When She Finds You

by A J McDine

  ‘You’ll be fine.’ Matt reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. His touch still sends a shiver down my spine, after all these years. ‘Sorry I won’t be there for you.’

  ‘That’s OK. Not your fault. Anyway, you haven’t asked me what I’ve planned for tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Your birthday!’

  He rubs a hand over his face. ‘Of course. Silly me. So, what are we doing?’

  ‘I said we’d pop into Cam for a quick coffee. Rosie’s baked you a cake. And I’ve booked a table for lunch at The Sportsman.’

  Matt gives a low whistle. ‘Very nice. Can we afford it?’

  ‘You took me to Venice for my thirty-fifth,’ I remind him.

  ‘I know, but we were young and carefree in those days. We’ve got Junior to think about now.’ He lays a hand on my belly and grins as the baby kicks against his touch. ‘Lionel Messi, eat your heart out. This little one’s going to play for England, you mark my words.’

  I roll my eyes and reach over to take Matt’s tray but he shakes his head. ‘You put your feet up. I’ll clear up tonight. I expect you’ve been on the go all day.’

  I sink into the sofa with a contented sigh. ‘You sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. Nice hair, by the way. Toni and Guy?’

  ‘You’re hopeless. I told you ages ago I don’t go there anymore.’

  ‘So you did. Sorry. Head like a sieve. Must be the pregnancy hormones.’

  I bat him on the arm. ‘Idiot!’ I say fondly. But at least he’s noticed.

  I pick up the remote and flick through the channels looking for some trashy TV to lose myself in. Matt drains his wine glass, picks up his tray, slips his phone into his back pocket and leaves the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Then

  Lou’s dad drops us off at the school gates.

  ‘I’ll pick you up at half eleven, OK? Have fun. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

  ‘As if we would,’ Lou says wide-eyed.

  We wave as he drives away.

  ‘You’re lucky. Your parents are so laid back,’ I tell her. Mine would insist on picking me up at ten at the latest and if they saw my skimpy dress they’d completely freak. They think I’m wearing the floral monstrosity I was made to wear to my cousin Rachel’s wedding last summer. But I’m an only child whereas Lou’s the youngest of four, and her sister and two brothers are all working or at uni. It’s easy for her to duck under the parental radar. That’s why it’s always simpler to stay at Lou’s when we’re going out.

  The thumping beat of the disco grows louder as we join a swarm of kids heading for the main entrance. Lou totters up to the door on her enormous wedges, peers through and darts back.

  ‘Shit, I knew it. They’re checking everyone’s bags.’ She scrabbles around in her clutch for the vodka and offers it to me. I shake my head. I’ve had plenty. She drains the rest and lobs the bottle over her shoulder. It lands with a clatter on the tarmac. A couple of boys from the Upper Sixth cheer and she curtseys unsteadily. I’m glad it’s soft drinks only inside, otherwise I know I’d be spending another evening holding her hair back while she decorates a toilet bowl.

  ‘Excited?’ she asks, linking arms with me.

  ‘Terrified.’

  She tilts her head. ‘Why? He won’t bite.’ She pauses. ‘Or maybe he will, you lucky bugger.’ She explodes into gales of laughter and half a dozen pairs of eyes swivel in our direction. Horrified, I elbow her in the ribs.

  ‘Stop it,’ I hiss. ‘It’s not funny.’

  She holds a finger to her lips with exaggerated care and nods. ‘You’re right. Not funny.’ She stumbles and suddenly her face is millimetres from mine. I can feel the warm puff of her breath on my cheek as she bends to whisper in my ear.

  ‘Remember what I said. All you have to do is open your lips and let your tongue do the rest.’ She laughs again as I shove her away and fold my arms across my chest.

  It’s alright for Lou. She lost her virginity at a party last summer. I’ve never even kissed anyone. Not properly. Tom Bennett tried to snog me in the back row of the cinema while we were supposed to be watching Braveheart, but I managed to wriggle out of his reach. He probably told all his mates I was frigid, but I don’t care. It’s not my fault I don’t fancy him.

