by Jessie Jones
He was smiling that lovely smile so I fought hard to resist the urge to punch him really hard on his nose.
‘Listen, come over here and I’ll get you a coffee,’ he said, still grinning. ‘Or are you on a stopwatch?’
‘Well, I am trying to beat my PB, but sod it. I’d love a coffee.’
‘What are you doing here?’ I asked as we sat on a bench near the catering truck and watched the wind whip the steam away from our Styrofoam cups.
‘Shooting a video. It’s for a single off the new album.’
‘You’ve done so well, Chris. I feel so proud to know you,’ I told him truthfully. ‘I always knew you’d make it.’ Well, it was only a tiny lie.
‘We’ve done OK, haven’t we?’ He smiled at me.
‘Just OK? How many Brits have you got now?’
‘So you have been following my career.’
‘Like a stalker,’ I told him seriously.
He laughed, then he said, ‘Remember our first single?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘That song will always remind me of you’.
‘Really? Why?’ I asked, totally intrigued.
‘Yellow reminded me of our first date, you know, in that Krishna restaurant.’
How could I forget? All these years on and the curry was still repeating on me. I tried to think back to what I’d been wearing that night. A bright yellow top? Banana-shaped earrings? Canary-coloured tights?
‘That curried cabbage you loved,’ he went on, ‘it was really, really yellow.’
We both burst out laughing.
‘So, I was an inspiration for your work and, let’s not forget, it was me who kind of introduced you to your future wife.’ I stopped and gave him a big grin. ‘I’m a total genius, aren’t I?’
He laughed again. ‘I’d forgotten how funny you could be, Dayna.’
Hmm, so had I.
‘So, you’re living round here now?’ Chris asked.
‘No, I’m still in the same old flat.’
‘What, you jogged all the way here? You must be one fit woman.’
‘I wish. I’ve jogged about a hundred yards. I’m staying round here with my ffffffriend.’ Now, why couldn’t I bring myself to say fiancé?
‘You seeing anyone at the moment, then?’ he asked.
‘No … Not really … Footloose and fancy free.’
Aaagggghhh! What the hell was I playing at? Only three (repeat, three) days away from my wedding as well.
‘That’s cool, but I have to say,’ he winked at me, ‘I can thoroughly recommend this marriage lark.’
Hmm, I thought.
‘It is so nice to see you again, Chris, it really is.’
‘You too, Dayna. Shoots are so boring, but you’ve made this one worth showing up to.’
We stopped talking and sipped our coffees. I looked across the grass at the film crew, who were clustered in little groups, smoking and chatting. They’d been like that since we sat down.
‘Doesn’t seem to be much shooting going on,’ I said.
‘No, we’re waiting for a wind machine.’
‘A wind machine?’ I asked as a fresh gust whipped my hair completely out of shape. ‘It’s blowing a gale out here.’
‘Ah, but the director doesn’t want a mere gale. The director demands a hurricane! Thus the wind machine,’ he explained, doing this luvvie voice that he almost but not quite pulled off. ‘You don’t know much about filmmaking, do you?’
‘Not a lot,’ I said.
I watched a man amble towards us. He was wearing a big black bomber jacket that had M:I–2 embroidered across the breast pocket. He stopped when he reached us and said, ‘Sorry, Chris, but looks like we’ll be hanging around for a while yet. ETA for the wind machine’s another hour.’
‘No worries, man, whenever you’re ready,’ Chris told him.
What, no prima donna temper tantrum? Stardom really hadn’t changed him.
‘Who’s that?’ I asked as the man walked away. ‘The director?’
‘No, he’s the first.’
I looked at him blankly.
‘First AD.’
Still blank.
‘First Assistant Director.’
‘I see,’ I said, not seeing at all. ‘Look, I’d better be making a move.’
‘No, hang around for a bit … please,’ he begged. ‘I’m going crazy with boredom here. I need some decent company. Hey, I know, why don’t you come back to my trailer? God, I have always wanted to say that to a girl.’
