One Way or Another: An absolutely hilarious laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Colleen Coleman

  I'm taking time to discover myself as a person, which is what true success and true fortune is all about. The insecurities we have today are the same as those we had when we were mere children seeking approval, seeking love.

  If you have the courage to turn over every stone, all the answers to our future are in the past.

  My message to you, Katie? Trust yourself, you do not need me. You do not need anyone. You are more than enough.

  * * *

  Adieu,

  * * *

  Jean-Michel

  Adieu is pretty final. Not Au revoir. Not À bientôt. He’s saying goodbye. So I guess this is Jean-Michel’s way of telling me that he’s not coming back. At all. Ever again. And that our big adventure at the Marchand is over.

  I flip the letter to lie flat on its front, unable to look at his writing, unable to grasp what he’s telling me all at once.

  It’s over.

  Just like that.

  I run my fingers through my hair and start to rummage in my bag for my phone. Who should I call first? Pip? Octavia? Alice? Dad? I can’t think straight. On one hand I’m actually pleased for Jean-Michel; I think what he’s doing is really brave and probably the biggest decision he’s ever made, and he’s done it to save his family and save himself.

  But that just leaves the rest of us. Abandoned, unemployed, evicted, heart-broken.

  I stop rummaging a second, as I feel a tap on my shoulder. I glance upwards and my hand flies to my chest.

  ‘Hi, is this seat taken?’ says the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid eyes on. A vision.

  I blink and shake my head.

  And watch Ben slide in to the seat beside me.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  ‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be in New York?’ I look over his shoulder to the door, up to the counter. ‘Is Francesca here too?’

  Ben taps his fingers on the table and then turns towards me. ‘Didn’t you get my messages? I didn’t want to call and put you on the spot, so I thought texting would be better, give me a chance to explain.’

  Explain what? I shrug. How can I tell him that I got them but I didn’t read them. That I blocked him! I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t open them,’ I confess. ‘Just thought it best that we left things as they were. Fresh start for me as well as you and your girlfriend.’

  ‘But that’s just it, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Francesca and me… Well, we broke up. We’re finished.’

  I open my mouth to say something casual, trite, I should so say, ‘I’m sorry’. But how can I be convincingly sorry? I run my fingers through my hair, still trying to think of something to say that will be appropriate and sound genuine… ‘Sorry’ is not that.

  ‘Katie?’ Ben says. But I can’t, I just can’t get any words out. Ben and Francesca are finished.

  ‘What happened?’ is all I can manage. I need to know. After all, maybe Ben’s heart-broken? Maybe it wasn’t his choice. Maybe he caught her cheating on him and he’s angry and bitter and determined to win her back? Or maybe she was an idiot like me who walked away from the most brilliant boyfriend and best friend one could ever hope to meet in a lifetime?

  ‘I figured it wasn’t fair to lead her on,’ he says with a deep sigh. ‘When I was honest with myself, I didn’t want to go to New York. But she did. She really did. And that got me thinking about you and me. How we went our different ways. Why we went our different ways. And the way that I found myself back here with you.’

  His fingers tiptoe across the table and he places his hand right next to mine. I can’t describe what it feels like to have him this close to me, speaking about us, feeling the heat of his body right by mine again without using the word electrifying. I mean terrifying. Everything about the way he makes me feel is absolutely terrifying. The way my heart wants to be held by him is terrifying. The way my knees have caved is terrifying. The way my mouth wants to be all over his skin, his face, his chest is terrifying. And electrifying.

  ‘You see, I get it now. When I wanted to go and travel and you wanted to stay, you never made me choose. You let me go. But Francesca, she was different, everything was different and that never quite felt right, never felt the same. She gave me an ultimatum. She told me that unless we went to New York together, we were finished. But you never did that to me. You wanted me to go for what I needed to go for, even if it hurt. So I told Francesca, we were finished. That I was coming back here, back home. And that it’s the right thing to do, because I’m still in love with somebody else.’