  Lou, on the other hand, already has a bit of a reputation at school for being a good-time girl. I try to keep her in check, but when she’s pissed she’s out of control.

  The queue edges forwards and I smooth my hair down. By my side, Lou is singing softly to herself. The tune is familiar, but it’s not until the disco beat fades for a moment that I recognise the song.

  ‘Sophie and Ed, sitting in a tree,’ she sings. ‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’

  Once we’re inside the main doors we head for the girls’ loos to check we haven’t got lip gloss on our teeth and then weave our way into the hall. The DJ is playing Don’t Turn Around by Ace of Base and I let the music pulse through me as we find an empty table and stow our bags.

  ‘Can you see him?’ I shout.

  ‘Don’t worry about him yet. Let’s dance!’ Lou cries, pulling me onto the dance floor. We find a small gap in the throng of people and I give myself up to the music. My body feels supple and relaxed and I dance with the kind of abandonment I never would when sober. But all the time I’m scanning the crowds, searching for a glimpse of Ed’s messy brown hair.

  And then I see him. He’s leaning against the closed canteen hatch at the back of the hall watching us. My insides turn to liquid. I glance at Lou. She’s swaying to the music with her eyes half closed, lost in her own little world. I tap her on the shoulder.

  ‘Gotta pee. Won’t be long,’ I shout in her ear. She nods and I shoulder my way across the dance floor. A thickset fifth-former with a ginger buzz cut stands on my foot and a girl in my maths set swears loudly when I accidentally knock some of her Coke over her, but I don’t care. I only have eyes for Ed Sullivan.

  Emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my veins, I sashay up to him.

  ‘Come here often?’ I say in a pseudo-husky voice, like some old tart out on the pull.

  He laughs. ‘Every weekday in term-time, regular as clockwork.’

  He totally gets that I’m being ironic, and I love him for it.

  ‘Me too! Wonder what else we’ve got in common.’

  He’s looking at me steadily, those hazel eyes of his staring deep into my soul. Goosebumps prickle my skin.

  ‘You cold?’ he asks, draping his denim jacket over my shoulders before I have a chance to answer.

  ‘Thank you.’ My knight in shining armour.

  ‘My pleasure… Soph?’

  Anything. You don’t need to ask.

  He bends his head and I tilt my face towards him, hoping Lou is right about the vodka. But instead of kissing me he whispers in my ear, ‘Where’s Lou?’

  ‘Lou?’

  ‘Lou,’ he repeats, looking over my shoulder onto the dance floor. ‘Is she with you?’

  My eyes narrow. ‘Not right now, no. Why?’

  He rubs the back of his neck and gives a self-conscious titter. ‘No reason.’

  His eyes are still ranging over the mass of bodies now throbbing to Things Can Only Get Better by D:Ream. The irony isn’t lost on me.

  ‘There’s always a reason,’ I shout over the music. He turns back but can’t look me in the eye and a tiny piece of me dies. How can I have been so wrong? He doesn’t like me at all. He fancies her, just like everyone else. Blonde, bright, bubbly Lou, not shy, sensible Sophie, always lurking in her shadow. I draw back.

  He must have noticed because he frowns.

  ‘Hey, what’s up?’

  I shake my head and turn away. ‘Nothing. Nothing’s up.’ I shrug off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor behind me, and march towards the toilets. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

  He’s calling my name over and over but I ignore him. He reaches me by the doors to the hall.

  ‘S
ophie! Wait, what did I say wrong?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ He takes my elbow and guides me out into the fresh air.

  ‘Sit,’ he orders, pointing to the much-graffitied bench under the huge oak tree that dominates the front of the school.

  I do as I’m told and he sits next to me and offers me his jacket. I shake my head but he wraps it around me anyway.

  ‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be looking for Lou?’ My voice is bitter.

  He blinks. ‘Why would I be looking for Lou?’

  ‘You asked where she was.’

  ‘You think I fancy her?’

  I stare at the ground. ‘What am I supposed to think?’

