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

by Keris Stainton

  ‘I did. I went outside as soon as I saw him – I didn’t plan it. I just saw him and the next thing I knew I was on my way out the door.’ I picture his face. How I knew that he didn’t remember me. All the pain I used to associate with him has just… gone.

  ‘Wow. Good for you. And?’

  ‘He didn’t remember me.’

  Freya’s mouth literally drops open. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen that happen before. ‘What? The fuck?’

  I smile, remembering. ‘I know. I think maybe I was familiar and he couldn’t quite place me? But I’m not even confident of that. And he didn’t look good.’

  ‘God,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Georgie is wiping her face on her sleeves. Freya drops an arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer.

  ‘It was the best thing that could’ve happened, to be honest,’ I say. ‘It made me realise that a) he was a dick, and b) I shouldn’t still be thinking about him. Ever.’

  ‘I mean, I told you,’ Freya says.

  ‘I know you did.’

  ‘And I was right.’

  ‘You were right.’ I smile.

  ‘Shut up, babe,’ Georgie says, nuzzling into Freya’s neck. ‘Bea’s epiphany is more important than your ego.’

  Freya pulls a face at me over the top of Georgie’s head and then kisses her temple.

  * * *

  I lie down on the bed and stare up at the stained ceiling. I think I might actually ask Freya to help me decorate in here. I’m going to be here for a while so I don’t know why I’m putting up with a boring, bland room when I could have it look however I like. I think a sort of dusky pink might be nice? Maybe with some neon lights like the one in the coffee shop I went to with Dan. Like Demi Moore’s apartment in St Elmo’s Fire but without the Billy Idol wall decal and nervous breakdown.

  I sit up and look around. Or maybe Renée Zellweger’s apartment in Down With Love. White but with a pink padded headboard. Maybe a pink chair in the corner, next to the bookcase Henry made for me. And a fluffy rug. And Freya and Mum have both sold me on chandeliers. I squint and try to picture it. I could put some pictures up too. And get the stuck-on mirror removed and have a big fancy one, leaning up against the wall. It could look great.

  It’s too early to sleep and my mind’s too busy to read so I open up my laptop and try to find a film. Actually, Down With Love feels pretty appropriate after the day I’ve had. Plus it’s hilarious and adorable and I haven’t watched it for ages.

  It opens with a quote about how New York is the place where dreams come true and I roll my eyes. This was meant to take my mind off Dan, not bring him right back. But I know I did the right thing. I should have done it a while ago. But it’s hard to let go of a dream.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Even reflected in my crap, slightly warped mirror, the dress from Mum’s shop looks incredible. I’ve never seen myself look like this before. I have a lot of favourite clothes and I’ve had things I’ve fallen in love with before now, but nothing like this. I watch myself turn in the mirror and the dress swings around me. I laugh out loud.

  There’s a knock at the door and I call out, ‘Hang on!’

  Although it’s not as if I’m going to change back into my sweats before opening the door, I had imagined presenting myself in this dress, not someone just walking in. But whoever it is obviously didn’t hear me anyway because the door opens and Henry takes a couple of steps inside, before stopping dead.

  ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I was just trying this on. Mum bought it for me. From her shop. You know the one I was telling you about? Where she’s been working?’

  I’m babbling again. Henry, however, is silent. He looks stunned. Like the salmon in the window of the fishmonger’s on the high street.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I say, panic crawling up my stomach. What if something’s happened to Mum? Or Matt? Or Tom?

  ‘You…’ he says, but it comes out as more of a croak. He lifts his arms as if he’s going to reach out for me and then drops them at his sides again. ‘You look…’

  ‘Oh.’ The panic in my belly has gone, but it’s been replaced by something else. Something that feels like butterflies. I look down at myself.

  ‘I know. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I can’t believe it.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You look amazing. Are you, uh, going somewhere with Dan? I thought Freya said you’d seen him already.’

  ‘I have,’ I say. ‘We went out for dinner. And I ended it with him.’

  Henry’s mouth drops open again. ‘Seriously? How come?’

