If We Were Young: A Romance

by Bloom, Anna

  I couldn’t deal with this.

  It was one ‘hi’ too far. Grabbing my bag, I marched straight out into the open plan office. “Drinks are on me.”

  I never did this anymore. Not since that Christmas, but what the hell, the way things were looking this could be the end of us soon anyway. The least I owed them was a drink. Or, two. Three.

  Stewart from accounts lifted his head, a confused expression on his face. His gaze narrowed, his face scrunching up like a dog who’d been offered a chocolate bar but wasn’t sure if it was supposed to take it or not.

  “What?” I asked him, rifling through the contents of my bag and checking that I had my purse with me.

  He hesitated, shifting a little in his chair until his arse hovered two inches above the seat and it looked like he directed me an uncomfortable bow. “It’s only two in the afternoon.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. Wow my day had turned to shit at a rapid rate.

  “It’s past lunch.” I shrugged but was still met with confused expressions. “I’m offering you all a very early end of day drink, I retract it in: ten, nine, eight.” That got butts moving and soon all of us were crowding towards the small lift.

  My phone rang in my bag and I sloshed some wine as I tried to get it out before it rang off.

  “Ronnie Childs.”

  “Ronnie, it’s Amanda from Supersaver Foods.”

  I hiked in a painful breath. “Hi.”

  “Listen, darling, sorry I wanted to call you days ago.”

  My stomach dropped at the way she called me darling. You only called someone that if you were about to let them down gently but from a great height.

  The whole table watched me. Natalie leant closer, and I waved her off with my hand. Fred sipped his pint, his blue gaze on my face.

  “That’s fine. I appreciate you are going through some changes.”

  “All sorted, darling. Just a few internal hiccups. Now, I hope you still have space for us? I don’t want to work with anyone else now.”

  It took a moment.

  “Ronnie? Are you there?”

  “Us have space? Uh, yes.”

  “Yes? Shall we brunch tomorrow, talk in more detail and run up contracts?”

  “Oh. Uh, yes.”

  “Perfecto. I’ve got good feelings, Ronnie. This could make something amazing out of both our companies.”

  Oh God, it really could.

  “Me too.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. “We won’t let you down.”

  “Oh, darling, I know you won’t.” Her voice dropped. “I had to fight hard for you, so don’t let me down.”

  “Fight hard? Why?”

  I bet mega bitch from Arsehole Aesthetics slandered us.

  “Don’t you worry. Now, see you at ten thirty. Do you know Red on Brompton Road?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “Perfect. See you there. Ten thirty sharp?”

  “I won’t be late.”

  “You won’t, I’m paying you.”

  I hung up and put my phone back in my bag, dragging the moment out as everyone stared at me. “We got the job.”

  Stewart reached over and slapped me on the back, his fingers digging into my shoulder for a minute. Fred grinned and met my gaze.

  “Thank God,” he said, echoing the sense of relief that settled around the table. “I think we need champagne!”

  I laughed, the enormous weight I’d been holding in my chest when I'd considered just how I would keep us all gainfully employed, lifted a few inches so I could breathe. “Prosecco.” I wagged a finger at him which made me feel so much like my mother I wanted to bang my head against the table. “We need to keep the client now; Supersaver are notoriously hard to keep happy.”

  He slid out from the seat and I caught Natalie glancing between us. I shook my head at her. “Uh, no.”

  Leaning forward, she shifted into my space, which was impressive considering she’d almost sat in my lap anyway. “Do you think he’d be interested in me?” She eyed his tight arse as he stood at the bar. He did have a nice arse.

  I gave her a shrug. “Maybe. Guess you'll have to find out?”

  She eyed him with speculation. “I will.”

  Oh the confidence of youth.

  I glanced at my watch. The working day was nearly over. At four thirty, it rounded close to the hour of the usual slope out of the office, but nobody seemed to be in a rush to get home. I grabbed my phone and dialled Ma. “It's me,” I replied when she answered and insisted on knowing who was calling, despite knowing it was me because my name would have flashed up. “Is Hannah home?”

