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

by Keris Stainton

  ‘Four times,’ I say. ‘Five including tonight. But you’re right.’

  But I know enough to know it’s not right – it doesn’t feel like I want it to feel. And I really don’t know what to do with that information.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask Adam. He wasn’t gone long at all and now he’s resting something on a copy of Men’s Health magazine and poking it with a knife.

  ‘Seriously?’ He glances up at me. ‘Jesus, Bea.’

  ‘Is that weed?’ I look at Henry to see if Adam’s taking the piss, but Henry nods at me. ‘It looks like an Oxo cube.’

  ‘It’s resin. I can’t believe you’ve never even seen it before,’ Adam says, taking out a packet of Rizlas.

  ‘I’ve seen, like, joints.’ I don’t tell him I’ve only seen them in films. ‘But not like that.’

  I watch him roll it and then he hands it to me. ‘OK, so just breathe it in slowly. Don’t take a massive drag ’cos it’ll hit the back of your throat and make you cough.’

  I take the joint from him and put it to my lips. I take the tiniest, most tentative drag and hand it to Henry.

  ‘You’re all right,’ Henry says.

  ‘Henry.’ Adam looks up. ‘My relationship is over. You have to share my misery. Plus Beanie Baby’s never done this before, so we have to show her the ways.’

  ‘Jesus, OK,’ Henry says.

  I say, ‘Beanie Baby?’

  Adam grins at me. ‘And get the fuck on with it. The curry’s going cold.’

  I take another drag. The curry smells really good. The weed not so much.

  ‘Try to hold it a bit longer this time,’ Adam says.

  I do. Not much longer, but a bit.

  ‘I can’t feel anything,’ I say, after a couple more goes. ‘It’s not working.’

  ‘Just wait,’ Adam tells me. ‘It will.’

  * * *

  Adam bought way too much curry. It feels like we’re taking cardboard lids off foil cartons forever. I fold a poppadom into my mouth and laugh at the crunch it makes.

  ‘You’re wasted,’ Adam says, pointing at me.

  He looks a bit blurry.

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ I say.

  Or maybe it’s my eyes.

  He hoots. ‘So wasted.’

  I’m piling chicken tikka masala onto rice and marvelling at the colour – it looks like rubies, like mushed rubies, or something else… lava! – when I hear someone coming up the stairs.

  ‘Freya!’ I shout. ‘Come and have some curry and weeeeeeeed.’

  But it’s not Freya. It’s Celine.

  ‘Oh fucking hell, babe.’ Adam launches himself over the sofa and grabs Celine by the shoulders. ‘I thought you’d left me.’

  ‘You seem really cut up about it,’ she says. ‘Can you move this? I need to sit down.’

  Adam shoves the sofa out of the way and Celine walks around it and then sits down heavily.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ He holds a joint out to her and she waves it away.

  ‘To see Mum.’ She tips her head back and closes her eyes. ‘God that smells amazing. Can I have some?’

  ‘Your mum?’ Adam says, as I pass Celine a naan and one of the foil pots. A greeny one.

  ‘Yeah. She gave me money for a cab. I was going to leave earlier, but she was freaking out about her neighbour’s greenhouse or something. I stopped listening.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, something to do with growing tomatoes.’

  ‘No,’ Adam says. ‘Why did you go and see your mum?’

  ‘Oh.’ Celine sits up and looks at him. ‘Because I’m pregnant.’

  Silence. I look at Henry and he’s already looking back at me, his eyebrows halfway to his hairline.

  And then Adam whoops. He jumps up and swings round wildly, looking from me to Henry and then back to Celine.

  ‘Are you fucking serious?’

  ‘Well, I’m not fucking joking.’

  Celine sounds like herself, but she looks nervous. She’s picking at one of her nails, and she’s paler than usual. Although that could be the puking.

  ‘Oh my god,’ Adam says. ‘Oh my god. I thought you’d left me.’

  Celine laughs and pushes one of her hands into his short hair. ‘As. If.’

  They stare at each other just long enough that I start to feel uncomfortable and then Adam grabs her. I watch her face over his shoulder. She’s got her eyes closed, but she just looks blissfully happy. I eat another poppadom.

  Adam leans back, holding her at arms’ length. He was kneeling to hug her, but now he plants one foot on the floor, pushes himself up on one knee, and says, ‘Celine. I love you. And I love our baby. Will you marry me?’

  I look at Henry. His hand, holding a chunk of naan, has stopped halfway to his open mouth. He looks as stunned as I feel.

  Celine laughs. ‘No! I told you. Well. Not yet. But yes. Eventually. Obviously.’

  ‘That’s good enough for me!’ Adam yells. He stands up, leans over, and lifts her bodily off the couch.

  ‘Night, you two,’ he says over his shoulder as he carries his girlfriend out of the room. ‘Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.’

  * * *

  ‘God,’ Henry says, once they’ve gone.

  ‘I know,’ I say. I do feel a bit wasted now, but it might be tiredness. Or just how surreal that was.

  ‘It just shows,’ Henry says. ‘You can never really know about someone else’s relationship.’

  ‘I think they’re going to be OK,’ I say. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘A baby Adam or Celine,’ Henry says.

  I snort with laughter. ‘What a frightening thought.’

  ‘Cool though.’

  ‘Very cool.’

  We sit in silence for a little while and I pick at the curry. I am still so bloody hungry. Oh. I bet that’s the weed.

  ‘So,’ Henry says.

  I look over at him. He’s leaning back against the sofa and at some point he’s taken his hoodie off and he’s wearing a white T-shirt with a baggy neck and a couple of little holes near the hem.

  ‘I think moths have been at your shirt,’ I tell him, squinting to see it more clearly. I glimpse a bit of his skin through the holes and stop squinting, my cheeks heating.

  He stretches the shirt out to look at the holes and accidentally reveals a strip of belly. It looks soft. But there’s definition too, not a six pack, but those vertical lines. And another line. Of hair. That disappears under behind the waistband of his trackie bottoms. I blow out a breath and pick up another piece of naan, dragging it through the curry, and then folding it into my mouth.

  ‘I’ve had this for years,’ Henry says. ‘It’s knackered, but it’s soft and comfy and it reminds me of home.’

  I smile, covering my hand with my mouth ’cos curry. ‘That’s cute.’

  ‘It was hard to be away from home,’ he says. ‘When I first moved here. So I ended up clinging to a lot of stuff.’ He shrugs. ‘Actually, that should have been my most embarrassing thing no one knows. I basically wear a blankie in bed.’

  ‘You sleep in it?’ I say. ‘I wondered about that. ’Cos you always get dressed before you come out of your room.’

  He shakes his head, fiddling with the holey bit of the shirt. ‘No. I sleep naked. But I wear it round the house – not usually on its own though.’

  I shove more naan in my mouth. My brain is stuck on ‘I sleep naked’. All the times I’ve wondered about Henry – when Adam’s been in his tiny pants or shorts, Celine in one of Adam’s football shirts or her Slytherin pyjama bottoms, Freya in her transparent vests and lacy knickers – I always pictured him in proper pyjamas. With buttons. Sometimes with a belted dressing gown over the top. I never imagined he’d sleep naked.

  My mouth’s dry. I reach for the nearest beer and take a long gulp. I really shouldn’t have any more beer.

  ‘Were you lonely?’ Henry asks. ‘When you moved here?’

  I gulp s
ome more. ‘A bit,’ I say. ‘In Acton, definitely. But then I met you. Got the job, I mean. And moved in here. And then it was better.’

  ‘Why did you want to move here?’ he asks. He pulls his leg up and his bare foot brushes against my thigh. I glance at it. He’s got nice feet, Henry. I’m not a fan of feet in general – Adam’s are gross, his toenails actually curl under his toes, and he lost one when he did a marathon and it never grew back – but Henry’s are nice: smooth and tan and not hairy.

  I eat more naan and wonder whether I should tell him. The real reason. Not the reason I usually give people. But then he has just told me he wears a blankie. I swallow.

  ‘Because of the dream,’ I say before I can change my mind. ‘Not to London – I wanted to move to London anyway – but to this part of London. Here. That’s why I moved here.’

  Henry nods. He doesn’t look appalled or disappointed or like he’s thinking of jumping up and running away. ‘I figured,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  He shrugs. ‘You used to go and hang around in the park all the time. Waiting for him to turn up. I didn’t think of it straight away, but eventually I realised that was why. To make it easier to find him.’

  I nod. ‘Right.’

  ‘And now you’ve found him.’

  I blink. Henry is looking at me sort of intensely. There’s a small frown line between his eyebrows and he’s staring and staring. I want to make a joke, take the piss, but I can’t.

  ‘And now I’ve found him,’ I agree.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  I’m in the park. The sun’s shining and the leaves are fluttering over my head and casting shadows on the path in front of me. I see Dan in the distance, but he’s not walking towards me, he’s walking towards the park gates.

  I shout his name, but no sound comes out. I try to run to catch up with him, but my legs don’t move at all. A flock of pigeons appear and block my view. Once they’re gone, I look for Dan, but I can’t see him. He’s disappeared.

  And then I wake up.

  * * *

  ‘Can you come home?’ Matt says, as soon as I answer my phone.

  My stomach drops. ‘What’s happened? What’s wrong?’

  ‘I don’t want to tell you on the phone. Just… can you come? Today?’

  ‘You have to tell me, you can’t leave it like that.’

  I feel like I can hear him thinking. ‘Right. OK. I’m sorry. Tom did it. He’s been stealing from the business. For years. Mum might lose the house.’

  I can’t breathe. There are dots in front of my eyes and I can’t breathe. I feel a hand on my arm and I know it’s Henry. He guides me towards the staff room and then I’m sitting down.

  ‘Bea?’ Matt says, in my ear.

  ‘I’m OK,’ I tell him, even though of course I’m not. ‘How’s Mum?’

  ‘Devastated. She’s thrown him out. Can you come?’

  I can’t even think. ‘I’m at work.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Henry says. He’s got his back to me and I realise he’s making tea.

  ‘I can come,’ I tell Matt.

  He’s already Googled the train times, so he tells me and I repeat them so Henry can write them down on the kitchen rota on the wall. There’s a pen attached with string to encourage people to fill it in.

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ I ask Matt.

  ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen him. He was already gone when I got here.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I breathe.

  ‘I know. Text me when you get to Stockport and I’ll come and pick you up.’

  I hang up the phone and Henry turns and hands me a cup of tea.

  ‘I need to go,’ I tell him.

  ‘Just stay there for a minute. I’m going to close the shop.’

  ‘You can’t,’ I say, but he’s already gone. If a secret shopper turns up and the shop’s closed during business hours, Henry will get fired. But I guess that’s unlikely. I press a hand against my stomach and for a second I think I might be sick, but no. I breathe in the steam from the tea, blowing over the surface. I can smell the sugar.

  ‘You OK?’ Henry says, coming back and leaning against the units.

  ‘How many sugars did you put in?’

  ‘Three. That’s what they say, don’t they? For shock?’

  ‘I think so.’ I sip tentatively, but it’s still too hot. ‘Tom’s been stealing from the business. Mum’s thrown him out. And she might lose the house.’ I can’t believe I’m even saying it. It doesn’t seem real.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. All this time. Poor Mum.’ I can’t even think about Tom. I can’t even think about how he’s lied to us all this time.

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Henry asks.

  I look up at him. His hair’s all tufty where he’s run his hand through it. His glasses are smudged. His cheeks are pink and he’s biting at his lip. Something flutters in my chest, but I shove it away.

  ‘No. Thank you. That’s really lovely of you. But I’m fine.’

  I drink some tea. It’s ridiculously sweet. But good.

  ‘There’s a train every twenty minutes,’ Henry says. ‘Finish that and then I’ll walk you to the station. Or home. To get your stuff.’

  I don’t want to go home. I just want to get on the train and go. I’ve got my bag. I’ve got clothes at Mum’s. I can buy a toothbrush at the station. I just want to go.