  I feel weird having this conversation standing in the middle of the room in my glorious dress. I perch on the edge of the bed. Henry stays standing.

  ‘It wasn’t right. It never was. I was totally kidding myself.’

  ‘Because of the dream?’

  ‘Pretty much, yeah. Or, no. Maybe at first. But also because I thought I wanted security. Like Mum had with Tom. But look how that turned out. And also Freya thinks I was trying to protect myself because Anthony was such a nightmare.’ What is it with the babbling? How do I stop?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Henry says. ‘That sucks.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I mean, it’s for the best. But… yeah.’

  He stares at me for a second and I can’t work out the expression on his face.

  ‘What are you watching?’ he asks, eventually, gesturing at my laptop.

  ‘Down With Love.’

  He laughs. ‘Appropriate.’

  ‘I thought so. Hey, did you want something?’

  He looks confused.

  ‘What did you come in here for?’

  ‘Oh right, yeah. Inception’s on. I was going to ask if you wanted to watch it.’

  ‘With you?’

  ‘Course. Freya and Georgie’ve gone out.’

  ‘Even though you’ve seen it how many times?’

  He grins. ‘A few. But I haven’t seen it for a while. I don’t let myself rewatch it very often so it keeps its effect.’

  ‘Oh god. OK. I’ll get changed. Have we got any popcorn or anything?’

  ‘I’ll go and have a look.’

  He’s almost out of the room when I add, ‘And beer.’

  * * *

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ I say after about five minutes.

  While I was getting changed, Henry went out and bought popcorn and beer, plus chocolate and biscuits and olives and cheese and ham. (‘I didn’t know what you fancied.’)

  ‘You have to stick with it,’ he says. ‘It’ll be explained in a bit. Sort of.’

  ‘Still don’t get it,’ I say after fifteen minutes, when I’m frowning so hard my forehead is sore and I’ve eaten a full bowl of popcorn. And it’s about dreams. I mean, I knew that, but I’d forgotten. Why won’t the universe let me not think about bloody dreams for five bloody minutes?

  ‘He explains it in a bit,’ Henry says. ‘Ish.’

  I like the bit where Paris folds up and Ellen Page does the thing with the mirrors, but I still have no clue what’s going on. Not even when Leonardo explains it.

  ‘What do you like about this film exactly?’ I ask Henry, after about an hour. I still don’t really understand what’s going on, but I’m on my second beer and I’m letting it wash over me. And I’ve eaten all the cheese (and most of the olives).

  ‘I like the characters. And their dynamic. And the concept.’

  I don’t particularly like the characters. And I can’t say I think much to their dynamic either. But the concept is cool, I’ll give him that. It would’ve been interesting to read, like, a paragraph about.

  ‘How long is it?’ I ask him.

  ‘Um,’ he says, shuffling on the sofa. ‘About two and a half hours, I think.’

  Oh sweet Jesus. I open another beer.

  * * *

  I’m in the park. The sun is shining and I feel warm and safe and happy. I see someone in the distance, walking towards me, but the sun’s in my eyes and I can’t tell who it is.
I know though. I know without even seeing him.

  I keep walking and he keeps walking and then we both stop. And smile.

  ‘Hey,’ Henry says. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

  And then I wake up.

  * * *

  I wake up on the sofa with my head on Henry’s shoulder. I don’t know that at first. Not exactly. At first I’m not quite sure where I am or who I’m with, but eventually I realise I’m on the sofa, my head’s on Henry’s shoulder, there’s a crick in my neck and I must’ve let go of a beer ’cos I’m sitting in a wet patch. I hope that’s why, anyway. My arm’s against Henry’s arm. My thigh’s pressed up against Henry’s thigh. I feel warm all down that side. (And wet down the other side, which I could live without.)

  I move away slowly and realise that Henry’s asleep too. His glasses have slipped down his nose and his long eyelashes are fluttering as he dreams. I look over at the TV. Bloody Inception is still on – is it the film that never ends?

