‘Personally—’ I held a hand to my chest ‘—I think the ceremony is important for family. As for friends, they like the booze, right?’
‘That they do.’ Heather sighed, still undecided.
Beneath us, the motor putt-putted to life as one final last passenger ran the length of the berth, hoping for the best. A crackling overhead announcement warned us of safety procedures and floatation vests, ‘in the very unlikely event that we needed them’. And then we were moving.
Heather crossed one leg over the other and joined the masses by whipping out her phone and snapping a few photos of landmarks along the way. We got our shit together in time to snap a selfie as we sailed under Tower Bridge. The trip, and the silence, gave me just enough time to wonder what this boat’s commentary would be like if William were in charge. I gave my head a shake, hoping he’d drop out of my thoughts like a rock in a shoe.
‘Enough about weddings! How are you?’ Heather dug through her handbag for lip gloss.
How was I? I thought about it for a moment and, while I could’ve picked up all the niggling negative things that had happened, I hoped they were just hiccups on the way to a better life. My job was amazing. I loved spending my days laughing at Pam’s latest antics, and I got to spend weekends with my best friends in an amazing city. William refused to double-up on restaurants, so we were always trying somewhere new for dinner. We laughed ourselves senseless at his tour guide commentary, and I was ticking off my London List like it were some magic quest that would give me access to another world at the end. Maybe I’d power up with one of Mario’s magic mushrooms. What could be bad about that?
‘I love my life.’ And it was true. Without the negativity bubble that was Craig hovering over one shoulder, and William’s disappearing act slash wife saga on the other, I could say it with confidence.
‘So, what’s your boyfriend got planned for your birthday?’
I hung my head back and groaned. ‘Firstly, not my boyfriend.’
‘Lies, lies,’ Heather muttered, sucking from her straw. ‘Wait, have you slept with him yet? Why have we not talked about this?’
I scrunched my face. ‘Because there is actually nothing to talk about. And, no, I haven’t slept with him. I don’t want to.’
She tossed her head back and laughed. ‘You are so full of shit.’
I huffed, especially at the niggling idea that she might be right. ‘I have no idea what William, who is not my boyfriend, has planned.’
‘Right, well, Josh and I are taking you out for dinner on the Friday night.’ She tossed her can in the bin, and I secretly wished she’d offered the rest to me. ‘No questions.’
‘Okay, sure,’ I said, looking at Heather suspiciously. ‘And?’
‘Bring William.’
Clearing my seat, I pointed a finger at her, as if that would stop her allusions. ‘It’s not a date.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’
‘It’s not,’ I called to her back as she walked away and gave me a dismissive, over the shoulder wave. ‘Heather, it’s really not.’
Chapter 24
Birthdays are funny things. The older you get, the less excited you’re supposed to be about them, busy being an adult and all that. But I’d been looking forward to mine. It wasn’t a particularly special day, just another Friday in October, but it felt like an important marker. Normally people mark things off in six- or twelve-month increments, but it was my first in London, and that felt important. William and I had almost run the gauntlet of things to do on the weekend, so when I mentioned my birthday to him, I was both surprised and cautious to hear he’d already planned something.
‘What do you mean you’ve planned something?’ I asked, taking another spoon of ice-cream from his bowl.
‘It’s your birthday, of course I have.’ He dipped his chin and tipped his head to the side. ‘And stop pinching my ice-cream.’
‘Will there at least be cake?’ I sank back into the couch and kicked my legs out across his lap.
‘What do you think?’ he said.
‘Can I have a tip?’
‘Always floss.’
‘What?’
‘You said you wanted a tip.’
And that was exactly how he answered any further questions. It was that, or I was met with a hand clapped over my mouth, and text messages were replied to with a simple change of topic. ‘Can I have a hint?’ earned me a ‘You are a very nice cook’, or ‘That dress looks lovely today’. The only thing I knew for certain was that we were going out for dinner on the Friday night – the night of my birthday.