  When she confirmed that she was and was in fact sitting in the lounge watching Homes Under the Hammer with Ma, I asked if I could stay out.

  Silence. “It's a school night.”

  “Yes, but we just won that big contract and I want to treat the staff.”

  “Well you'll be tired tomorrow, Veronica. You know you don't cope well when you go out midweek.”

  “No,” I agreed grinding my thumbnail along the table. “Can I stay out though?”

  Ma sighed. “Okay, but not too late.”

  After I hung up, I found Natalie watching me. “What?” I asked.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Well obviously it is.”

  Natalie licked her blood-red lips and slid her glass of wine towards her. “I don't get you. I mean you're still attractive for your age.”

  “I'm only thirty-five!”

  “Exactly, you still look good for your age. You should have found another man by now.”

  My back straightened. “And what do you know about it?”

  Her cheeks flushed, but she pursed her mouth. “I know your husband died when you were thirty. I know that as far as everyone knows you haven't been on a date since.”

  I flushed this time. “I have a daughter, you know. She's lost her dad, that's more important than anything.”

  Natalie gave me a small smile. “I know, but you're important too. Maybe you'd be less uptight if you got some. We need to set you up with some dates.”

  “Please don’t, my mother is already doing that. She thinks she’s the Husband Whisperer.” I shivered.

  I thought of Matthew’s picture on Facebook. Where had it been taken? Who had he been with? His wife, I guessed.

  Why couldn’t I be normal and not think about him?

  I frowned into my drink muttering that I wasn’t uptight, but she’d turned away watching for Fred to hand her a glass of bubbles.

  We were on our fourth bottle of Prosecco when my bag vibrated against my thigh. I panic-sweated that it could be from him, but it was Hannah who’d messaged to tell me she needed to make a solar system by the following morning.

  I sighed and leant my head against the leather upholstery of the booth we were in. Voices chattered around me, swirling and filling my head.

  I had to go home and fashion some planets out of... well, I didn't quite know yet.

  Staring at my home screen I clicked onto Messenger and stared at Matthew’s Hi.

  Without thinking, blocking my head from all rational thought, I let the Prosecco do the typing for me.

  Hi.

  Then I threw my phone into the deep recesses of my bag and staggered from my seat.

  “I've gotta go and make planets,” I announced.

  Everyone waved their hands. No one would manage any work tomorrow. I knew that already.

  I sighed and said. “Office shut until ten tomorrow. Don’t forget I’ve got brunch with Supersaver at ten-thirty.” I glanced at Fred. Should I ask him to come with me, or maybe I should go to the first meeting by myself? Show them I plan to take ownership.

  I walked out the bar to a round of applause and found a cab; the whole way home resolutely refusing to check my phone to see if he’d messaged me back.

  Jupiter

  No message.

  Not that I spent all night watching my phone, just in case.

  “Oh God, what hap
pened to my hands?” I charged my way into the kitchen where Ma sat at the table sipping from her china cup. At the other side of the table Hannah crammed polystyrene balls into a cardboard box.

  “You fell asleep during Jupiter.” Ma didn’t look up from her crossword.

  I leant down and waved the bright yellow under Ma’s nose. Baby sick yellow.

  Ma wrinkled her nose and pointed me towards the sink. As I walked across the kitchen, she swept the yellow flecks flaking from my skin off her paper.

  “This can’t be happening.” I rubbed my hands, showering more yellow. “I’ve got brunch at half ten. Help me get it off.” Yanking at the tap, I turned the handle to hot and began scrubbing at the bright paint. “Did we finish the planets at least?”

  “We finished the planets, Veronica.” Ma’s finger wagged despite her not looking up. “I told you not to drink on a school night.”

  “I didn’t even have that much,” I answered the finger. “Yesterday was a big day.”

  Hannah’s lips curved at the edges. Sweet shit. Had I made her smile? “We know. You told us.”

