by Helly Acton
‘Is that all?’ he says. ‘I feel like I’ve known you for two years, not two weeks.’
Millie feels the same way, but she’d never come out and say it.
‘Time goes so slowly when you’re bored witless,’ he says, staring across the water.
‘Oi!’ Millie says, nudging his shoulder, wishing she’d said something wittier.
‘Shall we walk and talk?’ Ben asks, standing up and looking down at her, his face half silhouetted by the sunlight as he offers her his hand. She takes it and stands, releasing herself from his grip quickly. She can’t bear to feel his skin against hers. It’s not because he has warts and blisters; he doesn’t. It’s because his palm is so soft and warm, she’s in danger of holding it up to her cheek.
Millie and Ben wander through the park towards his flat as if they’re moving in slow motion. Morning runners speed past them, tutting as they go, irritated by the space that two people are taking up on the path. Several times, Millie has tried to navigate them to the side, but ends up awkwardly walking into Ben as she does.
‘Don’t worry, Belle, they can run past us. Lone runners don’t have exclusive rights to these roads. But thank you for keeping me warm by sidling up to me, anyway.’ He smiles at her. She keeps her eyes ahead.
‘So, now we’ve established that it’s only been two weeks, and that we don’t know each other at all, how about a quick-fire quiz? Five questions each, as fast as we can,’ Ben says.
‘Anything to break this cringe-level-ten silence between us,’ Millie teases.
He laughs that unashamedly high-pitched giggle that gives her flutters.
‘You first.’ She smiles.
‘OK, question one. Dogs, cats, fish or hamsters?’ he asks.
‘Cats! I have one called Bruce.’
‘What? How did I not know this, and why haven’t we met?’ Ben cries.
‘He hates everyone, including me.’
‘I have a trick to make cats love me.’
‘Please share, because I’d like to finally feel safe in my own home.’
‘I smear my hands in bacon dripping. That’s why my hands are so soft and salty. Here, fancy a lick?’ he says, holding them up to her face. She laughs and ducks. If only he knew what she’d been thinking a moment ago.
‘OK, question two. Do you have a family?’
‘I do. It’s small. Mum, me and June.’
‘Question three. What the hell – June is your sister?’
‘Sort of. Not by blood. She came to live with Mum and me when we were little. My mum’s best friend was around then, too. Nan. Short for Nancy,’ she says.
‘Question four. Do you know anything about your dad? Is he around?’ Ben asks.
‘Nope, a donor. Anonymous. Standard,’ Millie says, surprised to hear him use the word ‘dad’, then remembering he grew up with two parents. Single parents aren’t the norm for him, like they are for most people.
Millie sometimes wonders how her life – how she – might have been different if she’d known her donor. Her mum’s Type A personality has been her biggest influence. Nan and June helped to dilute it to some extent to provide Millie with a bit of balance.
‘Mum spent holidays in Wales as a kid, you know.’
‘Good woman! Question five. Where?’
‘Tenby?’
‘I know it well,’ he says, smiling. ‘We used to go fishing at Tenby on our holidays. Shrimply the best.’
Millie giggles.
When they leave the park, Ben points her towards the end of the road and the red-brick mansion block he’d shown her before. Millie starts walking towards it, then she realises she’s on her own. Ben’s already crossed the traffic and is waving at her from the other side. She points and mouths towards the lights. He nods and smiles.
When Millie catches up to him, after crossing the road at the right place, he giggles at her. ‘OK, final question: are you telling me off in your head for not crossing the road at the traffic lights?’
‘Um, your questions are up, my friend. It’s my turn now,’ Millie replies.
‘Fair enough, I said five and I, for one, would never break the rules.’ Ben puts his hands up in defeat.
‘OK: question one. Are you close to your family?’
‘You could say that,’ he says. ‘Although it’s hard to be close when it’s so massive.’
‘Question two. How big is your family?’
Ben laughs. ‘Village big, literally. We all live in the same village. One family. Grandparents, parents, five sisters, cousins, aunts, uncles, niblings, four dogs, three cats and the occasional hiker who we adopt for a few days. Don’t worry, my sisters aren’t my aunts too, in case you’re worried.’