  This time no words are stuck in my throat. The words slip out of my mouth before I have the forethought to check myself. ‘And are you in love with somebody else?’

  ‘Afraid so. Ever since I tasted her eggs Benedict, I knew she was the one. Tried to live without her. Not recommended.’

  I feel my face flush with heat, with adrenalin, with shock… A really good kind of shock, like all my lottery numbers are flying up on screen one by one.

  ‘Do you mean it, Ben? Are you serious? You’ve got to be joking.’ I press my fingertips into my temples. This is all too much to take, the worst news of my life followed by the best? ‘I don’t know what to think anymore. Please tell me straight.’

  He clears his throat. ‘Katie, I love you and I’m not joking. If anything, I’ve never been so serious. It’s crystal clear to me now, that no matter what I do or where I go or who I’m with, I belong with you.’

  ‘Kiss me,’ I say, swallowing hard and slowly looking up to his face, but he’s looking at my hand. He brings my palm to his mouth and kisses it, three slow, soft kisses which make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my heart lunge up to my throat. I can feel the heat rise across my chest, up my neck, flooding into my cheeks. Then he pulls his lips away from my hand, meeting my gaze, gauging my reaction. His eyes are dark and piercing and they’re focused all over me. On my lips. On my eyes, on my neck, on my hair, on my chest. He can’t seem to take me in fast enough.

  Oh my god, it’s too much. My head falls back against the wall when I feel his lips on the inside of my wrist, then moving up my arm, to my shoulder, to my neck. I naturally tilt my head to the side and, as soon as I do, I feel the warmth of his breath, he’s that close. I can breathe in his salty, cotton-clean scent; I can just about feel his stubble, his face is that close to mine. He pauses just below my ear and I think I’m going to slide right off this seat and under the table. I squeeze my eyes shut and hope my heart doesn’t explode when he leans in, because it definitely feels like it could. Ben’s lips press gently against my skin, and I swear the room fades out. I swear everything else just falls away.

  He works his kisses all the way along my jawline until his mouth meets my chin. I can’t move. I’m literally panting for breath. I can take no more. I want to take it all. To take him all in, in to me. My hand slides up his arm and grasps the back of his head, not wanting him to pull away from me, wanting to devour him. He lifts away and looks at me directly. His eyes are smiling, knowing how crazy he’s driving me. We’re both breathing heavily, knowing exactly what’s about to come next. What we’re about to experience together all over again, remembering how it was like with us this before, impatient about how it’s going to be again.

  I think he’s as excited and as terrified as I am right now. I brush my thumb across the back of his hand and he gasps quietly. The assent I just gave him with that tiny movement seems to break through some invisible barrier, because immediately, he slides his hand over mine and presses our palms together, intertwining our fingers. The warmth of his hand doesn’t even come close to the surge of heat that shoots through my entire body. A faint smile flashes across his lips and Ben leans his beautiful face right in to mine and covers my lips with his. I slide my fingers into his hair and I am home.

  And then I believe that it’s true. Then I believe him that he knows that he belongs with me as much as I believe that I belong with him. Here, in this little dining booth, lost in a swirl of lunchtime crow
ds and hot trays and manic service, we are kissing like crazy. Like our lives depend on it. Our lips meet and I remember, I understand all over again, why people describe kissing as melting, because every square inch of my body dissolves into his. My fingers grip into his hair, pulling him closer. Every nerve in my body is alive, alert, craving more of him and my heart explodes. I have never wanted anyone like I want him and here he is, in my hands, on my lips, my Ben, my second chance at my only love.

  He pushes me backward towards the wall, and we’re laughing and kissing and stroking each other’s faces, our cheeks, our lips together, making out in front of the whole restaurant and I don’t care, I don’t care one eensy bit. All I want is him. All I want is this moment.

  I hear the clicking of a pen and a loud tutting. We stop and turn to the waitress, standing with her arms folded. ‘It’s lunchtime, sweethearts. I suggest you pay up and get a room.’

