Stuck On You

by Portia MacIntosh

  I snap a few pictures – because that’s what you do, right? You take a bunch and then use an app to edit the best one until what’s left is someone who looks nothing like you, with nonsensical facial features and skin so smooth it no longer looks like skin.

  Brian rocks up alongside me as I’m taking a selfie. He sticks his face into the shot and poses with me. I can see my eyes light up in my screen because I know that it will annoy Damian so much, seeing a photo of me out with Brian, and that’s what I want. I want to annoy him, because what he has done has absolutely horrified me. I can’t believe it. I honestly can’t believe it. Damian was Adam the whole time. Every single note was from him. Every note I wrote – complaining about Damian – was read by bloody Damian. OK, I might not have been honest with him about quitting but, my God, all this just goes to show that I have definitely made the right decision.

  ‘I brought you some champagne,’ Brian says. ‘Seeing as though the countdown will be starting before we know it.’

  Brian sounds a little bit drunk too. I guess he’s been here all night and not swigging from a bottle in his flat while blasting Dua Lipa and piling on make-up.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, taking the champagne flute from him as carefully as possible. I can feel the concentration on my face.

  ‘So, did you have a good Christmas?’ I ask him.

  ‘Yeah, great, thanks,’ he says. ‘It’s always nice to see the parents, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t know, yours don’t make you dress up,’ I remind him as I post one of the pictures I just took to my Instagram story. Being a cool, artsy, fartsy blah blah blah – I usually try and keep my grid pretty carefully curated, with an overarching theme, and I basically never post to my story. I certainly don’t rapid-fire drunken content like this.

  ‘Hey, did you give your notice?’ he asks curiously.

  ‘Oh, boy, did I,’ I say with a laugh. ‘I mean yes, yes, I did. Officially free as a bird.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he says. ‘It’s always nice to end things on a good note.’

  ‘It is,’ I agree. That’s not what I did, but I do agree.

  ‘It’s nice, that we can both meet up here like this,’ he continues. ‘We should do it more often. I still can’t believe we both work in London.’

  ‘What do you actually do?’ I ask. ‘I don’t think I know…’

  ‘I’m an underwriting controls analyst,’ he says.

  I still don’t know.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I ask.

  ‘It means I’m really good with Excel,’ he replies.

  ‘Uh, I love it when you talk dirty,’ I joke, fuelled by my drink.

  My dirty joke catches Damian off guard. No, not Damian, Brian. I am not thinking about Damian.

  The DJ takes a break from playing nondescript party beats to announce the countdown to midnight. I join in, shouting out the numbers with everyone else. When the clock finally does strike midnight there are some loud popping noises above us before gold, sparkly confetti rains down over us.

  I’ve always found New Year’s Eve so depressing. Something about the idea of a new beginning just really bums me out. On the one hand, the idea that the first day of a new year gives us a sort of second chance, an opportunity to change, sounds good on paper. On the other, don’t we always say we’ll do better and never actually do it? New Year’s resolutions were made to be broken. That January diet you swear you’re going to go on is a knee-jerk reaction to all the pigs in blankets you ate over the festive period and it’s probably not going to be sustainable for long. I know, I sound like a moody little black cloud on an otherwise perfectly sunny day but people should change because they want to be better, not because it’s New Year’s Day, and certainly not because they want to stop their assistant from quitting by charming them into the sack – not even the sack, the shed. Ergh, it’s no use, I can’t stop thinking about him. Damian is in my head and he’s not going anywhere. I could call him? But I’m so mad at him. And he’s mad at me too. And I don’t see my phone lighting up with calls and messages from him, so why should I have to make the first move?

  I miss him though. I miss him so much. So much, in fact, that the whole Adam thing hardly seems worth falling out over, and yet I just can’t let go of my anger. I suppose I’m angry about a lot of things.

  Brian leans in and pecks me on the lips.

  ‘Happy New Year,’ he says. ‘Do you want to get out of here?’