All I could do was laugh.
And wonder why I only seemed to laugh in the company of men who weren’t Cristian.
I got back to my flat feeling very nostalgic. It had been lovely seeing Chris again but I couldn’t help wondering about how things might have been.
I was interrupted mid-thought. My mobile rang as I let myself in. It was Cristian. His very frequent calls didn’t always have a point to them, so I had half a mind to ignore it, but, more fool me, I didn’t.
‘Where are you, Dayna?’ he said peevishly.
God, didn’t he know that already? I’m surprised he hadn’t had me fitted up with a satellite tracking device or something.
‘I just got home,’ I replied. ‘Why?’
‘Because we’re supposed to be going to see the caterer to discuss the seating plan, that’s why.’
‘That’s not till seven,’ I said. ‘It’s only three now.’
‘Yes, but I wanted to discuss it with you first to make sure you’re absolutely happy with everything.’
‘Don’t worry about me, Cristian,’ I said sweetly. ‘Half the guests are flying in from Romania. I can’t even pronounce their names, let alone work out where to put them.’
‘But that still leaves two hundred and fifty people, Dayna.’
Aaagghh! I hated being reminded that five hundred people were coming to our wedding. The Antonescus didn’t do small and intimate.
‘And after the caterer I thought we could go out for dinner,’ Cristian went on. ‘Gordon Ramsay’s. I haven’t taken you there yet, have I?’
No, he hadn’t. But I was already having dinner – £4.95 at the all-you-can-eat buffet at the Oriental Cottage. Not a patch on Gordon Ramsay, but a commitment was a commitment, wasn’t it?
‘I can’t, Cristian,’ I said.
‘Can’t what? Come to the caterer with me or come to dinner?’
‘All of it.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m just really tired … I’ve had a really tough day … Jogging.’
‘Jogging?’
‘Five miles,’ I said, because it had bloody well felt like five miles.
‘OK, forget dinner,’ he said, ‘but, please, come to see the caterer with me. I just think it’s really important that we do this together and –’
‘Can’t hear you, Cristian, think my batt––’
Recently I’d become really good at flipping my phone shut exactly halfway through any given word. Sorry, Cristian, but we have a whole lifetime of doing things together to look forward to. Tonight I just want to have one last little bit of me time.
Well, me and Simon time.
I felt terrible when I woke up the next morning. What the hell did I think I was playing at?
And what the hell was I going to do now?
I had to talk to someone. But who? My mate Emily, the hysteric? Suzie, who’d just say, ‘Told you so’? Cristian? Aaaagggghhhhh! There was only one person. The guy who’d once said to me that my instincts would tell me what to do. Well, right now my instincts didn’t have a bloody clue. He had to have some better advice than that. I picked up the phone and dialled Mark’s number. I had to get him round at once.
If he was so intent on saving the planet, he could make a start by saving me.
6 lb 3 oz
Who could believe this? I know I can’t. If you’d told me an hour ago that I’d now be lying in bed feeling serene, happy and utterly, utterly exhilarated, I’d have laughed in your face.
Well, I wouldn’t have laughed. I was going through death by childbirth, but you know what I mean.
‘You look positively beatific,’ Suzie says from her perch on the edge of the bed.
Whatever that means, I feel it.
‘And she is absolutely bloody gorgeous,’ she adds.
I look down at the tiny face peeping out of the blanket. Words don’t exist to express just how beautiful she is. ‘Bloody gorgeous’ will have to do.
‘She looks just like you, Dayna.’
And therefore just like my mum.
OhmyGod, this is so perfect. I had no idea I could feel this good. If I died now … I know I’ve had enough death in my time to last, well, a lifetime, and my own demise isn’t something I really want to dwell on, but if I had to put a full stop on it now, I would have had everything I ever wanted …
‘I wish your dad was here to see this,’ Suzie says. ‘He’d be so proud.’