  I turn to Ben, trying to force my lips to stay in a straight line so that I don’t look like a beaming idiot. I throw a note on the table and slide my hotel key out of my wallet. ‘I think she’s right. What do you think?’

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ he laughs and exhales at the same time and we both give up on holding anything else back. Two beaming idiots scramble out of the booth, race out of the Italian, across the road and into the Rembrandt and straight up to my suite. Hand in hand.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It is exactly two weeks now since what should have been an ordinary Friday night service became the last meal that Jean-Michel would ever cook. Pip requested that we meet him and Octavia at his solicitor’s office by Chancery Lane. It’s all very concrete and official and sombre. I expect it’s about the ‘severance, contractual obligations and remunerations’ he mentioned he needed to run past me regarding The Marchand, which basically means ironing out the restaurant’s funeral arrangements in light of Jean’s effective resignation.

  But I’m not facing this alone. I look down at my fingers, which are interlocked with those of the best chef, boyfriend and business partner anyone could ever dream of. Right by my side and on the same page is Ben. And we have a plan.

  We climb the steps of a huge grey-brick Georgian townhouse and bang the huge brass knocker on the door. The last time I had to go through this kind of meeting, I was all alone. And it wasn’t very pleasant to discover that if you don’t agree with everything they offer you your only alternative is to come up with the money yourself, which means owing a shitload of money to a loan shark mobster who won’t think twice about tearing out your fingernails if you can’t cough up. I look down at my hands. Ouch. I’m glad I didn’t go with that. But, whatever. This is where Pip has asked to meet us and he’s the one we’ve got to get onside. And I’m smarter and stronger than I was the last time I was in a position like this.

  Bring it on.

  The buzzer sounds and we wait for the door to click so we can enter. Nothing is guaranteed. Of course they might reject us out of hand. But it is certainly worth a shot. And the thought of being rejected, of them throwing us and our proposal out the door doesn’t fill me with as much fear as it would have done in the past. Because I’ve grown. I’m all right with myself. I’m not going to judge my entire worthiness as a human being on this one day, or this one judgement.

  And because whatever happens today, wherever this journey leads us to next, it’s already brought me back to Ben and Ben back to me. And that’s probably a little bit more happiness, love and heart-bursting joy than my quota should allow. So if Pip and Octavia don’t like what we’ve got to say, we’ll survive. We’ll go get some cake. We’ll book a trip. We’ll take each other by the hand and get ready for our next adventure.

  I hear the cathedral bells ring out, twelve peals. It’s time for our meeting. They’ll be here any moment. It’s time to find out what’s next.

  ‘You ready for this?’ Ben asks as he straightens his tie and smooths his cuffs. We’ve left our chef whites and chequered trousers behind today. We’re not here as staff. We’re here as potential partners.

  I nod, picking a fleck of lint from the hem of my best red dress. ‘Born ready.’

  A secretary opens the door and leads us up the stairs and into a very large top-floor office where Pip, Octavia and a striking black lawyer are already waiting, seated at a long walnut table, a single sheet of typed white paper placed in front of each of them. They all stand to greet us, we shake hands, and the lawyer introduces himself as Jerome. I take a seat, have a sip of water and wait for the shit to hit the fan. I’m nervous. This feels very heavy, very important. It’s too quiet. Everyone’s too stiff, acting too careful. We can hear each other breathe.

  I pat the bright purple folder containing my business plan that I hold in my lap. Business plans being my Achilles’ heel in my past life, I sought out the best help I could for this one. I think it’s pretty impressive. Let’s hope these guys feel the same.

  The secretary closes the door and I take a quick glance behind me, but this is it, there’s no one else coming. Just one empty chair by Octavia where I’d expect to see Jean-Michel. But clearly he’s not coming. And neither is his wife. There’s a morbid tone to these proceedings. This feels like the reading of a will.

  Pip wrings his hands and licks his lips. ‘Let’s cut to the chase. Bottom line is that I invested in Jean-Michel and Jean-Michel has jumped ship. Therefore, I’m perfectly within my rights to do the same.’