William raced down the stairs at the station, knees bent like coat hangers as we stepped into a carriage halfway along the platform. Heather had organised the entire day’s activities through a string of group social media messages that would make any Wimbledon official’s eyes water. This included a comically big and sneezy bunch of flowers delivered to the clinic early this afternoon, which arrived precisely ten minutes after the local bakery delivered a gooey almond flour and orange syrup cake courtesy of the clinic.
Everything had been planned down to the last minute, including the formal dress and super-secret venue. All we had to do was meet at the station by seven o’clock. At five past the hour, we’d resigned ourselves to the idea that William had either screwed up and was making his own way there, or that he wasn’t coming at all.
But, there he was, flustered and pink and wearing the look of a shamed child. Apologetic greetings were exchanged for handshakes and air kisses as we walked the length of the carriage. A quick search offered up no chairs, but a small speck of real estate on a stanchion. It was maximum comfort for my big day.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ he said.
‘It’s five minutes, I don’t think it’s too much, is it?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘I feel like Heather is very keen on punctuality.’
His perceptiveness made me grin. Not bad for someone he’d barely spent time with.
‘You would be right with that.’
‘How’s your day been? Have you had a good birthday?’
‘So far.’
He toyed self-consciously with his suit, with its tightly cinched waist and crisp lines. He patted his tie down, checked it was stuffed into his jacket properly, then checked the buttons on his jacket to make sure they were done up.
‘You look fine,’ I said quietly.
‘Yeah?’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Very dashing.’
‘In a White Sergeant kind of way?’ he asked. ‘Or just your regular mannequin in a window kind of way? Because I know how much you like those shopfront dummies.’
With Heather preoccupied with Josh and his Captain America bow-tie, I leant into William and whispered, ‘You are still very White Sergeant.’
‘Still can’t dance though,’ he lamented with a cheeky smile that curled up in one corner and dimpled his cheek.
‘Now, I know first-hand that that’s a lie.’ I slipped my hand around his waist as the carriage swayed and turned my heels into tiny, unrelenting pogo sticks. All I hoped was that I didn’t snap an ankle as the train careened around the next bend.
‘We’ll have to do it again, then?’ he suggested.
‘I’d like that.’
‘Would you?’ He tugged at a strand of hair that had come loose from my bun. As he kept fiddling, his elbow came to rest by my shoulder. That such a seemingly innocent act could feel so intimate wasn’t confusing. In fact, I welcomed his touch.
‘Yes.’
‘Really?’
‘Of course.’ I scratched at a piece of fluff on his coat. I’d only replayed our night Edinburgh in my head so many times I thought I was a broken record. You know, the one that sometimes skipped and missed the best parts of the song. ‘I already can’t wait.’
‘It makes me happy to hear you say that.’
‘It does?’
‘Absolutely. I think it’s a great plan.’
We peeled
apart reluctantly at Baker Street, swapping hands on backs and arms under coats for a rowdy passenger on the Circle Line, who entertained us with her picnic spread across several seats. I would have stayed a few more stops for the sheer entertainment of it all, except I was hungry, and she kept dropping sliced tomato and cocktail onions on the floor.
Finally, we arrived at Tower 42, which stood out from the streetscape like an Emerald City reject. Heather looped her arm with mine and dragged me through the revolving door, all the while I was busy peering up at the immensity of twinkling glass and concrete above us.
‘Have you been here before?’ William leant into my side as the elevator doors parted at restaurant level.
My hand instinctively searched for his, tugging it from his pocket and weaving my fingers between his – an automatic balsam in the loud din of an unfamiliar environment. ‘No.’
‘No, me either.’ He chanced a quick glance down between us.
Tables were draped with starch white cloth, perfectly folded napkins, glinting cutlery, and fluttering tealights. As the sun dipped further behind the skyline, the open space, with its quiet chatter, took on a soft romantic feel. It was somewhere I could see myself curling up for hours with friends, regardless of the price tag. We’d sip quality wine, dine of delicacies, and discuss world politics like we were clever. And we did.