‘I can’t quite believe I’m saying this,’ I say quietly, ‘but I wish he was here too.’
We both look up as Emily bursts into the room. ‘Isn’t he here yet?’ she asks. ‘Bloody useless. He’d turn up late to his own funeral.’
‘Give him a break. I’m sure he’s doing his best,’ I tell her. I’m in an extremely forgiving mood at the moment.
A face appears in the doorway.
‘Mark!’ I exclaim.
He’s clutching a bunch of flowers and his complexion looks a lot rosier than it did during my twenty-four hours in hell.
‘Didn’t know what to get you. It was these or Milk Tray, but I didn’t think you’d be hungry.’
What’s he talking about? I’ve just lost six pounds three ounces and I’m starving.
‘They’re lovely,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
Emily, still playing the role of my PA, takes them from him and he walks over to the bed. ‘Can I look at her?’ he asks.
I tilt my little baby – my daughter! – in his direction and he peers at her. ‘She is … amazing,’ he says, the awe – and a tear – visible in his eyes. ‘Congratulations, Dayna. Well done.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘By the way, and don’t take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here? I meant to ask you earlier, but …’
‘That’s OK, you were kind of busy. You know I do volunteer work here. Well, I was in visiting one of my old ladies and I bumped into Suzie and tagged along. Hope you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. It’s good to see you,’ I tell him.
Suzie gets up to help Emily fuss over the flowers and Mark takes her place on the edge of the bed so he can coo at my tiny little bundle.
‘You look like a woman who’s happy with her decisions,’ he says after a moment.
‘Totally happy,’ I tell him. ‘I couldn’t have done it without you, though.’
‘All I did was point you in the right direction. You did the rest … So, where is he, then? Dad, I mean.’
Dad. Hard to think of him as that.
Dad’s here now, holding his baby.
‘Incredible,’ he says. For the hundredth time. It’s all he’s been capable of saying since he arrived ten minutes ago. It’s good to see him on such a high.
‘What are we gonna call her, then?’ he asks.
‘Olive,’ I tell him.
‘Olive?’ he exclaims, before pulling himself up. ‘Your mum’s name,’ he says, more quietly now. ‘Olive. OK. Nice.’
I smile because I know what he means. ‘But we can make it Olivia if you like,’ I suggest. ‘More … modern.’
‘Olivia. Perfect,’ he tells me.
‘You happy?’ I ask.
‘What does it look like?’
He’s right. It was a silly question.
‘So … er … what now?’ he asks.
‘Well, I’m supposed to wait for the doctor to check me, then I can go home.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ he says. I knew he didn’t mean that. ‘I meant … you know … getting married.’
‘You don’t mind if we put it off for a bit longer, do you?’ I ask nervously.
‘No … um … that’s OK. One step at a time and all that.’
We’ve talked about it endlessly since my freak out and I’m so glad that everyone understands the way everyone else feels. It’s not that we aren’t committed to each other in every way imaginable because we are. In our own ways. And we understand that if this relationship is to survive, it must be based on trust, openness and honesty. Well, that’s what Suzie told us, and we nodded and agreed.
Cristian took it badly, of course. But what bloke wouldn’t when faced with the news, two days before his wedding, that his wedding wasn’t actually going to happen? He was absolutely devastated, poor guy, but, being Cristian, he tried his best to be sweet and understanding … Though in a funny way that just made it harder. I could have coped better if he’d flown into a fury and hit me with some ancient Transylvanian curse. I think that the planeload of Romanians that flew in for the non-event weren’t too unhappy – they got some great shopping in and went on a tour of the Houses of Parliament.