  As I shift on the sofa, a beer bottle rolls away from my leg, so at least I was right about the puddle. That’s a relief. I put it on the table and grab another olive, before looking back at Henry. He looks good asleep. Some people don’t. Some people sleep with their mouths open, grunting. I’ve seen them on the train. But Henry looks peaceful. His mouth is closed, and I can see a tiny patch of stubble under his bottom lip. His haircut definitely suits him too. His fringe is sort of soft and brushing his eyebrows and—

  He opens his eyes. And catches me staring at him. Shit.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, flustered, shifting further back on the sofa.

  He blinks at me. ‘I fell asleep?’

  ‘You did.’ I don’t think I need to tell him that I did too.

  He pushes his glasses up his nose and peers at the TV. ‘The film’s still on.’

  ‘I think it’s on forever now. We just have to get used to it.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  I pull my phone out of my pocket. ‘Eleven.’

  ‘Shit,’ he says. ‘Better get to bed.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I don’t move. I’m sitting in a wet patch.

  He’s still looking at me and I guess I’m still looking back at him. And then he stands up suddenly.

  ‘Night,’ he says, rubbing one hand back through his hair. The new soft fringe falls back down over his forehead.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ I say. Like a dickhead.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  At work the next day, Henry seems different. More relaxed. I’d almost describe him as chirpy. He made us teas when we first came in and I think I heard him whistling in the kitchen. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him whistle before.

  I’m actually feeling pretty chirpy myself. Ending things with Dan has turned out to be an enormous weight off my shoulders. Which seems outrageous when I think about how long I spent longing for him, wanting to meet him, actually looking for him. But I haven’t even dreamt about him for ages. I dreamt about Henry last night.

  I smile to myself as I unpack a box of books. There’s an historical romance by one of my favourite authors and I put it to one side to read later (although the cover features a blindfolded woman in a very low-cut dress with boobs like basketballs perched on top, so maybe I’ll save it to read at home).

  Henry brings out teas and he’s definitely whistling. Although he stops when he sees me.

  ‘You hungry?’ he says.

  I had a piece of toast before we left home, but I could definitely eat. ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘Bacon sarnie?’

  I pull a face at him. We’re not allowed to eat hot food in the shop. We have occasionally broken that rule, but bacon has a pretty strong smell, so if someone from head office came in—

  ‘Live a little,’ Henry says, picking up the book I just put down, before turning bright pink and dropping it again.

  ‘Go on then,’ I say. ‘With ketchup please.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he says, heading for the door. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

  ‘I think I’ll manage,’ I say, smiling. But he’s already gone.

  * * *

  We have one of the best days we’ve had in the shop for a while. First the bacon sandwiches and more tea – no one from head office turns up, thank god – and then a preschool group comes in to choose a picture book each and the children run riot. But in a cute way. I end up sitting on the floor reading I Am Not Sleepy and I Will Not Go To Bed to a little girl who is definitely sleepy, even though it’s early afternoon, and a boy who has his finger up his nose the entire time.

  Once they’ve gone, we put Radio 2 back on and tidy and clean the shop, singing along to Steve Wright’s oldies. Henry shows me how singing along with the radio makes you feel like you’re in a music video, by miming while posing moodily around the shop – leaning against a bookshelf, pretending to be engrossed in a book, at the desk with my phone held up to his ear – and I laugh so much I come very close to wetting my pants.

  We lock up and walk home together, stopping at the grocer’s for some vegetables, spices and mixed beans for the curry Henry’s planning to make.

  ‘Did you finish watching that film?’ Henry asks me, as he passes me a bag of spinach and I drop it in the basket.

  ‘Inception? Fuck no.’

  He laughs, looking down at the recipe he printed off the internet. ‘No, not that. The one you were watching in your room. When you were… trying on your dress?’

  He’s gone pink.

  ‘Oh! Down With Love. No. But I’ve seen it before. Why?’

  ‘Have we got ginger or garlic at home?’ He’s still staring at the printout.

  ‘Maybe. But you’d better get some anyway, just in case. So why? Down With Love?’

