. ‘Like Greek… ratatouille. But no rat!’ She grins.

  I shake my head. ‘I only ever do moussaka. I’ve been wondering about making battered aubergine like the ones from—’

  ‘Oh!’ she says, her eyes rolling back in her head. ‘From deli? They are so good! But you can make yourself. So easy! Flour and egg and salt and pepper and fry in good oil. You have good oil?’

  I nod. We have oil. I don’t know if it’s good, but it’s oil.

  ‘You can keep the batter. In jam jar. Make a lot of aubergine.’

  ‘I’ll try it,’ I tell her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You take these too,’ she says, putting stuffed vine leaves in my basket. ‘No worry. I pay.’

  ‘No!’ I tell her. ‘I can pay!’

  She shakes her head and reaches up to pinch my cheek. ‘A gift. For my favourite girl.’

  She follows me while I get the rest of my shopping, making suggestions, commenting on my choices, adding a few things she says I must have. It’s the most fun I’ve ever had buying groceries. We both leave at the same time and as we walk up the main street – she lives a couple of roads away from us – she says, ‘I think I see you with a boy one day? Not Henry. Lovely boy. Or Adam.’ Her eyes twinkle. ‘Cheeky boy.’

  I laugh. ‘Maybe Dan? I’m sort of seeing him.’

  ‘Sort of?’ She frowns. ‘Very handsome boy.’

  I nod. ‘Yeah. He is.’

  We stop at a side road where a Tesco delivery van is pulling out.

  ‘But not boyfriend?’

  ‘Not yet. Maybe. I’m not sure.’

  She wraps her hand around my upper arm and squeezes. ‘You have to be sure. So make sure. Before my Nikos there was a boy. He liked me. When I was young, I was…’ She describes the shape of an hourglass figure in the air with one hand and grins at me. ‘And the boys were crazy for me. And one boy – he follow me and talk to me and buy me things and always trying to kiss me. And he is so handsome. And my Nikos… not so handsome.’ She giggles. ‘But when I let him kiss me… eh.’ She pulls a face, her mouth turning down at the corners. ‘And then when I kiss Nikos… pyrotechnimata. You know?’ She makes the sound of an explosion and then widens her eyes and says, ‘Oooh! Aaaaah!’

  ‘Fireworks?’

  The van pulls away and we cross the road.

  ‘Yes! Fireworks! So much fireworks with Nikos. Always.’

  ‘I knew it!’ I say, before I realise that might not be the best idea.

  ‘What did you know?’

  I blush. ‘I knew you were still in love.’

  She smiles at me. ‘Oh yes. We have hard times. Sometime no money. Sometime with babies. And the cafe.’ She shrugs. ‘But he is the one for me. Only.’

  I nod. ‘I’m glad.’

  She puts her hand on my cheek again. ‘You have to find your only one. Maybe handsome boy? Maybe not.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  I’m in the park. It’s dark. The park’s never been dark in the dream before and at first I feel nervous. I look up at the streetlights shining from the other side of the railings and the nerves melt away. I’m safe here, I know I am. I look for Dan, but he’s not there. There’s a bang and I jump and look up at the sky: fireworks. Tiny white stars bursting all over the sky. Once they’ve fizzed out, I look down and then I see him, in
the distance, walking towards me.

  And then I wake up.

  * * *

  ‘Where are the others?’ I ask Henry, turning in my seat to look over my shoulder out of the window.

  ‘I’ve WhatsApped them,’ he says, his phone on the table in front of him. ‘No one’s replied yet.’

  We’ve been in Mr C’s for ten minutes and we’ve got drinks, but there’s no sign of anyone else and I am starving. Plus I didn’t sleep well after waking up from the Dan Dream. Since I actually found him, the dreams have been changing much more frequently than they ever did before and it’s starting to freak me out.

  ‘Did Freya even come back last night?’ Henry asks me.

  I frown. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t hear her. But I don’t always hear her anyway.’

  ‘She was going out with the naked one?’

  I smile. ‘Georgie. Yeah.’

  ‘She likes her.’ He fiddles with the napkins on the table.

  ‘I think so, yeah. She seems very keen. Particularly for Freya.’