Over a degustation menu and bottles of dusty wine that left crimson rings across the tablecloth, chairs got progressively closer, and the briefest grazing of skin became comfortable touches and held hands. This was beginning to feel a lot like falling off the edge of a boat and drifting into relationship sea. I wasn’t sure that this was what I wanted just yet, no matter how good it felt.
‘You know, I’m desperate to know.’ Joshua rubbed his hands over his thighs and rocked a little. It wasn’t highly noticeable, but it was a nervous tick. ‘What did you think, William, when Emmy walked into the clinic that morning? You’re all there, ready to work for the day, and in she walks. What’s the first thing that goes through your mind? Were you excited? Happy? Terrified?’
Heather looked at Joshua like he’d just proposed six children and a litter of kittens. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering exactly where this line of questioning was going to lead. Sure, I’d pondered that question myself briefly, though I suspected our initial reactions to each other had put those thoughts to rest.
I swigged at the fruity red wine and prayed that we’d all drunk enough that the question would land softly, maybe flail about like Mel Gibson when he leapt from the building in the first Lethal Weapon film.
‘My first thought?’ William chewed absently as he refilled our glasses. The last remaining drops splashed into his glass. ‘I mean, it was just after lunch, wasn’t it?’ He looked to me for approval. Like either of us could forget. ‘I panicked. Absolutely shit my pants. I mean, wouldn’t you? After all this time, and you think someone is no longer anything more than this sad, happy, beautiful memory—’
‘Sad happy beautiful?’ Heather looked confused, like someone had just asked if she really did want the chocolate-laced dessert.
‘That’s exactly what it is.’ William looked at me again. ‘It’s like those moments we had that made me really happy, but I didn’t get to have them anymore, so also sad. Also, she’s completely beautiful, so: sad, happy, beautiful. And utterly terrifying.’
Joshua laughed, throwing himself back into his chair. ‘You scared him, Emmy.’
‘She did!’ William laughed nervously. ‘It was a very … confronting moment.’
‘I’m terrifying?’ I asked, a smidge of hurt in my voice. ‘You could have tried being me in a room full of people I didn’t know, and someone who pretended not to.’
I hadn’t meant that to slip out like that. Well, not entirely, but I suppose it was bound to at some point. I mean, why were we only worried about how William felt? The table went quiet, his face fell, and the others shuffled uncomfortably.
‘No, no, it’s nothing like that. Confrontation is not always a bad thing.’ William squeezed my hand gently between both of his, as if he hadn’t just announced to my best friends that I’d upended his life like a canoe full of teenagers. ‘So what I mean is that it forced me to deal with a lot of things that I’d long ignored in the hope they’d just work themselves out. Of course, that doesn’t generally happen. So, it forced me to act.’
‘Look at you, Em, force for change.’ Joshua’s convex face winked at me from behind a balloon glass that sloshed with alcohol. I imagined that’s what fish saw from inside a bowl when we peered at them.
‘Hah.’ So, I was a homewrecker. Was I? If you looked carefully, you might have seen me physically harrumph, then pull myself together. Little things had been niggling at me lately about this entire situation, and how it looked from the outside. If someone at the eye of the storm thought that, then it was probably best I draw back a bit. Nobody wanted to be known as the homewrecker.
I tuned out of conversation for a bit.
‘And she’s good to work with?’ Josh looked at me. ‘Sorry, Ems, I’m just really curious.’
‘It’s fine.’ I waved his concerns away. Like it could get any worse.
‘She’s wonderful, naturally,’ William said, as if the question were rhetoric. ‘I get to work with the best person I know every single day. I love it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
Heather beamed at us. ‘So, my question.’
‘Sure.’ William shifted in his seat as another round of empty plates disappeared.
‘What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?’ She held an empty wine bottle above our head. Was she surrendering for the night, or planning on being carried home? Our waiter sashayed back across to us … and we were getting another bottle.