‘Wow,’ Millie says.
‘My parents have been together for almost forty years now,’ he says, turning to her and smiling as they reach the bottom step.
Oxytoxin must have hit a raw nerve for someone with couple parents and a girlfriend. Millie is starting to feel a bit sick about meeting her. Maybe it’s just the croissant.
‘Good for them,’ Millie states with a sure nod, hoping she sounds more convincing to Ben than she is to herself.
Ben scrambles around in his pockets, seemingly retrieving random things which he then places in Millie’s hand: a boiled sweet, paper receipts and several individual keys. It has to be past 9 a.m. now.
‘It’s OK to think my couple parents are odd,’ Ben continues. ‘They are to most people, but I’m used to being told that. School was harsh. I decided that if I made the jokes first, the bullies would have nothing left. It’s why I don’t take things too seriously.’
‘Question three,’ Millie says. ‘Do you have to empty your pockets every time you reach your front door?’
‘Yes,’ he says, pulling at his pockets so hard that Millie thinks his jeans might fall down.
‘Question four. Wouldn’t it be easier not to carry all this stuff?’
‘Nah, I’ve got the hang of it, see?’ he says, pulling out a small key without a key ring. ‘It only adds a few extra minutes to my day.’
They walk down the stairs towards a basement flat, the steps covered in a mass of multicoloured cactuses and half-melted candles.
‘Question five. Is your girlfriend at home, and does she mind us working here?’
Ben frowns at her. ‘First, that was two questions, so . . . naughty. And second, what girlfriend?’
Ben doesn’t have a girlfriend. He had a girlfriend, five years ago. They met at university, they went travelling together, and she wanted to stay in Australia when he wanted to return to his family. It must have been the woman in the photo behind him, the one in his blog. Millie feels ten pounds lighter than she did a few hours ago, and annoyed with herself at the same time. Perhaps she’s relieved that she doesn’t have another Ruth situation on her hands. Or that she doesn’t have to share him with anyone. Of course, he’s only a friend. But he’s her friend.
Millie wanders through Ben’s flat, soaking up the photos, pictures, frames, blankets, maps, books, notepads and trinkets. If her mum’s photo wall is a sea of family memories, these walls are the five oceans. Normally the clutter would make Millie feel like she’s covered in ants. But there’s a warmth to Ben’s flat that is definitely lacking in hers, and she finds herself feeling relaxed. She checks her phone: 9.04 a.m. The feeling is fleeting.
‘Ben, we’d better start!’ she calls out, stepping over a pile of papers and hearing a crash from the kitchen.
‘Bollocks! Three-second rule,’ Ben cries to himself, before appearing with two mugs of tea and a plate of broken lemon creams. Millie doesn’t ask.
‘Deconstructed lemon creams? They’re the latest thing in confectionery.’
‘Maybe later,’ Millie says, and smiles.
‘I’m not a hoarder, promise,’ he says. ‘I just haven’t got round to sorting it all out. I wanted to get the photos up first. Look, this is me on the first day of my taste trip.’ He points at a framed photo on the coffee table beside her. Mi
llie picks it up and smiles. It’s the picture from his blog.
‘At uni I had this dream to travel the world tasting crazy foods and writing about it on a blog called Boy Eats World. Good idea. Terrible name.’
‘But you did go, didn’t you?’ Millie asks with a straight face, as if she hadn’t studied his blog so many times that she could probably recite it word for word. She opens her laptop, hinting.
‘I did, but it didn’t last very long. We started in New Zealand, went to Australia and then my mum got ill. I wanted to come back, Sarah wanted to stay. So, we said our goodbyes on Bondi, and that’s the last time I ever saw her.’
‘Any regrets?’ Millie asks.
‘Regrets? No! I don’t believe in them, Belle. I hope you don’t either. Regrets are pointless and mistakes are lessons. My break-up taught me a lot about how I want to live my life. How important my family is to me. How I bloody hate oysters, and no, a different sauce won’t magically change my mind.’
‘Fluey phlegm bombs.’
