The doorbell rings and I jump up to answer it, gesturing to Joe to stay where he is when he attempts to escape the beanbag’s clutches.
‘Better late than never,’ Fraser grins on the doorstep. I’m glad he’s here. His skin is warm when I stroke his face and his kiss ready and familiar.
‘Now that’s a welcome,’ he grins. ‘How about we skip the party and just go to see your room?’
‘Behave,’ I say, patting his chest. ‘Plenty of time for that later.’
‘I will hold you to that, Ottilie.’ He peers into the living room. ‘So, the gang’s all here, are they?’
‘They are. Look – before we go in – you’re here as my boyfriend, not their boss.’
He nuzzles into my neck. ‘Boyfriend? I like the sound of that…’
‘Fraser, I’m serious. This is supposed to be us kicking back after the treatment going in for season two. We’re just hanging out, having some food, and chilling. Okay?’
He chuckles and holds out his hands. ‘Loud and clear.’
It’s only when I see my colleagues tense as Fraser walks in that I understand why I shouldn’t have let this happen. Everyone is polite and friendly, but the atmosphere mutes a little. I trail after him for the first ten minutes, ready to stamp out any fires he unwittingly starts, but after a while people seem more relaxed and I thankfully let him go.
‘He seems happy enough.’ Joe is by my side with two bottles. ‘Another one?’
I accept it. ‘Thanks. What time is Daphne getting here?’
‘Any minute. I’ve made her promise to behave.’
That’ll be a first if she does, I think. ‘I’ve said the same to Fraser. So far, he seems to be playing ball.’
Joe takes a large swig of beer and looks at me. ‘The thing is, Otts, Daphne and me…’
The trill of the doorbell summons his attention.
‘Sorry – I’d better…’
I deliberately turn away from the door. I don’t want to see the moment they meet. As it transpires, it doesn’t make a difference. Surprised cat-calls sound from my friends.
‘Go, Joe!’ Jake calls, while Tom applauds.
Reece takes one look and grimaces. ‘I’m going to need more beer.’
‘I’ll get you one,’ I rush. Because I don’t want to be there when Joe and Daphne walk in.
We’ve finished one coolbox-load of bottles already, so I go out into the small, original pantry just off the side of the kitchen to fetch more.
‘It’s gross,’ Rona says behind me. You’d think they’d leave that until they’re alone.’
My heart plummets to the red terracotta tiles beneath my feet.
‘Here, hand us some bottles,’ she says. ‘Otty?’
‘Yes, sorry.’
I scramble myself together and pass an armful of bottles to her. Between us, we tip fresh ice into the cool box and replenish the stock of beer and cider.
‘There is a lot of drinking going on in there,’ Rona chuckles. ‘I hope you’re prepared for serious sleepovers happening tonight.’ Shock paints her expression. ‘Not Daphne – I didn’t mean her.’
I kick the cool box a little too forcefully into position beside the kitchen table. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Hun…’
‘Honestly, don’t.’
But Rona is not one to give up. Right now I wish she were. ‘You’re in love with him, aren’t you?’
In the relative stillness of the kitchen, her question waits.
‘I don’t think…’
‘Hey. I’m not blind, Otts.’
‘I don’t love him.’
‘Okay. Now try saying that to my face like you actually believe it.’
I look at her, just as Joe and Daphne walk in. Daphne is draped around Joe’s shoulders, one perfectly manicured hand jealously guarding his chest.
‘Otty! Great party!’ she drawls. ‘And the house is perfect.’
I feel Rona watching me as I smile back.
No point saying anything now.
Chapter Forty-Four
JOE
It’s too cold to be in the garden without a jacket. That doesn’t seem to worry Daphne, who is energetically kissing me. I mean, it’s nice, but it’s like we’re both trying too hard. That shouldn’t be how it feels.
I push the critical voice away and throw myself into our kiss. Daphne murmurs between us and wraps her arms around my neck, her fingers pushing up into my hair.
Last year, whenever I imagined this moment – which, admittedly, was quite a lot – I didn’t picture it being like this.
I finally manage to pull back. ‘Come on, it’s freezing out here. Let’s get inside.’
‘Are you cold, Joseph? I think I can find a few ways to warm you up.’ She peers over the top of her glasses at me.
‘I bet,’ I smile back. I bet? Hardly the language of love, is it? ‘But we should eat something first, don’t you think?’
Daphne considers this. I’m starting to lose the feeling in my toes and I’m wishing again that I’d realised we were going to the garden when Daphne took my hand, so I could have brought another layer to wear.
Otty’s expression when Daphne pulled me out of the room – it should have made me feel better about Langham. But it was like a wrecking ball to my stomach. She looked so lost…
‘One more kiss before we go,’ Daphne says and I oblige, more to distract my mind from the snapshot of Otty plastered front and centre there.
It’s a relief to get back inside. My fingers are still blue as I scoop chilli into a bowl for Daphne. She wanders off to the living room and I take the opportunity to force air into my lungs.
‘Someone’s happy with their date.’
I bristle. ‘You had chilli yet, Fraser?’
‘Just coming to get some. I’ve been told I must try the veggie one. Otty was insistent.’
I nod at the second pan on the hob. ‘Help yourself.’
Langham positions himself next to me and slowly stirs the pan. ‘I take my hat off to you, Joe. That treatment for season two is brilliant.’
‘We worked hard on it.’
‘You did. Great job.’
To my horror, Langham holds his hand out over the bubbling saucepans.
‘Congratulations. Would you shake my hand?’
I can hardly refuse, can I? We share the swiftest handshake in history and go back to serving our chilli.
‘I know things haven’t been easy between the two of us, Joe. But I hope you know I have considerable professional respect for your work. And I respect you for the friend you are to Otty. She depends on you, I think. And I realise as her friend you might not think me worthy of her, but I promise you, I will be.’
Go away, you smooth-talking git… ‘Appreciate that, thanks. I’m just looking out for her.’
‘I can tell how close you are. That’s great. Bit daunting for the chap coming in between you, I’ll admit.’
There’s just a hint of vulnerability about him and this time it isn’t the fake humility he uses for effect. It’s real. I think the guy really is in love with Otty.
And that only makes me less willing to play ball.
‘I can imagine. Otts and I are very close. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friendship like it.’
He hesitates and I sense a question he doesn’t want to ask yet.
An advantage is what I’ve wanted. ‘I mean, it would be easy to misinterpret that kind of closeness…’
Fraser stops stirring the pan. Eyes trained ahead, he lets the question fly. ‘But you’ve never…?’
I feign surprise. ‘What? Oh… That would be awkward, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Good job she’s not that kind of woman.’
And just like that, we reach a point of advantage. He clearly thinks it’s possible even if now he’s doing his best to convince himself he’s wrong. And right then, I hate him. I hate that he is so convinced he has the measure of me, that he doesn’t think Otty would want to be with me. Shows w
hat you know, Langham.
‘I mean, it only happened once.’
‘What?’
‘Just once. I think it took us both by surprise. It’s behind us now, of course,’ I add, my tone suggesting it’s anything but the case.
I can see his breathing increase, the flush of red claim his neck. He looks straight at me, a storm-cloud-grey stare threatening thunder. ‘You slept with her?’
‘It was one time. Ancient history.’ It could happen again, I will into my voice. It could happen when you least expect it and you won’t know because she’s here with me and you aren’t…
It’s out before I can think better of it, the game spiralling as soon as it’s released.
He shrugs it off, of course. Pretends he thinks I’ve played a cruel joke at his expense. But when I leave the kitchen, I sense the damage smouldering in my wake.
It doesn’t feel like the victory it was supposed to be.
But it’s said.
By 1 a.m. only three stragglers remain – Daphne, Langham and Rona. We really need to call time and get to bed. Trust Otty and me to organise a party the first night of a working week. Saturday next time, I think. Or Friday, just to be on the safe side. I knew my writers’ room colleagues could drink, but the amount they’ve put away is staggering. Russell better not be in the mood for yelling tomorrow.