  Freya’s always been about keeping things casual. She likes to go out on the pull. She even likes being in a relationship, but generally when things start to get serious, she’s out. I don’t see it happening with Georgie. But I could be wrong.

  A message pops up on Henry’s phone and he swipes it open.

  ‘Freya’s not coming,’ he tells me. ‘She stayed the night at Georgie’s. And then there are some emojis.’

  ‘Which emojis?’

  He slides his phone over towards me. Blushing face, tongue out, shocked face, water splash.

  ‘Perv.’ I pass the phone back. ‘Adam and Celine were home though, right? I heard them—’ I stop before I have to say what I heard.

  ‘Actually, I was going to ask you about that,’ Henry says. He’s frayed one edge of the napkin and is starting on the next side.

  I cringe. I think he’s going to ask me in a landlord way. Like whether he should talk to them about the sex noise or just leave them be. I don’t want to talk sex noises with Henry.

  ‘The things Adam shouts sometimes…’ He’s gone very pink. ‘Are they, like, normal things to say? You know… when you’re doing… that?’

  I cover my mouth with my hand so I don’t laugh. ‘God, Henry. I’ve honestly no idea. You’re asking the wrong person.’

  ‘I just always think they sound very… sports-based.’

  I think back to Adam shouting ‘You beauty!’ last night and have to agree.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘It always sounds a bit weird to me. Just the fact that we can hear them is a bit…’ And now I’ve started the exact conversation I didn’t want to have. Well done me.

  ‘Does it bother you?’ Henry asks, still pink. ‘I’ve wondered about having a word with them. It’s just…’

  ‘Mortifying,’ I say. ‘I know.’ I stir my teaspoon around in my mug, even though the tea’s all gone. ‘It doesn’t really bother me. It’s just a bit weird. Particularly on the weekend when they have a morning sesh and I bump into them after. I always feel very… I know what you’ve been doing! Doesn’t feel very grown-up of me.’

  Henry laughs. ‘No, I know. I’ve thought the same thing. I’ve been tempted to give them a round of applause before. Or just shout encouragement.’ He turns the napkin again and keeps ripping.

  ‘Adam would love that.’ I grin.

  ‘And Celine would have me killed.’

  ‘There is that.’

  We smile at each other for a few seconds and he looks at his phone again. ‘Still nothing.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ I crane my neck and spot Mrs C towards the back of the cafe. ‘Should we just order?’

  ‘I’m starving. So yes.’

  I manage to catch Mrs C’s eye and she waves at me before scurrying the length of the cafe and beaming at us both.

  ‘Just you two today? No cheeky boy?’ Adam. ‘Sexy girl?’ Freya. Mrs C frowns, which I know from experience signifies Celine (‘angry girl’).

  ‘They might be coming later,’ I say. ‘Just us two for now.’

  She looks at Henry and back at me and then clasps her hands in front of her chest. ‘Ohhhhh. You are on date?’

  ‘No!’ I yelp. I can’t even look at Henry. ‘No, we’re not. I told you!’

  Her face falls. ‘Oh yes. Handsome boy. So why is he not here?’

  ‘He’s gone home for the weekend,’ I tell her. ‘To see his family.’

  Dan and I haven’t been out again, but we’ve texted a bit. We’re meant to be going out again next week.

  She nods. ‘That’s good. That’s a good boy.’ She steps closer to Henry and puts one hand on his shoulder, staring intently at me. ‘But this too. This is very good boy.’ She takes her hand away and makes the ‘explosion’ gesture again. Oh my god.

  * * *

  ‘Should I ask what that was about?’ Henry says, once Mrs C has scurried back to the kitchen.

  I’m really surprised. I expected him to act like it had never happened.

  ‘Um.’ I run my hands back through my hair, stretch my shoulders back and say, ‘We had a conversation about the man she was with before Mr C—’

  ‘There was a man before Mr C?!’ Henry blurts out, then glances around the cafe, a panicked expression on his face.

  I laugh. ‘I know. And it was all good. They were supposed to get married. But no…’ I do the firework thing.