  “Sorry, but it’s a big thing for us getting the rebrand job. I had to take the staff out for a drink.” Turning my hands, I stared in dismay at the yellow paint that seeped into the fine lines and cracks of my skin, the pores on the back of each held swampy ponds of yellow brown gunk. “This is terrible. What can I use?”

  “Washing-up liquid,” Hannah and Ma said at the same time.

  I eyed them with suspicion. When did they become members of a secret team who spoke in time with one another? And where was my membership?

  “Han, are you ready to go? I want to make sure I get to the meeting on time.”

  “Yep, I just need to get…” she forced a green sphere into the box, “Venus in there.”

  “Just make sure it’s not too close to Mars.”

  Neither of them cracked a smile. They wasted all my good jokes.

  “Oh forget it. Come on, let’s go. I’m gonna have to get the Tube after I’ve dropped you off.”

  “What about your fingers?” Ma looked over her glasses, her lips as tight as a rosebud.

  “I’ll try to pick it off on the Tube.”

  Hannah laughed; a sound so alien it took a moment for me to understand that the loud giggle came from inside her. “You will look like one of those crazy homeless people if you sit there picking paint off of your hands on the train.”

  I dropped my gaze to my outfit, checking that my navy trousers and pale-pink chiffon blouse hadn’t morphed into a homeless person’s outfit. Nope, definitely chic and professional. “Thanks.” I smiled. She smiled. Lots of smiling. “Shall we go?”

  “Sure.” Walking around the table she dropped a kiss on Ma's head. Ma glanced up at me in surprise. I gave her a discreet and a whole lot of an ‘I don’t bloody know’ shrug.

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  I grabbed Hannah's bag while she struggled to pick up the giant box of the solar system. So far so good. On time, no one had cried or shouted, or threatened to leave home, and I’d only checked my phone for Facebook messages twice since waking.

  Today had great vibes.

  Outside the school gates I let the car idle. She hadn’t pelted for freedom. I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat.

  “Thanks, Mum. I know you had to come home early last night. I’m sorry I didn’t remember the planets earlier. I guess I forget that you have to do everything by yourself.”

  “Don’t be silly, that’s my job, and let’s be real, it was Nonna who helped, mostly.”

  She shrugged, but when her face didn’t morph into a scowl, I let out a slow breath. “Were things better yesterday?” I asked and squeezed the steering wheel in case she exploded.

  She nodded, a wistful expression on her face. My stomach dropped. Only a boy, or a girl, maybe… could cause that expression. I cast a glance over her again. Why didn’t kids come with an instruction manual? It was a massive flaw in parenting that there was no step-by-step instructions. Putting up an Ikea sideboard singlehandedly was easier than conversing with a teenager.

  “Oh, there’s Annabelle.” Hannah pointed out of the window to where her friend with the black hair and nose ring loitered.

  I needed to not be like my mother. Anything but like my mother… “Lovely.” Oh.

  “Well done, Mum, on getting that job. I hope you get the paint off your hands.”

  I glanced at my fingers. Yikes. “I’d forgotten about that for a minute. I’ll try to find somewhere that sells some sort of industrial cleaner on the way to Brompton Road.”

  “Is it okay if I go to the shops after school?”

  Play it cool, Ronnie. Play it cool. “Sure, who with and where?”

  Not cool, Ronnie. Not cool.

  Hannah shifted back towards the door. “Just Annabelle and me.”

  “No boys?”

  “Ugh. No.”

  “Home by six though otherwise Nonna will have the police out looking for you.”

  She waved her phone at me. It had been surgically attached to her hand for the last twelve months. “I’ll text.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Good luck at your meeting, Mum.”

  “Thanks, Love…” She’d gone though, pushing her big box out of the car first and then grabbing her bag.

  Well that was weird. Good, I think. Weird definitely.

  The dimension of hell known as The Tube maintained its usual standard and all the trains ran at a ten minutes delay.

  My toes pinched in my navy heels as I screeched to a halt outside Red—the designated meeting venue. I should have Googled it. It was fancy.