‘Want me to stay?’ Daphne purrs next to me.
‘Better not tonight,’ I say, pulling her to me to kiss her brow. ‘Work tomorrow.’
‘Next weekend at mine, then?’
‘Sure. Try stopping me.’ I wish I didn’t sound like I do when my mum suggests getting our disparate and very strange family together at Christmas. I can’t very well complain about being lonely and then pass up the chance of a night with the woman I’m dating. I just can’t do it tonight. Other things are clouding my mind.
Langham seems okay. He was with Otty on the sofa within a minute of my leaving the kitchen and they certainly looked cosy together. Now I can see Otty nodding a little, nestled into the crook of Langham’s arm.
Is he staying over?
My stomach tightens.
Hopefully not.
I’m still watching Langham, though. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I would have been incandescent if a bloke had done that to me about my new girlfriend. But he’s a bigger man than I am.
Rona yawns and puts her empty beer bottle on the hearth. ‘Right, dudes, that’s me.’
‘You off?’ Otty pushes herself stiffly upright, pausing to plant a soft kiss on Langham’s lips. ‘Thanks for coming.’
Rona grins. ‘Night, lovebirds. Joe, see you in the morning.’
‘Back in the room!’ I raise my almost drained bottle.
‘Back in the rooooooom,’ she replies, stomping out to the hall after Otty like a slow-motion Arnie in Terminator.
Over on the sofa, Langham looks from his departing girlfriend to me. His nod of acknowledgement comes a second too late. He’s probably annoyed. I don’t blame him. Just as long as he keeps it directed at me and not Otty.
‘Joe,’ Daphne nudges me.
‘Hey.’
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you?’
‘Next weekend. I’ll make it up to you.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She moves off the arm of the chair and holds out her hand. ‘Walk me to the door.’
‘See you tomorrow, Daphne,’ Langham says as we pass.
‘You will. Now you behave if you’re staying, Mr Langham.’
‘I’m not tonight. But thanks for the advice.’ His eyes slide to me.
I usher Daphne out of the room. In the hall we meet Otty and there’s a little awkward dance as she skirts us to go back to Langham. It’s all still new, I tell myself. It won’t always be like this.
As I kiss Daphne goodnight the living-room door closes softly.
It takes longer for her to leave than I want, but eventually I’m standing on the doorstep, my arm raised as her taxi pulls away. The beginning of a frost sparkles across the street. My breath rises in unhurried swirls. I should probably give Otty and Langham space, go straight upstairs and crash.
I shut the night out and stand in the hall. My phone is in the living room. I don’t need it and it doesn’t matter if it stays resting on the mantelpiece till morning.
I should probably leave it.
But I’m not going to.
Maybe it’s my conscience kicking in, about two hours too late, but I need to check Langham’s all right. It’s very quiet in there. That’s a good sign, right?
I open the door – and freeze.
They’re kissing.
Not just the kind of show-kissing I’ve been doing with Daphne all night. Real, heart-stopping, body, mind and soul kissing.
I’m out and up the stairs before they even notice. In the safety of my room I get straight into bed, sticking my headphones in and my music on. He said he wasn’t staying but given what I’ve just witnessed, Otty may well be changing his mind.
I put any remaining questions to rest as my head hits the pillow. I don’t need to worry about Langham: he’s doing just fine.
Chapter Forty-Five
OTTY
Last night, I made a decision: I’ve chosen Fraser.
I’ve wasted so much time letting my heart get battered by Joe. But it’s unfair to give Fraser anything less than 100 per cent. That’s what he’s given me from our first date. Last night I realised, I’ve never had somebody so certain about me.
Joe will always be in my life. I know he will. The glimpses of the old us I’ve enjoyed in the last few weeks give me hope that, when all else is done, our friendship will stand.
In that respect, I am blessed.
