One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘Yes,’ Brian replied before opening the door and shoving me through it. ‘Now go.’

  I clattered into the room with all the grace of a colicky elephant, the heels of my sandals clacking loudly against the worn-down stone floor, shattering the silence of the room.

  Two hundred anonymous heads all turned at once while one recognizable face looked up. Every single pair of eyes on me.

  I cleared my throat and stood up straight.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, holding up my hand in a salutary wave. ‘Don’t mind me, I’ll wait until you’re done.’

  At the end of what seemed like a terribly long aisle, I saw Sam’s expression changing like the colours on a mood ring. Blue, green, red, black. He would be the worst poker player ever.

  ‘As I was saying, Edmund FitzAlan-Howard was born on the first of June 1885 and died on the twenty-eighth of May 1947 and was the first Roman Catholic to be appointed to the position since 1685, during the reign of James II and I’m sorry but you are distracting me terribly if you have something to say, can you just say it, please.’

  ‘Me?’ I asked from my seat in a pew at the back of the room.

  ‘Yes, you,’ he replied. ‘Everyone else is here because they’re interested in Irish history.’

  ‘I actually got lost on my way to the refectory,’ said one meek voice in the third row. ‘But it seemed rude to leave once you started.’

  ‘Do you want to leave now?’ Sam asked, one hand in his hair and the other on the lectern.

  ‘If you don’t mind?’ the man replied. ‘I’m starving.’

  With a grim set to his jaw, Sam waved him away and the room murmured with unrest.

  ‘Now everyone here is here because they’re interested in Irish history,’ he said. ‘Apart from you.’

  Another hand went up. ‘Actually—’

  ‘If anyone else wants to leave, please leave now,’ he said, cutting him off. The man cowered in his seat and bowed his head. ‘You included.’

  ‘I can wait until you’re finished,’ I said, looking over my shoulder to see Brian and Miranda’s faces pressed up against the glass. ‘I think it’s all very interesting.’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ Sam huffed. ‘You think it’s all a joke. Just like you think I’m a joke.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I protested. ‘I messed up, I know I did, but you were never a joke. I was an idiot, but no one was ever laughing at you.’

  ‘That’s where I recognize him from,’ a girl whispered to her seatmate in the front row. Very, very slowly, they pulled out their phones and started taking photos.

  ‘It’s not good enough, Annie,’ he replied, casting a very dark glance at his admirers. ‘You thought it was OK to make me the subject of a bet before you even met me, and you thought it was OK to tell me I needed to change everything about myself before you even got to know me. I would never judge someone like that.’

  ‘That is categorically untrue!’ I stood up and marched down the aisle to meet him. ‘You judge everyone. You judge me all the time. For starters, you think social media is ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not a fan of the medium,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I respect how hard you work.’

  ‘And what about all that “I could never be with a girl like you” nonsense in Margate?’ I asked. ‘How is that not judgement?’

  ‘I didn’t say I could never be with a girl like you, I said a girl like you would never be with someone like me,’ he said, turning pink. ‘The thought beggars belief.’

  ‘But I do want to be with you,’ I said. He stayed behind the lectern, keeping a safe distance between us. ‘I know I made a huge mistake. I did something incredibly stupid because I was angry and jealous and competitive. Not my favourite characteristics about myself, but I know it was wrong and all I can ask you to do is forgive me.’

  I took a deep breath, ready to start the next round of begging.

  ‘Are you quite finished?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got loads more actually,’ I said, pressing my hands against my chest. ‘Unless there’s something you want to say?’

  He stood still, towering over me.

  ‘If you’d asked me if you could post those pictures, I would have said yes,’ Sam said, correcting his sliding glasses. ‘But you chose not to.’

  ‘I know.’ Out the corner of my eye, I saw at least half the audience on their phones, recording our confrontation or searching for Sam’s hot pics, I wasn’t sure. ‘I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘And you did such a good job with my makeover,’ he looked down at his smart trousers, his slim-fitting shirt. ‘How will I ever know if it’s really me you care for? Inside, I’m the same old Samuel. A new haircut and different clothes can’t truly change the person inside.’

  ‘That’s the person I want,’ I insisted. ‘If you want to grow your hair back down to your arse and wear your grandad’s clothes all around town, that is entirely up to you. I will still be here. Not here, exactly, that would be weird, but I’ll be wherever you are. Unless that would legally be considered stalking?’

  ‘Yes,’ shouted one very gruff voice in the crowd. ‘It would.’

  ‘Right, OK, well, the point I’m trying to make is, I want to be with you, however you come packaged,’ I declared. ‘I know now, you should never judge a book by its cover.’

  A woman in the third row put her hand up but did not wait to speak. ‘I work in book design,’ she said. ‘And we actually work very hard so that people can make a judgment based on the cover.’

  ‘You’re not helping me,’ I told her. ‘But I’d be very interested to hear more about that afterwards.’

  ‘You’ve asked me to trust you so many times,’ Sam sighed. ‘I just don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve got to give me another chance,’ I pleaded, climbing up to the lowest step. ‘I think you’re the cleverest, funniest, most interesting historian I’ve ever met and quite possibly the best man there actually is. Please, Sam?’

  He kept his eyes down and I watched as his fingers curled around the edge of the lectern, squeezing tightly.

  ‘Go on,’ the gruff-voiced man shouted. ‘Give her another chance.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, turning and clapping as the man stood up. ‘Listen to him, he seems very clever.’

  Sam took a deep breath in and focused his attention on the papers in front of him.

  ‘Annie, I have to finish this,’ he said, refusing to make eye contact. ‘I’ve been working on it for months and it’s really incredibly unfair of you to walk in here and distract me like this.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, tiptoeing lightly down the steps and gesturing for the people in the front row to move along and make room. ‘I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m actually very keen to hear it. I’m sure it’s fascinating.’

  He looked up and his light blue eyes immediately met mine. I slid my pendant up and down on its chain as he stared, saying nothing. Doing nothing.

  ‘Where was I?’ Sam muttered to himself, running his finger along his notes.

  ‘FitzAlan-Howard,’ someone behind me called politely. What a memory.

  ‘That’s it, thank you,’ Sam said, and I threw an appreciative thumbs up into the air. ‘Edmund FitzAlan-Howard, born first of June 1885 and died on the twenty-eighth of May 1947, was the first Roman Catholic to be appointed to the position since 1685, during the reign of James II and the last lord lieutenant of Ireland. Thank you.’

  He stepped back and inclined his head slightly and everyone in the room began to applaud.

  ‘That’s it?’ I asked, looking around me at the clapping masses.

  ‘You came in rather towards the end,’ Sam replied, eyes down. ‘So unless you think there’s something I missed, yes.’

  ‘Well, I don’t like to brag, but I did finish your book which makes me something of an expert in the field, I should think,’ I said, the skin on my neck heating up. If he was finished, it was time for The Talk. ‘I wish I’d heard the whole thing.’

  He nod
ded, staying exactly where he was as everyone began to file out. Everyone except for the two girls who were clearly live streaming us from the back of the room.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ I said from my empty pew. ‘Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it. Brian suspended the account, no one can see it any more.’

  ‘Then put it back up immediately,’ he replied, his expression indignant. ‘Have you any idea how many books I’ve sold? A month ago there would have been fifteen people in this room, today we had a full house.’

  Sitting directly in front of him, I watched Sam’s face change as he filed his papers away into his backpack. There was something new there, something I couldn’t remember seeing before. He was desperately trying to stifle a smile.

  ‘Wait, you’re not angry?’ I asked, gripping the edge of the wooden bench as he made his way down the steps towards me, clutching his backpack in front of him. ‘You want those photos up there?’

  ‘I was upset,’ he admitted, sitting down beside me, backpack by his side. ‘Because you did it behind my back. And I was embarrassed to see all those pictures on those enormous screens in front of all those people. But I didn’t even let you try to explain, I simply reacted – which was very wrong of me. Very rash.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to hurt you.’ I took my hand out of my lap and rested it on the pew, just inches away from his leg. ‘I made a mistake.’

  Sam nodded.

  ‘If I could go back and change it, I would.’ Here it came, the verbal vomit. ‘I don’t care if we have nothing in common, you’ve shown me so many new things, you taught me so much about myself. I can’t imagine my life without you.’

  Be quiet, Annie, I told myself, shut up. Sam had his hands in his lap and he was so close I could feel him. This was the quiet part. This was the bit where I sat and waited until he was ready to talk. My knee bobbed up and down on the spot, fingers dancing along the pew.

  ‘You’re dying to say something else, aren’t you?’ Sam asked, that almost-smile reappearing on his face.

  ‘Me?’ I replied, tugging on my necklace. ‘Not at all. Love a bit of peace and quiet, I do. Please feel free not to fill a perfectly good silence with senseless chatter, Samuel.’

  ‘My friends call me Sam,’ he placed his hand over mine and I exhaled slowly. ‘You know, you’ve taught me a lot of things too. And I wouldn’t say we don’t have anything in common, apparently, an old dog can learn some new tricks.’

  ‘You do take an excellent selfie,’ I said in a whisper, curling my fingers around his, slowly at first until I was squeezing them as tightly as I dared, never wanting to let go.

  Sam turned to face me. His blue eyes were almost grey in the dim light of the hall but they were so wide and so bright and so honest, I could barely breathe. I’d spent hours upon hours upon hours staring at his face over the last month but in that moment, it was like seeing him for the very first time. He was Dr Samuel Page PhD, he was an expert salsa dancer, a terrible family mediator, a Britney Spears aficionado, a bad cook, a cat lover, the world’s leading authority on the lord lieutenants of Ireland. He was all those things and a million more that I couldn’t wait to discover.

  He leaned towards me and I inhaled sharply as everything else went soft at the edges. My insides were melting but my skin was on fire, lips tingling with anticipation before he could even touch me. His lips on my lips, his hands holding my hands. And then it was happening. The kind of kiss that demanded fireworks and a swelling orchestral soundtrack and an audience of a hundred thousand people cheering us on, except this kiss was ours and only ours. Nothing else was real, just for that moment and I didn’t want to share it with anyone.

  ‘So,’ I breathed as I broke away, my heart pounding as I caught my breath. ‘What now?’

  ‘Firstly, I imagine the university will be wanting this space back,’ Sam replied, nodding towards a gaggle of people, peering in through the door with wide eyes.

  I bit my buzzing lips and smiled. ‘I sort of meant about us.’

  ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘Yes, that makes sense. What would you like to do?’

  We both blushed on cue. Sam pushed his glasses up his nose while I immediately reached for my pendant.

  ‘Maybe we don’t make a plan?’ I suggested. ‘Maybe we just see what happens?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ he said, leaning towards me again.

  ‘What about the people outside?’ I whispered, not protesting nearly hard enough. Once you’ve kissed someone you really, really want to kiss once, it’s very difficult not to keep doing it over and over. A month ago I hadn’t even known that he existed and now I couldn’t imagine a day without him in it.

  ‘They can wait,’ Sam murmured. ‘I’ve waited long enough.’

  It was like I always said: every once in a while, the universe steps up and, for a single day, everything in your life is amazing. Fortunately, this was one of those days.

  EPILOGUE

  Friday, 11 August

  There was peace and quiet and there was peace and quiet.

  I leaned over the edge of the wall to watch the waves sweep in, swell and then break along the cliffs below. The spray spritzed my skin but the sun was shining, the sky was blue and so I didn’t really mind. I tucked my hair behind my ears in an attempt to keep it away from my lip balm, but it was a futile effort. When I closed my eyes, all I could hear were birds and the wind. When I opened them, it was all sea and sky.

  London felt very far away.

  ‘You’re not going to jump, are you?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ I replied, shielding my eyes from the sun. ‘I know it’s August, but I reckon it’d still be a bit nippy.’

  ‘Around fifteen degrees at this time of year.’ Sam peered over the low limestone wall and into the ocean. ‘Give or take.’

  ‘The walking, talking human Google,’ I said with a grin. ‘He can’t name a single Kardashian but he knows the average sea temperatures off the coast of Ireland.’

  He screwed up his face as he wracked his brains. ‘Karen? Is there one called Karen?’

  ‘Who knows?’ I replied, smiling at his thinking face. ‘Probably is by now.’

  We stood side-by-side, not quite touching, and stared out to sea. The waves were choppy, just like Becks had said they would be. I turned my head to look at Sam. His curly hair blew around as he pushed his glasses up his nose and smiled at nothing. The very definition of contentment.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ I asked.

  ‘How nice it is to be here,’ he replied. ‘With you.’

  ‘Aww,’ I beamed happily. ‘Sam.’

  ‘And how I do hope you’re not going to spend the entire weekend talking about nonsense.’

  ‘But of course, sir, you need your quiet, sir, I understand, sir,’ I said, bowing and scraping as I backed away. ‘I’ll be right over here, sir.’

  I spotted a little wrought-iron bench across the yard and ambled happily across the patchy green and yellow grass to take a seat. We’d been travelling for what felt like forever, but Sam insisted on ‘clearing out the cobwebs’ before we accepted the landlady’s offer of a cup of tea and freshly baked scones. I had saddled myself with a monster. My stomach rumbled as I pulled the sleeves of my soft, grey jumper over my hands.

  Given Sam had never stepped foot on Irish soil before, he looked right at home. He was all walking boots and ruddy cheeks, curls blowing around in the breeze. I was prepared to overlook the red, quilted gilet but it wasn’t easy. In fact, he looked so good, I wanted to take a picture. Without thinking, I reached into my pocket to check my phone but it wasn’t there. I’d left it inside, in my backpack, without even realizing. I lifted my wrist to check the time on my Apple watch but the screen was blank. The battery was dead. I hadn’t charged it the night before.

  ‘Sam,’ I called, heart beating just a fraction faster. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Must be about two?’ he replied without turning around. ‘I’m fairly certain I just saw a puffin. I wonder if there
’s a breeding colony here.’

  I wanted to Google it so badly.

  Running my thumb over my fingernails, I stood up and walked back over to Sam. The view really was gorgeous. Maybe not as impressive as my beloved rooftop view of London but still, very pretty.

  ‘Have you got your phone?’ I asked.

  He patted himself down, checking all available pockets until he produced a brand, spanking new iPhone from his inside chest pocket.

  ‘I hope you don’t need it for anything,’ he said, handing it over without question. ‘There’s absolutely no service.’

  Absolutely. No. Service.

  ‘How will we know where to eat tonight?’ I attempted to open a search window and saw that he was right. ‘How will we know what time the ferry leaves on Monday? How will I check the weather?’

  Sam shook his head with pity.

  ‘You’ll check the weather by looking out of the window,’ he replied. ‘We’ll know what time the ferry leaves by asking someone, and we’ll know where to eat because there’s only one pub on the entire island. Honestly, for someone who’s supposed to be bright, I worry about you sometimes.’

  ‘Don’t give me that,’ I said, my fingers curling around the weight of his un-encased phone. ‘How did we even find this hotel in the first place? Online. How did we book the ferry to get here? Online. We wouldn’t even know this island existed if it wasn’t for the internet.’

  He pursed his lips for a second and I knew it was as close as he would come to admitting I was right. At least about that.

  ‘It was your idea to come here,’ Sam reminded me. ‘You were the one who proposed “an escape from it all”. You could be sat at your desk right now.’

  ‘Plenty of time for that when I get back,’ I replied. ‘Maybe Deliveroo comes over here. People can’t be expected to live a pizza-less existence just because they were born on an island.’

  ‘You know this island was once inhabited by Gráinne O’Malley, a pirate queen from the sixteenth century?’ Sam said, holding his hand out for his phone. ‘Fascinating woman. Irish revolutionary who successfully met and negotiated with Elizabeth I.’