  ‘Oh Sophie, you couldn’t be more wrong. Lou’s not my type at all.’

  ‘So why were you asking about her?’

  ‘Because I wanted to make sure you were on your own! You two are practically joined at the hip. It’s impossible to have a conversation without her butting in. I wanted to talk to you. Just you.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘I did.’ He smiles. ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

  I hold my breath. Time stands still. I don’t know how, but suddenly his lips are kissing distance from mine. His breath smells of spearmint. He clears his throat. ‘Sophie Williams, will you go out with me?’

  Six little words that mean so much. If I could bottle this moment I would. I feel euphoric, as light as air. I realise we’re holding hands. Lou and the rest of the world are forgotten as I meet his gaze and smile.

  ‘I will.’

  Chapter Eight

  Now

  Monday morning arrives far too quickly. The weekend was perfect, despite its rocky start. Matt loved his shirt and declared his sea bass at The Sportsman faultless. After lunch we strolled along the sea wall at Seasalter watching families enjoying a day at the beach.

  ‘That’ll be us soon,’ I said, as we passed a young couple helping their toddler build castles in a small strip of sand between the pebbles.

  Matt squeezed my hand. ‘Can’t wait.’

  On Sunday morning we had brunch in Canterbury and spent the rest of the day pottering in the garden. But on Sunday night an anxious little knot settled in my chest and I still feel twitchy when I wake up. Knowing Matt’s so far away as my due date approaches makes it harder to say goodbye every time.

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ I tell him as we stand in the hallway saying our goodbyes.

  ‘Only four sleeps,’ he says, holding me close. But I can sense he’s impatient to be off. I pull away.

  ‘Text me when you arrive.’

  He nods and pats his jacket to make sure he’s remembered his phone. As he does it rings, but instead of answering it he gives a little shake of his head and opens the front door.

  ‘Shouldn’t you have taken that?’

  ‘They’ll phone back if it’s important. But it’s probably just another claims chaser. I seem to be very accident-prone at the moment.’

  Sun is streaming through the open door and his face is in shadow. I feel a prickle of fear like an icy draught on the back of my neck and I clutch the bannister for support.

  ‘Don’t say that. You might tempt fate.’

  ‘I won’t.’ He cups my chin. ‘I love you. See you Friday.’

  He picks up his holdall and disappears through the door. My eyes smart with tears and I brush them away with an impatient hand.

  ‘I love you, too,’ I whisper. But my words are lost in the swirl of dust motes in the now silent hallway. Matt has long gone.

  Angela is already at her desk when I hurry into the office at ten past nine. She looks at her watch.

  ‘Bloody traffic,’ I say unnecessarily, as the city’s ring road is a giant car park during rush hour most weekdays.

  She gives a little harrumph. ‘I found your presentation on the shared drive and read it yesterday. It’s not the approach I would have taken -’

  I slam my bag on the table and await the next brickbat.

  ‘ - but at this late hour it’ll have to do. I know public speaking’s not your thing. Would you like to have a run-through this afternoon?’

  I’d rather stick red hot pokers in my eyes.

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ I say.

  ‘You know the Lord Mayor’s coming, don’t you?’

  ‘How could I forget? And a reporter and photographer from the Gazette.’

  ‘I am nervous about one thing,’ Angela says. I glance over but she refuses to meet my eye.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to have Rosie and Martin doing their little bits?’

  ‘And why wouldn’t it be?’ I say with an edge to my voice.

  ‘You know what Rosie’s like, she’s so hard to understand when she gets over-excited. And what if Martin has one of his episodes? It’ll be a PR disaster!’

  ‘I think you’re forgetting one vital fact, Angela.’ I spin out her name to hammer the point home. ‘Camomile Community Garden was set up precisely for people like Rosie and Martin. Yes, they’re unpredictable. They don’t always read from the script. That doesn’t mean we should keep them on the sidelines or treat them like second-class citizens. They love the garden and their enthusiasm is infectious. Any new volunteer worth their salt will see how rewarding working with them is. And if they don’t, I’d rather not have them on the books.’