‘Thank you!’
They both laugh.
‘It sounds cheesy,’ he continues, ‘but I want my life to be as colourful as possible. With different shades, dark and light. I want to see them all. Don’t get me wrong, I was gutted when Sarah and I broke up. It was a dark time, and for ages I worried that I’d made a terrible mistake, but I saw the light after a few months. And I certainly didn’t need a pill to fix me. Time healed me just fine.’
Millie stares at him from across the top of her screen.
‘Perhaps some people aren’t capable of fixing themselves alone,’ she says. ‘Maybe they need the help.’
‘I know. I’m lucky I’m not wired that way. Perhaps Oxytoxin, in those cases, can truly help someone who’s properly heartbroken,’ he replies.
Millie’s ringtone shatters the peace of the moment and June’s face lights up Millie’s screen. It’s Movie Tuesday and she’ll want to know about the cinema tonight. Millie puts her phone on silent and lets it ring out. She can’t say what time they’ll finish work, but at this rate, it will be late. Millie looks at the clock and swallows her unease. It’s 9.32 and all she’s done is open her laptop and type in her password.
Millie:
Just in a meeting, will call at lunch x
June:
Cool – we’ll need to book tix by 2 x
June:
They’re showing some of the classics. What about seeing Life, Actually?
Millie:
Yep, keen. Will let you know by then x
Millie gets home at 7 p.m. after a day of brainstorming, strategising and snacking on too much takeout from Battered Sea. She looks around her flat, at its blank white walls and bare shelves, bar a couple of candles. What felt clean and ordered just this morning now feels cold and empty in comparison to Ben’s cornucopia of curios and memories. Millie hangs her bag on the hook, leaps across the hallway to avoid the claw and opens her photo drawer. She takes out a framed photo of her and June, and tests it on the wall.
Shit!
She scrambles through her pocket to find her phone and dials June’s number, but there’s no answer. She tries again: the same.
Millie:
I’m so sorry! Swamped today and forgot to call you. Such a lemon xxxxx
June:
No worries, I can’t answer now, with a slide x
Sliding on a Tuesday? That’s a first even for June, Millie thinks, as she takes out her toolbox and rummages around for picture nails in the small drawer.
Fourteen
It’s Wednesday morning. The train doors are going to close in three minutes and Ben still isn’t here. Millie paces the platform at Paddington, pinching the skin on her top lip with her teeth and squeezing her fist so hard into her palm that her skin might break.
This is the final call for passengers travelling to Cardiff on platform three. The train will depart in two minutes.
She lowers her head and mindlessly kicks her pointed nude flats at the concrete floor beneath them. Closing her eyes, she counts down from ten in her head and convinces herself that he’ll be here when she opens them. Three . . . two . . . one. Still no sign of him.
The truth is, Ben being late isn’t the only thing troubling Millie this morning. What’s churning her insides is how she forgot to call June yesterday. She’s never forgotten to call her back ever, even on her busiest days.
Passengers are reminded that they have thirty seconds before the train doors close.
Suddenly a strong hand clamps her left wrist and pulls her towards the flashing doors. It takes seconds for Ben to hoist Millie up the carriage steps and towards him, squeezing her tightly in a locked embrace as the doors slam shut behind them. He grips her close, holding her head against his chest, and apologises repeatedly into her left ear, his words getting lost in the tannoy above. His chest smells of him – eucalyptus – and feels warm and firm as it rises up and down. His heart is thudding against her flushed cheek, and his short, minty exhales are tickling her hair, giving her goosebumps.
‘You know,’ he pants, ‘this is actually how we greet each other in Wales. So it’s a good thing we’re getting some practice.’
Millie feels frustrated by his recklessness and humiliated by the drama of this public embrace. Even so, she doesn’t want him to let go. She just wishes the other passengers would disappear. Or stop staring.
‘We’re not in Wales yet,’ she says, her words muffled by his shirt.
Millie counts down for five seconds before pushing herself out of his arms and dusting her cheeks off. She glances at his pale blue shirt to check she hasn’t left half her make-up behind.