  “Shit.” Strands of my hair stuck to the sweat on my neck as my heart rushed with exertion. My run from the Tube resembled an OAP 100 metre dash (blame the shoes). Then I noticed my hands holding my leather bag. “Shit, shit.” Baby shit. With a quick spin I turned to see what shops were nearby. Maybe I’d find a DIY shop to buy some bleach to pour straight on my skin—there were no DIY shops on the Brompton Road—when I smacked my forehead straight into a solid land mass behind me.

  “Oh. Shit. So sorry.” I reached a bright yellow hand out to grasp hold of anything that could keep me upright. Anything being the navy lapel of a suit jacket. I saw the hair first. Then the eyes, deeper than the ocean, lighter than the sky at twilight. “Oh… Shit.”

  My lips melded together as I got stuck in the middle of deciding whether to shake or puke.

  Puke.

  No, shake.

  Either of them, or both of them together, hovered on the cusp of happening.

  His hand balanced me like a little dolly as I rocked on my heels. When I stopped rocking, he dropped his hold and motioned for the door to Red. “After you.”

  After you? Is that all he’s got to say? No, Hi, how are you? What happened at the elevator of the Premier Inn when you ran away like a seven-year-old in a kiss chase with the bogeyman? Or even, Hey, fancy seeing you here, considering I live in Scotland and this is your hometown.

  Nothing.

  “Hi,” I blurted. My face stung a pickled beetroot shade of purple exertion. “Wow. Uh, I can’t believe you’re here.” I stuck to the spot and my knees wobbled against each other. “What a strange coincidence.”

  He nodded. Just once.

  Matthew Carling.

  Oh my god, it was him. Like seriously, living, breathing, lean forward and smell his skin, him.

  Toe to toe with me, acting like he didn’t recognise me, as though he hadn’t stared at me, eyes wide from within the depths of the hotel lift just at the weekend.

  Did he not remember me? It seemed impossible to me he could forget… but I guess the obsession was one-sided… I mean, he could forget, right?

  This was the final proof in the pudding of my obsession.

  I scanned his head looking for any sign of trauma which could explain his plain amnesia.

  “Okaaay. Uh, I hope you’re well…?” I hope you’re well? What the fuck
was that? Flustered, I turned for the door, my chest unable to contain the percussion band marching the conga under my ribs. As I moved forward, I snuck a peek a foot-and-a-half up to his absurdly handsome, but irrationally angry face, catching him staring at my hands, a small frown burrowing its way across his forehead.

  “Jupiter,” I said, a volcanic burst of vowels and consonants.

  “Quite.”

  That’s it. That. Is. It. Quite.

  His hostility stung with the sharp dash of a knife.

  “Just as well it wasn’t Uranus.” I marched through the door. Honestly, a total stranger could have bum rushed me in the doorway and it would’ve been more enjoyable than seeing his critical and annoyed face. I raced in front, little legs pumping, my toes pinching, so I wouldn’t have to trail in his long-legged wake, but every glance over my shoulder showed his looming and brooding shape.

  I sped up for the Maître’d. Matthew one step behind.

  “Veronica Childs. I have a meeting here at ten thirty with Amanda Simpson.” The fresh-faced Maître’d, who looked like he needed to sit some school exams and wait for his facial hair to arrive, nodded at me and glanced at his computer screen before lifting his eyes behind me where the hulking shadow of moody Matthew Carling huffed and puffed like a steam train.

  “Ten thirty.”

  Oh shit. Just like that I knew. I knew why he stood behind me. I turned, casting him a sharp side eye as I cleared my throat. “Supersaver Foods?”

  “Indeed.”

  His head bobbed a crisp nod.

  Horrendous didn’t cover this. “Excellent.”

  “Hm.” The dark-blue gaze I remembered better than I should slipped to some point to the left of my right shoulder.

  I would actually punch him. No, scrap that. I would pull off his arms, using my sheer rage for strength, and then I would beat him to the ground with the stubby and bloody ends until he relented and told me where he’d hidden my former best friend.

  “Shall we?”