  I sigh heavily.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I reply.

  I knock back the rest of my drink, hand him my glass, and walk away on my own. Brian doesn’t even call after me – or I don’t hear him if he does. This was such a terrible idea and, if the new year really is the best time to change for the better, then the best thing I can do is go home. I’m about to embark on a new journey and I absolutely can’t take any of my old baggage with me.

  36

  Is January the longest month of the year? I know, it’s thirty-one days, like a bunch of the other months, but it’s the one that feels the longest, isn’t it?

  Today, which is technically only the 31st January, feels more like the 78th January. It’s been such a strange month and I sure will be glad to see the back of it.

  To celebrate the end of the month my lovely friend Xara is coming over and she’s bringing wine. Not only am I finding that I have much more free time to hang out after work, but I see Xara at work all the time too now that we work together.

  I’m just putting the pizzas in the oven when I hear my phone ringing. I close the oven door and dive for my phone on the sofa, answering it just before it stops.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ I say. ‘How are you?’

  ‘All good here, thanks, darling,’ she says.

  ‘Hi, Sadie,’ I hear Selena call from in the background.

  ‘Selena says hi,’ my mum tells me.

  ‘Say hi back,’ I reply.

  ‘Up to anything nice?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m actually just waiting for Xara to arrive,’ I tell her. ‘We’re having a girly night.’

  ‘Oh, London is going to run out of wine tonight, then,’ she jokes. ‘Listen, I won’t keep you, I’m just calling about the post I got today.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I figured you would know what I was talking about,’ she says. ‘Did you get any post today?’

  ‘I haven’t had chance to check,’ I tell her. ‘Hang on, I’ll do it now.’

  I slip on my shoes and head out to my post box.

  ‘I have loads actually,’ I tell her.

  ‘Any invitations?’ she persists.

  ‘Erm, the one on the top looks like my smear-test reminder,’ I say. ‘So unless they’re inviting you to that too…’

  ‘Keep looking, Sadie, come on.’

  I head back inside and dump the pile on my table.

  ‘Erm, let’s see… oh, yeah, this one looks like an invitation,’ I say.

  I tear open the envelope to see a piece of white card that says simply:

  Do you believe in real love?

  I turn it over to see the heading:

  Real Stories, Real Lives, Real Love.

  That’s when I realise what it is. It’s an invitation to Damian’s preview on the 14th February. Valentine’s Day.

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  ‘Are you going?’ my mum asks.

  ‘Erm, it’s Valentine’s Day,’ I point out. ‘What if I have plans?’

  ‘If she’s saying she has plans, she’s lying,’ I hear Selena call out.

  ‘Do you have plans?’ my mum asks.

  ‘No,’ I say simply. ‘Hang on, why is he inviting you?’

  ‘He’s invited me and Dad,’ she tells me. ‘With Dad being in one of the pictures.’

  ‘Wait, Dad is in one of the pictures?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘Well, I suppose they didn’t tell you at the time when they took it because it was when they popped into Pandora’s to get your bag. But he got a lovely picture of Dad, wearing a ha
t and holding a cane – he says your dad is a modern-day clown.’

  ‘Damian is the clown,’ I say.

  I told my mum that we fell out. I didn’t get into exactly why. I just let her believe that it was all to do with me quitting my job.

  ‘Still not friends, I take it,’ she says. ‘He did invite you though.’

  ‘It will be a professional obligation and nothing else,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not going to go.’

  ‘Would you mind if we did?’ she asks. ‘Your dad is so excited about his picture.’

  ‘Oh, no, you definitely go,’ I say. ‘I’ll see it another day, when the man himself won’t be there. Maybe we could go for dinner afterwards?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ she says. ‘Listen, I’ll let you go. Have fun with Xara. We’ll talk plans nearer the time.’

  ‘OK, speak soon,’ I say.

  ‘Love you, darling.’

  ‘Love you, Sadie,’ Selena sings.