  I look to the lawyer for development, for more explanation, but he just shrugs as if to say that’s all there is to it. He slides a document over to me.

  ‘It’s all in there, if any party reneges on their side, it renders the contractual obligations of the other party null and void.’

  Right. Even though I was expecting this, it still comes as quite a blow. That’s it. Over. Done. Finished.

  Octavia clears her throat. ‘I can see by the look on your face, Katie, that all of this has come as quite a surprise.’

  ‘Yes and no,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not surprised the pressure got to Jean-Michel and I’m not surprised that Pip wants out. But I am surprised that we’re going to let it go so easily before we look at our options. We’ve worked so hard. It’s worth fighting for.’

  Pip throws back his head and his hands fly to the air. ‘Fighting! You hit the nail on the head there! There’s been nothing but fighting, struggle, conflict and drama since I got involved in this freakin’ place. And after all that, what have we got? I tell you what we’ve got. We’ve got no customers! We’ve got no service! We’ve got no food! And why? Because we have no freakin chef.’

  Pip reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a newspaper. He glances at the front page, sucks his teeth and throws it across the table to Ben and I.

  ‘You think we can come back from headlines like these?’

  Fall from Grace

  * * *

  Chef and enfant terrible Jean-Michel Marchand, 48, known as the youngest chef ever in the world to be awarded three Michelin stars by the tender age of 33, walked out of his London restaurant last week and declared that he is handing back his stars and quitting cooking forever.

  I place the newspaper back down on the table and lean forward in my seat. ‘Jean-Michel may be gone, but you do have two other chefs.’

  ‘Two?’ Pip does a double take. ‘You two?’ And then he starts laughing. ‘I can’t take much more, gimme a break. Let me spell it out to you guys, people don’t book The Marchand because they are hungry. People can eat anywhere. So why on earth would you book three months in advance to reserve a table at one of the most expensive restaurants in London?’ He turns to his lawyer. ‘You ate there a few weeks back, why’d you do it?’

  ‘Our wedding anniversary so we wanted to do something special,’ he answers.

  Pip’s finger points in the air. ‘You hear that? They wanted something special. Jean-Michel is what made the place special. He was the one that excited people; he was the one with all the stars and awards and accolades.’ He clasp
s both hands on the back of his neck and shakes his head. ‘There’s nothing special about two unknown chefs serving food in a hotel restaurant. I’m sorry, guys. It’s over.’

  Octavia makes a steeple with her hands and shakes her head. ‘I appreciate your efforts, but I’m afraid Pip is right on this one. You can’t take this place over from Jean-Michel. Like anything, a new venture with one foot in the past will simply limp towards failure.’

  Okay, it’s now or never. I ball my hands into two fists to steady the quiver and I take a deep breath. There is nothing to be afraid of. We already know we can do this. We’re already winning. And with that, I stand up, open my purple folder and, with a sure, steady hand, give three copies of our business plan to Pip, Octavia and their lawyer. I wink at Ben and he begins our pitch.

  ‘We’ve already shown you that we can both cook, that we can run a kitchen, lead a team, put in the hours, stand the pressure.’

  The lawyer scans down our stapled four-page business plan, complete with graphs and figures and everything you would expect from a world-renowned business tycoon. Trailing down the figures and projections with his pen, he suddenly stops. And then, right at the point I was hoping, he shifts in his seat, taps his pen, nudges Pip and draws a circle midway down the first page. Pip peers in, squinting to read, then as the realisation washes over him, he lifts his chin and exchanges a wide-eyed look with Octavia.

  Ben continues with our pitch. ‘As you can tell by the extent of our research, the originality of our concept and the detail of our business plan, we’re now ready to go to the next level, to step in and take over the current premises at the Rembrandt Hotel and relaunch it. Give it a second chance with the same high-quality ingredients, the same exacting attention to detail, the same vision of excellence… but this time with an entirely different feel.’