  ‘Honestly, I’m fine. You don’t need to do that. And you should go and open up again. I’ll drink this and then I’ll go. I don’t want you to get in trouble.’

  ‘You’re shaking,’ he says, reaching out and catching my fingers with his. He only leaves them for a second and then he pulls away. I’m scared to look up at him.

  ‘I’ll be fine once I’ve had this.’

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘But I’m not opening up. I’m staying here. Unless you want me to go?’

  ‘No,’ I say, finally looking up and smiling weakly at him. ‘You’re fine.’

  While I drink the tea, all I can think about it how Tom came into our lives and made us all feel so much more secure. He fitted right in. He made us laugh. There was always so much love in our house and Tom was a big part of that. I can’t bear to think that any of it wasn’t real. I can’t bear to know he’s done this to Mum. To all of us.

  * * *

  ‘Will you be OK on your own?’ I ask Henry as I leave a few minutes later.

  It’s only when I see him smile that I realise what I’ve said. I meant it. I wasn’t joking.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ he says.

  I nod, my hand on the door.

  ‘Ring me when you get there,’ he says. ‘Or text or whatever. WhatsApp. Not right away, obviously, I know your mum… But I mean, just let me know.’

  I nod. ‘I will. And you’ll tell the others?’

  ‘Course.’

  I pull the door open and I’m about to step through it, the bell still jangling above my head, when I feel Henry’s hand on my arm and I turn back. He grabs my other arm and pulls me towards him and I go easily, relaxing against his chest, my arms sliding around his waist. I breathe him in: his face resting on the top of my head, my face against his shoulder, his arms around my back. He’s always given good hugs, but I don’t think I’ve ever had one quite like this before. I pull away when I feel myself starting to tear up.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ he says against my hair.

  I nod. ‘Thank you.’

  And then I leave.

  * * *

  The house looks the same as always. There’s a new cat bed, and a fresh coat of paint in the porch, but apart from that everything’s the same. But it feels different. Usually when I come home, Tom picks me up at the station and on the short journey home gives me all the local gossip. He’s in the Rotary Club and does the Parkrun every Saturday morning and spends every Sunday evening in the White Lion on the green. He knows everything. Knew. I guess I have to start thinking of him in the past tense.

  ‘Tea?�
�� Matt says, as I follow him into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll make it. You make horrible tea. Where’s Mum?’

  He fills the kettle. ‘Garden.’

  I pass him and go through the conservatory and down the steps to the garden. At first I can’t see her, but then I spot her sitting on the bench under the tree in the far corner. I cross the lawn, stepping on the stones Tom laid just after they bought this house, and sit down next to her, dropping my head down on her shoulder.

  ‘Hello, darling,’ she says, leaning her head against mine.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’

  She sighs. ‘I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’

  I sit up straight. ‘How were you supposed to know? Phil didn’t even know.’

  Phil was Tom’s business partner for twenty years. He was the one who reported him. He’d suspected for quite some time, conducted a bit of an investigation of his own, and then approached Tom with it. But Tom completely denied it. And then Phil had no choice but to report it.

  ‘He’s devastated. They’ve been friends for so long. He can’t believe Tom’s done this. I can’t believe he’s done this.’

  ‘Me neither,’ I say.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about it on the train. That it must be a mistake. That Tom would never do anything dishonest, never do anything to risk his and Mum’s home. He’s always been so good. To all of us. From the first time we met him. He’s always been warm and wise and safe and secure and funny and kind. How can that not be real? And how can he not be in our family any more?

  ‘Have you spoken to him?’ I ask Mum.

  ‘Phil? A bit, I—’

  ‘No. Not Phil. Tom.’

  ‘Oh.’ She sighs. ‘No. He’s texted me. And he sent flowers, ridiculously. I don’t have anything more to say to him, to be honest.’

  ‘So what happens now? Matt said something about the house?’

  As if I’ve conjured him up, Matt comes out of the house and walks down the steps, holding a tray of mugs that rattle as he walks.

  ‘Oh god,’ Mum says. ‘Did he make tea? He makes bloody horrible tea.’