  ‘Love you both too,’ I reply. ‘And tell Dad congratulations.’

  Once I’m off the phone I look at the invitation again. The envelope is addressed to me but the invitation is just a general invitation. I wouldn’t be surprised if Damian doesn’t know I’ve got one; it was probably sent by someone in the office. I’m definitely not going.

  My doorbell rings so I toss the invitation to one side and go to answer it.

  ‘The wine lady is here,’ Xara announces, holding up a bottle in each hand.

  ‘Oh, God, you don’t know how much I need a good friend and big drink,’ I tell her.

  ‘Uhh, I can smell the pizza, and I am starving,’ she says. ‘You get the food, I’ll pour the drinks and meet you on the sofa.’

  ‘Deal,’ I say. ‘Corkscrew is already on the coffee table.’

  I serve up our food and join Xara on the sofa.

  ‘What is it about pizza?’ she asks. I wait for more but it never arrives. ‘Just generally. What is it about pizza?’

  ‘It’s just one of those perfect things,’ I reply. ‘They say even when it’s bad, it’s good.’

  ‘Like sex,’ she says.

  I pull a face.

  ‘OK, not at all like sex,’ she says with a laugh.

  ‘Still enjoying the new gig?’ she says. ‘Three weeks in, it’s hardly a new gig any more, is it? You’re well and truly one of the team now.’

  ‘It’s great,’ I say. ‘Everything I hoped it would be.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ she says through a mouthful of pizza. ‘You don’t sound so sure.’

  ‘I’m sure, sorry, I’m just thinking about Damian,’ I admit. I didn’t mean to sound so unenthusiastic; I really do love it.

  ‘You still think about him?’

  ‘Oh, you know, only every day,’ I reply. ‘Especially today though – he sent me an invitation to his preview.’

  ‘Are you going to go?’

  ‘God no,’ I say. ‘I haven’t seen him since New Year’s Eve and I plan to keep it that way. He didn’t call me at midnight, and I put a bunch of dumb stuff on my Instagram story, all for his benefit, and he didn’t even view it… He probably doesn’t even think about me now. I doubt he sent the invitation.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ she asks. ‘Or do you want distracting?’

  ‘Distracting,’ I say. ‘Distracting for sure.’

  ‘OK, well…’ Xara takes a moment to swallow her mouthful of pizza and dust her hands down on her trousers. ‘How about we play some games? Do you still keep them under here?’

  Xara reaches under the coffee table, and of all the board games she could grab, the Dial-a-Date that Damian got me for Christmas is the first one she gets hold of.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she blurts. ‘You have Dial-a-Date? This was all I wanted for Christmas when I was younger. My mum refused to buy me it because she said all the men were too old for me. I tried to tell her, “Mum, you don’t actually call them up…” Where on earth did you get this?’

  I let out a little laugh.

  ‘Damian got me it for Christmas,’ I tell her.

  ‘Ergh, OK, well, that doesn’t mean we can’t play it,’ she says. She clears some space on the table and opens up the box. ‘It’s still in such amazing condition… like new… it’s… oh…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘Let’s do something else.’

  ‘No, come on, what's wrong with it?’ I ask.

  She sighs before handing over one of the date cards. It isn’t even in my hand yet when I notice what’s on it.

  I imagine, when Damian gave me this game, he figured I would either make him play it with me, or that he would still be in my life when I did. What he’s done is taken one of the date cards and stuck a picture of himself on it. He must have done it at Christmas, with one of his instant photos. He’s even doing a hunky pose, like the other men in the photos. I peel back his picture just enough to see that he’s placed himself over the date card that looks the most like him, meaning that it’s still a playable card.

  I try to put him out of my mind, I really do, but he just keeps popping up. My ghost of Christmas past.

  ‘OK, let’s not play this,’ she says. ‘None of this, no talking shop – why don’t we watch a movie?’

  ‘Great idea,’ I say.