  ‘I don’t know what that’s meant to be,’ Henry says. ‘That was going to be my next question.’

  ‘It’s a firework! Obviously!’ I do it again and add Mrs C’s ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’.

  ‘Never would’ve got that,’ Henry says.

  ‘I mean, it’s clearly a firework. I don’t know how anyone could possibly mime firework better than that.’

  Henry raises both his hands in fists. Opens one after the other in quick succession while making a sort of popping sound and flicking his fingers.

  I laugh so much I cry. ‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘That was better. You are the king of fake fireworks.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘I’m very proud.’

  I wipe my eyes with a napkin and say, ‘Do it again.’

  And he does. Even though he’s embarrassed. He’s so great.

  * * *

  ‘Do you ever hear, like, a voiceover when you’re walking?’ I ask Henry, just after Mrs C’s brought our breakfasts and patted Henry’s cheek again.

  ‘You want to get that seen to,’ Henry says without looking up from his sausage.

  ‘No, I mean like… sometimes if I’m, say, running for the Tube, a voice in my head says something like “Bea worried she wasn’t going to make it…” Something like that.’

  Henry puts his knife and fork down and stares at me. ‘Seriously?’

  I nod. Is that weird? ‘Is that weird?’

  ‘It’s a bit weird, yeah.’ The corner of his mouth is twitching.

  ‘Oh. I’ve always done it. The first time I heard the audio description on a TV show it completely freaked me out ’cos it was like hearing my thoughts out loud. I remember being in my room, as a kid, playing a game and hearing “Bea knew she was going to win…’’’

  Henry smiles at me, a curious expression on his face. ‘You know you can hear your thoughts out loud when you, you know, talk, right?’

  ‘Yeah. But no. That’s different. I have thoughts at the same time as I’m talking and they’re different.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  I sit back in my seat, staring at him. ‘What do you mean you don’t know what I mean?!’

  ‘I don’t have thoughts at the same time I’m talking.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Henry grins. ‘I don’t. I have the words that come out of my mouth and that’s it. That’s normal, no?’

  I frown. ‘OK, so as I’m talking to you, I’m also thinking. Like we started talking about this and I remembered the time I heard the audio description and also the thing when I was a kid. Plus there’s
a slight description of this actual conversation and stuff that’s happening in the cafe. And I’m also wondering if Adam and Celine are OK and hoping Freya’s having a good time. But I’m not saying any of that out loud. I’m saying this. To you. Now. Like this.’

  ‘Yeah, OK, I get it.’ He grins. ‘Jesus, it must be exhausting to be you.’

  ‘It is a bit, yeah.’ I grin back at him. ‘So you really don’t have, you know, thoughts?’

  ‘I have thoughts, of course. But I don’t have voices in my head. People get locked up for that.’

  ‘But what are thoughts if they’re not voices? Wait, hang on. It’s not “voices”. It’s my voice!’

  ‘OK, so when you were talking then I was thinking about whether I do actually have the voices, so, yes, I have thoughts. But the thoughts were thoughts, they weren’t in a voice.’

  ‘So how do you hear them?’

  He picks up a piece of toast. ‘I just hear them. They’re not spoken.’

  ‘Weird.’

  I eat most of my sausage and half of my egg in silence, and then I say, ‘Can you picture stuff in your head?’

  Henry bursts out laughing. ‘I need another coffee.’

  Once he’s got his coffee, he announces, totally casually, ‘OK. I’ve got one. I sometimes pretend I’m in a music video.’

  I laugh. ‘Seriously? That’s much worse!’

  ‘HOW is it worse than you with your constant narration and director’s commentary?’

  ‘Well… do you dance?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, pulling a face at me. ‘I usually walk to work like this…’

  He struts in his seat, rolling his shoulders, and then goes bright red.

  ‘I have literally never seen you do that,’ I say. ‘But I’m going to demand it every day now.’

  ‘No, but like if I’m on the bus and looking out of the window I imagine there’s music playing and I’m being filmed for like the lonely bit of the video. Or it happened the other day – I was making toast in the kitchen at home and I was singing along with something Freya was playing on her phone and it just… felt like a music video. Like the toast would pop up on the beat… you know?’