Only one Romanian completely lost it. Mila had a total shit-fit. ‘That fuckink bitch, see how she repay us, the fuckink stinkink bitch?’ was one of the more repeatable bits of her rant. I tried to be honest with her about my decision, that it was for the best, that I wouldn’t have been doing Cristian any favours if I’d gone ahead with the wedding without feeling totally committed to him. I just wanted her to understand why I’d done what I’d done. I didn’t expect her to forgive me but I wanted to give her the opportunity to get her rage out of her system by throwing it all in my face personally. But she didn’t respond to my letter.
Hopefully, Mila and especially Cristian are looking to the future now. I know that Cristian has thrown himself into the launch of Spa Space in Australia and he spends more time over there than he does here. Could have something to do with the fact that these days one of Sydney’s top models can be seen hanging from his arm.
Good luck to both of them, that’s what I say, because who knows what the future will bring for any of us. What about me and the father of my baby? Should we get married? Will we manage to stay the course or will we become just another statistic fighting about access and maintenance and messy stuff like that? Who knows? All we can be sure about is that the here and now feels right, and that’ll do for me.
‘You look so good with her,’ I say as I watch him cooing at our baby.
‘Are they always born like this?’ he asks, a puzzled frown on his face.
‘Like what, Simon?’ I ask.
‘Well, I’m just wondering why she’s so curly?’
And of all my rubbish boyfriends, coming from the only one with straight hair, that’s actually a very good question.
How Rubbish Is Your Boyfriend?
You have a vague suspicion your super boyfriend could be slightly more super than he actually is, but how do you find out for sure? Worry not, because we have devised this scientifically proven-to-work questionnaire. Just answer honestly and all will be revealed. Have fun! But not too much fun. This is serious.
Your boyfriend is late for your date. When he eventually turns up, does he:
Saunter into the bar, give you a peck on the cheek and say, ‘I’m off for a slash. Get a round in, babe. I’m parched.’
Say, ‘Sorry, have you been waiting long? I completely lost track of time. What’s wrong? You look like someone upset you.’
Fall in a heap at your feet and beg you to let him make it up to you by flying you to Paris for a quick shopping spree before dinner.
You get him a CD for his birthday, but he already has it. Does he:
Exclaim, ‘I’ve already got this, you daft tart. I didn’t even have to pay for mine because I downloaded it illegally. What else d’you get me?’
Frown and ask if you kept the receipt. He can exchange it for something for his mum – it’s her birthday next week.
Go wild with excitement. He loves this ban
d! The only thing that could possibly be better than owning this CD is owning two copies!
You’re getting passionate on the sofa when the doorbell rings. It’s your best friend in floods of tears. Clearly, she needs you. Does he say:
‘Go ahead and chat, girlies. I can wait. You’ve got ten minutes. Come on, talk, talk – the timer’s on.’
‘Go ahead, I’ll put the kettle on. Mine’s a tea, white with one.’
‘Oh, you two must talk. I’ll give you some space and wait in my car. Perhaps I can take you both to dinner when you’re done?’
You and your boyfriend are on the dance floor when a foxy blonde thing starts to bump ’n’ grind right in front of him. Does he:
Take his jacket off, hang it over your shoulder and proceed to bump ’n’ grind her right back.
Shout, ‘Clear the floor, this woman’s having an epileptic fit!’
Turn his back on her and put his arms round your waist, never once sneaking a sly look in her direction, not even when she takes her top off and starts simulating an orgasm on the dance floor.
He tells you he’s off to the pub. Several pubs, actually. In Amsterdam. It’s a stag weekend. Didn’t he mention that? Your face falls. To which he says:
‘I knew you’d love it. Hey, can you wash my jeans for me? You know, my pulling pants. Haven’t worn them for ages. Since I pulled you, actually. Yeah, s’gonna be a right laugh.’
‘I knew you’d worry about being on your own so I’ve arranged for my mum to come and stay with you while I’m away.’
‘Oh my God, how could I have been so stupid! I can’t possibly go away without you. In fact, you and I will go away instead. Let’s make a week of it. No, two. Seychelles alright with you?’
If you answered mostly: