by Fiore, Rosie
Jo enjoyed seeing everyone: she’d been busy with work and with looking for a new script to direct, so she had also been a little out of circulation. They were all seated at a long table, with Lee at the head and Hannah to his right. Because Jo had arrived late, she was right down the other end, and waved and blew a kiss to Lee when she sat down. She’d have to wait for people to shift around once they’d eaten so she could get a chance to talk to him. Her position did give her a good view of the famous Hannah though, who was, as Lee had described, a serene, dark beauty. She sat very still, listening to people talk and nodding, but didn’t seem to say much herself. She was wearing what looked like an elegant fawn jersey dress (it was hard to tell, she was sitting down), and her hair was immaculate. Jo wished she could say that her face was hard or unkind, but every time Hannah looked at Lee, her expression softened and she seemed to glow. She was clearly as smitten with him and he was with her.
Jo turned to Helen, who was sitting beside her. ‘So this Hannah – have you talked to her? What’s she like?’
‘I haven’t had a chance, but I spoke to Adrian and a couple of the other guys and they all said she’s lovely.’
‘Well, they would. I mean, look at her!’
‘Lee loves her. She can’t be all bad, can she?’ said Helen sensibly. ‘Anyway, anyone has to be an improvement on the awful French girlfriend.’
‘Oh, Jeannnne?’ said Jo. ‘She wasn’t even French. She was from Chelmsford. Well, how Hannah turns out remains to be seen.’ She sat back and folded her arms.
Helen looked at her. ‘You look like you’re determined to hate her.’
‘I’m not! I’m just always suspicious of someone who swoops in and wins the heart of someone I care about. Especially when they look like that.’
As it happened, she didn’t get a chance to talk to Lee all evening. Everyone seemed to grab a chance to slip into the chair next to his for a chat, and every time Jo made a move to get close to him, someone else got in ahead of her. Hannah stayed in her chair, so there was no hope of getting in on the other side either. After everyone had had dessert and coffee, Jo got up to go to the loo. She was standing at the sinks tidying her hair and putting on some lipstick when Hannah came into the bathroom.
‘You must be Jo,’ she said. Her voice was low and quiet.
‘Yes, and you’re Hannah, of course. Nice to meet you properly.’
‘And you. I’ve heard all about you.’ Somehow, the way Hannah said this seemed quite loaded. There was no way to ask what she meant without sounding aggressive though, so Jo smiled and said, ‘I hope you’re having a nice time.’
‘I am. All Lee’s friends seem lovely.’
Hannah was standing behind Jo to her left, and when Jo looked in the mirror, she could see that Hannah was staring at her pointedly. Jo smiled again, now a little uncomfortable.
‘Well, we all do go back a long way,’ she said.
‘I know,’ said Hannah, and kept standing there, looking at her. Jo turned around to return the look. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, but Hannah filled the silence. ‘I’m sorry if I’m staring,’ she said, ‘but when your new boyfriend tells you about his old, old female friend and describes her by saying, “She looks like a Sports Illustrated model, but she’s also funny and creative and clever, and when she smiles, the room lights up,” well, that’s a woman you’re going to want to take a look at.’
‘Wow,’ said Jo. ‘I can’t believe he said that.’
‘Sports Illustrated might be taking it a bit far, but you are working that tall blonde look.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jo faintly. Her mum had always told her to be polite if someone paid her a compliment.
‘I love him, you know.’
‘I can see that. I saw the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. It seems pretty mutual.’
‘I hope so,’ said Hannah, her beautiful face impassive. ‘This relationship means a lot to me, and without trying to sound like a country and western song, I would absolutely fight to keep him.’
‘Fight who?’ said Jo, and then, realising, ‘Oh. Oh God, no, Hannah. There’s absolutely never been anything like that between Lee and me. I just don’t see him like that at all!’
‘Really? How could you not? I mean, have you looked at him?’
Hannah opened the door to the restaurant, and Jo looked out at Lee, sitting at the head of the table, laughing at something Helen was saying. It was funny. When you knew someone as well as she knew arLee, you stopped really seeing them. In a way, the picture you carried in your head was a sort of faded picture of who they were when you first met, not a clear vision of who they had become. In her head, Lee was still the tall, gangly just-out-of-his-teens boy with crazy hair who wore baggy, multicoloured jumpers his nanna knitted, not because they were cool but because it would hurt his nanna’s feelings if he didn’t.
But nearly ten years later, she looked at him with new eyes. With Hannah’s eyes. Lee now had his mad hair cropped stylishly short. He had filled out, so that his broad-shouldered, athletic body matched his height. He was anything but gawky and skinny nowadays. He was wearing a fitted charcoal shirt that looked well made and expensive. He was undeniably sexy and handsome. How had that happened? And how had she missed it? With a start, she realised she’d been standing there staring for too long without saying anything, and when she turned back, Hannah’s beautiful face had gone a little paler.
‘He’s all right, I suppose,’ said Jo nonchalantly. ‘But he’s never been my type.’
She wasn’t sure whether Hannah believed her. And much more worryingly, she wasn’t sure whether she believed herself.
She didn’t have to worry though, because after the big introduction dinner, Lee quite simply disappeared. None of their crowd saw him. He let out his flat and moved into Hannah’s bigger place in Stoke Newington. He stopped ringing and texting, and seemed to be busy whenever anyone invited him to do something. Jo got her hands on a brilliant debut script by a young Pakistani writer, living in East London, and she asked Lee if he wanted to do the set, but he cried off, saying things at work were too busy. He had never been too busy for an exciting creative project before, and Jo felt very sad.
Time passed, and Jo did two more productions, each in a slightly bigger venue. They got good reviews, and on the last one she even broke even, but she was nowhere near being able to give up her day job. She didn’t mind though. She had more responsibility at Susie’s PR company, and surprisingly, she really began to enjoy her job. She felt less and less that it was a way to fill in time and earn money, and more that it challenged her and asked things of her creatively. Susie was a wonderful boss and sent her on a number of useful training courses in marketing and PR writing. Jo was busy … too busy for any kind of romantic relationship, and, truth be told, too busy to see her friends much. But that seemed to be the case with everyone. A few of her uni friends had got married and settled down, a few more had gone travelling and one or two had emigrated. The days of weekly get-togethers and impromptu breaks away together were over. It wasn’t surprising … as they all headed into their thirties, it was the way things were likely to go.
So it was quite a surprise when, one day, Lee’s name popped up in her email inbox. Before she even read the message, she tried to recall when they had last been in contact. She thought there had been an email exchange around her birthday (‘Happy birthday’/‘Thanks, can you come to my birthday dinner?’/‘Sorry too busy.’), but other than that, they hadn’t been in touch for about eighteen months. Intrigued, she opened the email.
Hey stranger,
This is the crappest friend of all time making contact, and for the most clichéd reason of all time. Yes, I’m single, although feeling far from footloose and fancy-free, and back in my old flat in Islington. Things between Hannah and me didn’t work out, and it all ended rather badly, I’m sad to say. I have a new job, working for a design studio in Hoxton Square, so not a million miles from you if you fancy an after-work drin
k, or, if I don’t make the grade for that, maybe a swift bite of lunch?
Grovellingly yours,
Lee x
She didn’t hesitate for a moment, and fired off a reply offering drinks plus dinner, and telling him grovelling was totally unnecessary. As she sent it, she realised how much she’d missed him. She was sorry things hadn’t worked out with Hannah, really she was, but it would be brilliant to have Lee to kick around with again.
They met in a quiet wine bar near his offices in Hoxton. He looked the same, but quieter somehow, more subdued. As if he’d grown up. When Jo came in, he jumped up and kissed and hugged her, then drew her to sit down. He’d already ordered a bottle of wine and he filled her glass. She’d expected it to be slightly awkward, but it was anything but, and after the third glass Jo decided she had been wrong, and that to her relief Lee hadn’t grown up at all. He told her all about his new job. ‘You know where I worked before I got into typography. I’d heard about this company … it’s a font foundry, so I applied, and I’m incredibly lucky they took me on. We actually make our own fonts. Design them from scratch, letter by letter.’
‘Foundry? Wow … that sounds cool. Do you all stand around furnaces in leather aprons banging anvils?’
‘Not really … we have a large studio with a bunch of geeky people sitting at Macs, moving the middle bar on an e up a millimetre and then back down again for hours at a time.’
‘Sounds gripping.’
‘I’m talking it down, I love it. It’s the coolest job I’ve ever had. And you? What have you been up to?’
They did a speedy catch-up on the missing months, and then launched straight into gossip about all their mutual friends, talking over one another and laughing. Before they knew it, they were halfway through the second bottle of wine. Realising they were both quite drunk, Lee waved at a waiter and ordered them a load of tapas – far too much, it seemed, but they munched their way greedily through the whole lot. Jo spilled something oily and tomatoey on her top, which for some reason was hugely funny, and they giggled about that. For the rest of the evening, either one of them just had to say ‘tomato’ for them to fall about like a pair of thirteen-year-old girls.
In a fruitless attempt to sober them both up (it was a school night, after all), Jo ordered them both wickedly dark Mexican hot chocolates, only to discover they were spiked with a whopping great tot of tequila. The bar was beginning to empty and their mood was slightly quieter.
‘So can I ask about Hannah?’
‘Ask what?’
‘Well, what happened? It seemed so serious between you.’
‘It was … but, well, it just didn’t work out.’
‘Didn’t work out? What does that mean? That’s a euphemism that means nothing, Hockley, and you know it. Relationships don’t just “not work out”. What happened? Did you shag around? Did she?’
‘No one shagged around. It’s just one of those things, okay?’
‘Ah … “one of those things” – another meaning-laden euphemism.’
‘Indeed, and it means …’
‘“Shut up, Jo, and leave the subject alone, for the love of God”?’ Jo said, smiling.
‘Very accurately read, my dear. Now, are we going to want another of these quite excellent hot chocolates?’
‘I’m not sure whether it’s the alcohol or the sugar that will kill me …’
‘But there’s enough caffeine in there to revive a dodo.’
‘There is.’
‘So that’s a yes then?’
In spite of the heinous hangover the next morning, Jo was certain that it was the best evening out she’d had in months. Years, maybe. She emailed Lee to that effect and he concurred heartily. A few days later they got together rather more sedately for a weekend afternoon film, and the following week Jo invited him to the opening of a play she’d done the publicity for. The very next night they went to a private gallery view for someone they’d known at uni. Very quickly, they got into the habit of hanging out or attending functions together once or twice a week.
Jo told herself that it was fabulous to have a personable, intelligent old friend she could take to events. They had shared history, they were comfortable together, they knew a lot of the same people and they were interested in the same things. And besides, Lee was always a laugh. She kept telling herself all this, but deep down, when she got home after another evening out with him, there was something else. Something she couldn’t admit to anyone, not even to herself. Something had changed the night she had met Hannah, the night Hannah had asked her to really look at Lee. It was, she was sure, the exact opposite of Hannah’s intention, but she had awakened Jo’s attention and she had seen Lee for what he was … a desirable, sexy man. Now, when they met and he hugged and kissed her as he always did, she found herself sniffing his neck, smelling the heady combination of cologne and warm skin. When he asked her to be his date at a cousin’s wedding and they danced, she feared she would embarrass herself because it was so delicious to be held in his arms. She started to get a small thrill when she saw his name come up on her phone, or when an email arrived from him.
She knew she was being ridiculous. You couldn’t just start fancying someone you’d been friends with for more than ten years. It was a one-way street to ruining a precious and long-standing friendship. She wished she could talk to someone about it, but who do you discuss a crush with? Your best mate. And as Lee had become her best mate, that was out. If she told any of her other friends, they either wouldn’t understand, or, if it was someone like Helen who knew them both, would understand how totally hopeless the whole thing was. She wasn’t ready to be told that, so she didn’t discuss it with anyone. It was just a crush. She’d been single a long time, that was all. She’d get over it.