  ‘I didn’t mean -’ Angela blusters, but I cut her short.

  ‘Don’t worry. I know exactly what you meant.’

  She watches in silence as I retrieve the day’s job list from my desk and stalk out of the room.

  My blood’s still boiling as I stomp across the garden to the cellar to find the tools we need. Geoff’s outside, rinsing a trowel off under the tap.

  ‘That bloody woman!’

  He doesn’t need to ask who. He and I loved working for Richard, Angela’s predecessor, and we were devastated when he suffered a stroke and took early retirement. Geoff urged me to apply for Richard’s job, but after much soul-searching I decided not to, preferring to be hands-on in the garden rather than spending my days worrying about funding streams and schmoozing local councillors. Bob Wittershaw, the chairman of our board of trustees, gave the job to his bit on the side. Angela’s background is allegedly in business management, which is ironic, as she’s the most ineffective manager I’ve ever had the misfortune to work for, and I worked for a few during the years I spent travelling. She’s completely out of her depth and relies on me and Geoff to run the place. So I’ve ended up worrying about funding and doing my fair bit of schmoozing anyway.

  Geoff chuckles. ‘What’s she done now?’

  ‘Honestly, she’s totally out of order. She’s worried Rosie and Martin will make a show of themselves at the recruitment evening. Why come and work for a charity if you don’t like the people we’re here to help?’

  ‘Rise above it,’ Geoff advises. ‘It’s a lovely idea to include them.’

  I shoot him a grateful smile. Geoff has more common sense in one little finger than Angela has, full stop. He’s been a bit of a father figure to me since Dad died.

  ‘I’ll try. Although I’ve had it up to here. I’m going to completely lose it with her before long.’

  ‘She’s not worth getting in a tizzy over.’ Geoff washes his hands and dries them on his shorts. ‘Those runners are looking good.’

  ‘I know. Rosie will be pleased. She’s here this afternoon but I’ll text her a photo of them in a sec.’

  I fill a wheelbarrow with forks, hoes, shears and secateurs and push it over to the runner beans. Taking my phone from my back pocket, I’m about to slide the screen straight to camera mode when I see a notification from Messenger on the home screen. My heart lurches. It’s from Lou. My eyes flicker down. The few lines I can see are littered with exclamation marks and capital letters, just like the notes she used to pass me in class when we were thirteen. Typical Lou.
I sit down on one of the many benches dotted around the garden and read.

  Hello stranger!!! Long time no speak! I was only thinking about you the other day. I happened to drive past school. It brought back SO many memories. Mostly happy ones!! I’m SO GLAD to hear from you! I was hoping you might turn up at the funeral but it’s probably just as well. I was a MESS!! I assumed you’d moved away so I couldn’t believe it when I got your message. Good old Facebook!! You don’t know how much I’d LOVE to see you. How about coffee and cake in the café at Waterstones? God, it will be so good to see you. It’s been TOO LONG!! Lou x

  A single tear is running down my cheek and I bat it away. But it’s soon followed by another, and another, until they’re streaming down my face. I take a shuddering gulp of air but still the tears come. It’s no wonder. Inside my ribcage my seventeen-year-old heart is breaking. Because despite all Lou’s shouty capital letters and cheery exclamation marks I can only focus on one word.

  Funeral.

  When the first gardeners arrive I’ve managed to collect myself and, although a quick glance in the tiny mirror in the ladies’ loo reveals I look on the pale shade of alabaster, at least the tears have stopped. But I still feel shaky, as though I’ve had a near miss with an articulated lorry, and when Rosie asks if I’d like ‘a cuppa tea’ I astonish her by asking for two sugars.

  Martin is sitting on the edge of Cam’s small lawn hugging his knees to his chest. I say his name and touch his shoulder. ‘Hey, want to come and help prick out the lettuce?’

  A smile spreads across his face. Pricking out seedlings is one of his favourite jobs. I’m with him on that. Sure, it’s repetitive, but it requires dexterity and patience and it’s so rewarding to give all those new plants space to grow.