  ‘Oh.’ He throws a bag of garlic to me and I put it in the basket. ‘I was going to say I’d watch it with you. Since you watched Inception with me.’

  ‘I mean, not much of it. I fell asleep. And before that I just complained about how it didn’t make sense. Didn’t you say you needed an onion?’

  He checks and nods, so I put one in the basket.

  ‘Well yeah. But still. You watched my film, I think it’s only fair for me to watch yours.’

  ‘Have you got a thing for Renée Zellweger? Does Reese know?’

  ‘Can you grab a tin of coconut milk?’ he says, picking up a head of broccoli and two enormous, gnarled sweet potatoes. ‘And no. I just thought about what you said at brunch that day. About men and romcoms. I feel like I’ve dismissed them for no good reason. And I’m ready for you to teach me their ways.’

  ‘Is this because you loved Notting Hill?’

  ‘I did love Notting Hill,’ he says. ‘Beans.’

  The beans are just along from the coconut milk so I grab them both and say, ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Just…’ He scans over the recipe again, his brow furrowed. ‘Cashew nuts and a lime.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I say. ‘And then Down With Love for dessert.’

  * * *

  We watch the film on my laptop. On my bed. Henry’s arm is warm against mine, our hips bump whenever we shift position. There’s a horrendously awkward few minutes when the film’s main characters are pantomiming sex over split screens and Henry and I both drink almost all of our beers to cover our embarrassment, but he loves the film and doesn’t get up to leave when it ends.

  ‘I need to tell you something,’ Henry says, as I close the laptop and push it further down the bed.

  I shift slightly so I can look at him and he moves back a little too, turning towards me.

  ‘Is it something bad?’ I ask. I’m suddenly terrified that his dad’s selling the flat or Henry’s planning to leave the bookshop. There have been too many changes, endings, lately, I can’t take another.

  ‘No. I mean, I hope not. Maybe?’ He blows out a breath. ‘Fuck. I need another beer.’

  ‘Want me to get you one?’

  He shakes his head, his eyes closed. ‘No. I’m good. I just need to…’ He loo
ks at me. His eyes look dark. He takes another breath. ‘I think… I think I’m in love with you.’

  ‘What?’ I say, brilliantly.

  He nods. ‘I think, yeah. I think I have been for… a while.’

  ‘How long?’ I ask, as if that’s an important question. As if it matters at all.

  He rubs one hand over his face. ‘I don’t know exactly. I mean, I fancied you right from the start. When you walked into the shop, I was just…’ He picks up his beer and swigs it. ‘I knew I was going to give you the job before you even said a word.’

  ‘What? Henry!’

  ‘I know,’ he says, half-smiling. ‘So unprofessional. But it worked out great! You’re good at it. I knew you would be.’

  ‘Is that why you offered me the room too?’ I ask. This room. The room we’re sitting in now, having this utterly surreal conversation.

  ‘Um.’ He drinks some more beer. ‘Would it be bad if I said yes?’

  ‘Oh my god.’ I laugh. ‘Oh my god, Henry!’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. Are you freaking out? Do you want me to lie? No, that’s not why I offered you the room.’

  I close my eyes and try to breathe. Henry has liked me since the very start. That’s why I got the job. That’s why I live in this house. Everything I have right now, I have because Henry liked me.

  ‘So?’ Henry says. He sounds nervous. ‘Bea? I didn’t offer you the job or the house because I fancied you, I promise. I knew you’d be great at the job. And then you needed somewhere to say. I know it sounds creepy—’

  ‘It sounds a bit creepy,’ I say.

  He nods. ‘That’s why I never told you. Freya said—’

  ‘Freya knows?!’

  ‘Yeah. She kind of… guessed. And then beat it out of me.’

  ‘I can’t believe Freya knows.’

  ‘Adam and Celine don’t know. I don’t think.’

  ‘Well that’s a relief.’

  ‘So. What do you think?’

  ‘God. Well, first of all I’m in no position to judge since I moved here to find a person who doesn’t exist. And I hung around the park and asked out a random man and then broke his heart.’