‘Yeah, I made that up,’ Ben says. ‘We slap each other as hard as we can on our backs instead. It’s an old and painful tradition,’ he replies, putting his hands gently on both her shoulders. ‘I am sorry, Belle,’ he says, seeming genuine. ‘I had a terrible night’s sleep. Let me make it up to you. Peace Pastry? Mates Again Mimosa?’ he asks, taking her bag from her and putting it on the top shelf with his. His chest expands in front of her and she takes a step back, tightening her scarf to cover the neck on her skin, which is pink. It’s a reaction, all right, but not an allergic one.
‘Thanks. I think we’re this way,’ she says, signalling down the aisle with a nod.
She wonders where his eyes are wandering as she walks ahead of him, smoothing down the back of her hair to detangle it from the chaos of a few moments ago.
‘Much better,’ Ben whispers from behind.
‘You have toothpaste on your face,’ she says, casually. He doesn’t. She glances at the window reflection and sees him frantically wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
‘My gut told me that you’d like banana muffins,’ says Ben, taking his seat fifteen minutes later.
‘Didn’t I tell you that yesterday?’ she replies, squinting at him.
‘That too,’ he says.
‘So, why did you sleep badly? You weren’t worried about this, were you?’ Millie asks. She can’t imagine Ben worrying about anything.
‘Nah, this’ll be a breeze. I slept badly because I went on a date last night.’
Millie, surprised by this admission, takes a long sip of her coffee, burning her lip in the process but hiding it well. She pictures Ben laughing with someone across a table. Kissing them in the cab home. Is that what happens on a date? She hasn’t a clue. No one dates. Millie manages to squeeze a word out through her winded lungs.
‘Oh?’
Millie, a master at mimicking being fine when she’s far from it, opens her laptop and pretends to focus on her screen, which is just a blank document. All she can think of is him stumbling through his flat with his date attached to his face. The flat where they’d spent all day together, just the two of them. Sure, they were working, but it had felt special. Their own private little bubble, now popped by some stranger. And not even a slide. An actual date. Who goes on dates? Not only that, Millie missed her cinema trip with June because she was with hi
m. Funny how his plans with a random date worked out and hers with her bestie didn’t. Most of all, why does she feel so pissed off about it?
Stop. Being. Weird.
She glances up and sees him staring out the window as the countryside flies by in one long blue and green blur. His profile is so handsome she has a weird urge to outline it with her finger. She wonders what the date looked like. If the photo of Sarah is anything to go by, blonde and tall. The opposite of red-headed, short Millie. His head moves and she looks back down again and starts to type. Well, pretend to, at least.
jasdfpiojasdflj.
sdflkjo asdflkjof lskkjf! slkfjojsdfljsdf asdfoiasdflksdf
‘It was a shocker,’ Ben says eventually. Imaginary applause erupts in Millie’s head and she pauses. ‘That’s why I slept badly.’
‘I’m so sorry. What happened?’ she comments, feeling absolutely delighted.
‘Well, first up, I was late. I blame you for that, by the way.’ He lifts his eyebrows.
‘You were the one who secretly ordered dessert!’ Millie protests.
‘You were the one dropping major hints that we should order dessert!’ he says, and laughs.
‘“Dairy Devils cheesecake is nice” is hardly a hint,’ she replies. ‘Besides, you didn’t tell me you had a date, otherwise I’d have left earlier.’
Why didn’t he tell her he had a date? In the entire ten hours they spent together, he didn’t mention it once.
‘Well, anyway, I was ten minutes late, so she was already prickly when I met her outside the station. Then she looked like she’d seen a ghost when I suggested we have a drink at the pub. Then it took a total nosedive when I told her about my family and Sarah. Turns out, she didn’t realise it was a date. She thought we were just meeting at the station to go straight back to mine. You should have seen the look on her face. Like she was physically repulsed by this information. I mean, I get it. It’s weird for some people, but don’t treat me like a leper. Anyway, I thought we’d got past it until she polished off her third glass of red and started going on about how her anonymous donor dad found her when she was little and tried to force a relationship on her, which left her with lifelong emotional scars. It was intense.’