Nevertheless, when the big dance show, the biggest project she’d ever run publicity for on her own, was due to open, she invited Lee to the opening night at Sadler’s Wells. It was early summer, and the night was warm and clear. She had caught a little sun and her skin had a golden honey glow, so she’d chosen a simple white shift dress, and silver sandals. She wore her hair loose and a fine silver chain around her neck.
She was talking to a dance journalist in the foyer when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lee arrive. She kept her attention on the journalist, nodding and smiling, but she was acutely aware of Lee’s tall frame edging his way through the crowd towards her. Then, with a miracle of timing, the journalist saw someone she needed to speak to, and as Lee got there, made her excuses to Jo and went off. Jo turned to Lee. He was staring at her, at her dress, her hair, her face. She waited for a standard Lee quip about her being all gussied up or corn-fed or something, but he said simply, ‘You look beautiful.’
She didn’t know what to say. He’d never said anything like that to her before. She stammered an awkward thankyou. Then another journalist swooped in with a tedious question about the lighting design, and dragged Jo away.
She was busy right until the curtain rose and she slipped into her seat beside Lee as the lights went down. Although she’d been looking forward to it for weeks, she barely saw the show … she was too busy concentrating on the heat of his arm next to hers. She really had to get a grip. She was acting like she was nineteen, not twenty-nine. So he’d said she looked beautiful. So what? It was Lee. He was always nice.
After the show, there was a drinks reception, and Jo was kept busy chatting to various patrons and journalists. Lee hung on the fringes of the group, not talking to anyone. Every time Jo looked up, he seemed to be watching her. She was a grown woman and she knew that look. She knew that if she walked up to him and said, ‘Do you want to come back to mine?’ they would go back to her flat, take off their clothes and have sex. But then what? An awful, awkward morning, waking up together, realising they’d chucked ten great years of friendship for a heady summer’s evening shag? Was it worth it? Could she bear to lose him? No. No, she couldn’t. This had been a terrible, terrible idea.
As the l
ast elderly dance patron finished her lengthy goodbye, Jo looked up one more time, and caught Lee’s eye. She had never seen him look so intense, and as she walked up to him, his beautiful dark brown eyes were almost black with desire. ‘Listen, sweetie,’ she said as casually as she could, ‘sorry I’ve been such a poor hostess this evening, but I’m shattered. Sore head, sore feet, sore face from all the smiling. I’m going to hop in a cab and go home. Is that okay? Catch up tomorrow.’ She couldn’t bring herself to kiss him, so she patted his arm awkwardly and left.
She woke the next morning, kicking herself. Kicking herself for chickening out when it looked as if he might reciprocate her feelings, kicking herself for thinking it had ever been a good idea to try to change their relationship into something else and quite possibly ruining everything. Just kicking herself. Over the next week, she avoided his calls and texts, and answered emails with a terse ‘V. busy, will get back to you.’ She knew she couldn’t avoid him forever though.
At the end of the week, the dance show transferred to the Theatre Royal in Newcastle. The whole way up north on the train, she stared out of the window, thinking about Lee, about their last meeting, about their friendship. In a funny way, she realised, it was too late already. Even if she had misread Lee’s expression that night at the theatre, her feelings for him were irrevocably different. He wasn’t Lee her mate any more. He was Lee the man she … what? Fancied? Had a crush on? Loved? Oh my God … was she in love with Lee?
She got through the set-up, the opening night and all the schmoozing in a kind of daze. Later that night, she walked back to her hotel. She was tired, but she knew she wouldn’t sleep. She had to tell him. She couldn’t just let this poison their relationship. She had to tell him, take the risk, see if he felt the same way. And if it meant she lost him, well, that was going to have to be okay. She didn’t have him anyway, not as a friend the way she used to, and not as a lover, which was what she now wanted.