‘I can’t tell you that,’ William chuckled. ‘But, it’s good. At least I think it is. I just hope Emmy agrees with me’
‘Why can’t you tell me?’ Heather pouted.
‘Because it won’t be a surprise then, will it?’ He stuffed a breadstick in his mouth and gave her a sly smile.
‘I like that this is all happening while I’m here, by the way.’ I waved at the table. ‘Just … over here being a leper.’
William placed a gentle hand on my thigh. ‘You’ll love it. Promise.’
‘Promise?’
‘Absolutely.’ He looked horrified at my questioning. ‘It’s been a long time coming.’
Chapter 25
William blew through the door the next morning like a gust of wind down a tube tunnel. At the sound of him, I rolled over to face my bedroom door. He apologised to the pot plant by the sofa for scaring it, muttered not so quietly about the wall behind the door, making sure he hadn’t put the handle through it, and said a quick hello to Josh. His footsteps got heavier, until his shadow tickled the gap underneath my bedroom door.
He pushed it open slowly. A shock of his beautiful hair was the first thing I saw through barely open eyes. His smiling face followed and, when he found me in my scarcely conscious state, he slipped into the room quietly and closed the door behind him. I pulled the duvet tighter around my ear and closed my eyes again.
‘Good morning, sleepy head.’ He tiptoed across to the bed. ‘Happy Day After Your Birthday.’
‘Morning,’ I grumbled.
‘You don’t sound so great.’
‘I drank too much last night,’ I said. ‘We might’ve kicked on with a bottle or two once you went home.’
‘No,’ he gasped. ‘You did not. And you didn’t invite me?’
‘No, we really did.’ I closed my eyes and let my body sag back into its familiar rut. ‘Sorry for the lack of invite.’
Though it had been an incredible night, and we spent way too much time chatting out in the cold when everyone had gone inside, I insisted William go home. He had tried for an invite, but I wasn’t ready to jump into the unknown yet, not after the night’s discussions. Besides, was there even a time limit on ending things with one boyfriend and
taking up with another? I didn’t want to just hop, skip, and jump into another set of issues. And then…
‘Can I get into bed with you?’
‘I’m not wearing any pants,’ I slurred into the pillow.
‘Okay. Alright.’ He looked about the room for the briefest of moments, until a thought flashed across his face. He reached for the button of his jeans. ‘If I take my trousers off, we’ll be matching.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t look though, I need to protect my modesty.’
‘You? Modest?’
‘If I’m not careful,’ he said over the sound of a zip coming apart, ‘I’ll pull my underwear down, too, and no one wants my penis flopping about like a discarded pool noodle.’
‘What? Not a sea cucumber? But a full pool noodle.’
‘Uh-huh.’
One eye popped open, and I caught sight of him carefully pulling the last leg of his jeans off. They landed on the floor with a soft puff.
‘And God knows I’ve seen so much penis in my time that I don’t need to engage in any navel gazing.’
‘You what?’ I laughed. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’m a doctor, Emmy, I see quite a few. Daily. It’s almost a sport.’
‘Do you think there’s a plural for penis?’ I mused.
‘I believe the Latin term is penii. Like cactus becomes cacti.’
‘Makes sense,’ I chuckled. ‘They can both be a little … prickly.’
Even with all my back and forth rhetoric about how I didn’t want this to be a thing yet, I didn’t stop him getting in my bed; I just couldn’t be bothered. After a small gust of cold air, I felt myself sink further into the middle of the bed as William slipped under the covers, all the while eliciting a high-pitched giggle at my attempted joke. The bed wobbled about as he got comfortable and pulled the duvet up around his shoulders. His bare knee brushed against mine, sending an electric charge up the back of my legs and into my stomach. It was too early in the morning to feel like this. I took a deep breath in and enjoyed simply existing. A quiet Saturday morning in bed with William. The rest of the world rustled about outside the door but, for now, it was just us, and I was free to enjoy that, wasn’t I?
An Impossible Thing Called Love Page 19