Nan was a blessings-counter. She loved that old Bing Crosby song from the film White Christmas that he sings to Rosemary Clooney late at night, over liverwurst sandwiches and glasses of buttermilk. Neither can sleep, so Bing sings his remedy – counting blessings instead of sheep. Nan used to sing it in that tremulous soprano voice of hers, swaying in her bobble-slippers and second-best skirt that she wore around the house. She kept an old empty Hellman’s mayonnaise jar on top of her fridge, a cross-stitched band fixed around it. Surrounded by faded flowers, looping stems and tiny hearts, a verse read:
-: OUT WITH DARKNESS :-
-: OUT WITH FEAR :-
-: COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS :-
-: KEEP THEM HERE :-
Nan carried a small notebook and tiny pencil in the pocket of her cardigan and I’d often see her stop, tear out a piece of paper and scribble something down, then head to the kitchen and post it into the jar. At the end of each month, she would spend an hour sitting at the square table in her sheltered-housing flat, taking out each blessing and reading it.
‘They give me hope that more are waiting to be found,’ she’d tell me. ‘A promise of future treasure. Keeps me moving forward, looking for the next one, you see. You can’t be a treasure hunter if you walk backwards.’
I feel lighter, as if a weight I’ve dragged unnecessarily around with me for months has finally gone. And I can’t wait to see Fraser to show him who I am.
His Otty.
He isn’t at Ensign yet, but Joe and I came in early because the script meetings begin today for Eye, Spy season two. Another reason why having a party last night probably wasn’t the wisest choice.
Despite delicate heads, there’s a real buzz around the writers’ room table. Advertisements for the first season of Eye, Spy are appearing across the city, on huge billboards on the flyover and lining the section of the M6 that links to Spaghetti Junction; on the city streets and carried on the side of the city’s buses. BBC One is running the first teaser trailers in amongst the seasonal programmes, even though two of the episodes are still being filmed and the rest are in post-production. It’s thrilling and unbelievably scary all at once. Eye, Spy is already being billed as one of the must-see television events of next year.
‘My team!’ Russell says, walking in. ‘
We all good? Excellent. So. It begins. Again. Joe, Otty, do you want to run us through the overall pitch for this season and then we’ll move to your treatment.’
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Fraser?’ I ask.
‘He’s running late, so we’ll make a start.’
As everyone consults the series pitch, Joe and I move to the head of the table to prepare.
‘You okay?’ Joe whispers.
‘Yeah. You?’
‘We’ll walk it,’ he smiles.
I’m proud of the work we’ve done. And as we talk everyone through the elements that will make this season even better than the first, I’m struck by how far I’ve come since the first time we studied a pitch. I have achieved far beyond anything I thought I might.
Tom, Reece, Rona and Jake nod along, Russell watching us all from his usual seat. We’re a team now, not a motley crew of writers living in fear of Russell’s culls.
But where is Fraser?
We break for coffee at 11 a.m. and I duck out into the empty side of the eleventh floor to call him.
‘Hi, this is Fraser Langham. I’m unable to take your call at the moment, but please leave a message…’
I know he drank quite a bit last night but could that have delayed him? I can’t imagine a hangover stopping Fraser from doing anything. Might last night’s chilli have disagreed with him? Not sure how I’d navigate giving him food poisoning. That would be embarrassing…
Aware I don’t have much time, I compose a text, sending it as I walk back to Ensign.
Are you okay? Missing you xx
‘Any sign?’ Rona asks when I return.
‘None. And his phone’s going to voicemail.’
‘Hangover? Dodgy belly?’
I shrug. ‘Possibly.’
‘I wouldn’t worry, hun. He’s probably got the mother of all hangovers and he’s sleeping it off. He looked tired last night.’
He did. I’d half-wondered if he’d ask to stay but he’d said he needed to sleep. I’m glad, actually. I was exhausted after all the weirdness with Joe and the last thing any of us needed was sharing an awkward breakfast together this morning.
Placated, I go back into the writers’ room.
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