  I keep the card in my hand for a second, staring down at him – the Damian I spent Christmas with. Somehow this feels like my Damian. I mentally pinch myself, handing over the card so that Xara can put it away.

  As she messes with my remote, looking for something for us to watch, I beat myself up. I wish I could forget about him. I don’t want to keep thinking about him. I am so much happier with the work at my new job. I really hope Xara doesn’t think I’m not. It’s everything I want to be doing, and I actually feel as if I’m on the right path to achieve more with it.

  I don’t actually miss my old job at all. I do miss my old boss though. I really miss him.

  37

  I’m staring right into Damian’s eyes. Not his actual eyes – that would be weird. I’m looking at the gigantic poster of him hanging in the entrance of the gallery where his preview is taking place right now.

  It’s been going on for a while now, I guess. Everyone will be in there, falling all over him, cooing at his art – my parents included.

  My dad is so happy about his photo being included. I’m sure it’s going to be all I hear about when we go for dinner after they’re done – which is hopefully going to be soon. It didn’t seem worth travelling home after work, only to head back in this direction to meet my mum and dad, so I’m just loitering outside like a weirdo.

  And, no, it hasn’t escaped my attention that I’m currently spending Valentine’s Day starting at a huge photo of the man who broke my heart, and the most exciting plans I have this evening involve dinner with my parents – probably in a restaurant surrounded by couples, which, I’m sure you’ll agree, is not especially romantic.

  I look up at the poster again. If there weren’t security guards here, I’d probably take an eyeliner from my bag and draw something offensive on his face. Actually, I definitely wouldn’t, I’m such a baby, but I like to pretend I would.

  My phone buzzes with a message from my dad. I’m hoping it’s to say they’re on their way out but it isn’t, it’s to tell me to go inside and see this photo. I do want to go in and see it, I really do, I just don’t want to see Damian. Another message comes through telling me they haven’t seen Damian for over an hour; they think he’s already left. Hmm. What are the chances that’s true? I guess it would be like Damian, to not hang around for too long…

  I take a few steps closer to the door before turning around and walking away from the building again. Almost immediately I turn around again and this time I march straight inside. Screw it.

  I follow the signs to the room where Damian’s preview is and when I get there I walk in with my head held high. Well, after I give my name for the guest list, which annoys me because I don’t want Damian knowing I wa
s here. Then again, there’s no way he’s going to look at the list. I’m sure his new assistant compiled it anyway.

  It’s a big white room, with Damian’s photos in large frames dotted around. His pictures are all in black and white, and in big black frames. I would say, at a glance, that half of the photos are bigger than I am.

  I’m weaving through the adoring crowd, looking for my mum and dad, when I happen upon a picture that stops me in my tracks. There’s a bench right in front of it so I plonk myself down, still just staring up at it. It’s me. It’s the photo of me that Damian took on the old boat. I’m snuggled up in a blanket, cradling a mug of tea, and I look so, so happy. It takes me right back to that evening, and to Christmas, and it makes me feel so happy and so devastated at the same time. Up until Damian and I fell out it might have been the best Christmas I’ve ever had… just with the worst ending. I had no idea he was going to use it – to be honest I forgot it existed. Seeing myself so happy makes me so sad. How did things manage to go so wrong?

  I quickly wipe away the annoying tear that has escaped from my eye. I’m not going to cry here; I am a grown woman… I’ll cry at home, alone, later.

  ‘They say you’re not supposed to have favourites,’ I hear a voice say behind me.

  ‘That’s kids,’ I reply, my eyes still firmly fixed on the photo.

  ‘These are my kids,’ Damian replies as he takes a seat next to me.

  ‘So my dad set me up, huh?’

  ‘He honestly took absolutely no convincing at all,’ Damian replies. ‘I really wouldn’t trust him, moving forward.’

  I laugh.

  ‘I don’t remember signing a disclaimer for this,’ I say. ‘Your new assistant is shit.’

  ‘I don’t actually have a new assistant,’ he says. ‘So, if anything is amiss here, it’s all on me.’