Love & London: The love story 2021 needs. Heartbreakingly beautiful and hilariously funny!

by Ellie White

  Well, shit. That brings me back down to earth with a bump.

  "So, now that we have that cleared up, can you go and get dressed? We've got plans."

  I do as I'm told, feeling terribly embarrassed and a little guilty for thinking the worst.

  I quickly shower, get dressed and put on my make-up while Jake lounges on my bed, idly watching TV.

  "Man, I have got to get me one of these beds," he says, admiring the fact the TV rises out of the foot of the bed. When I told him about it, he was like a kid at Christmas, inspecting every inch of it before making himself incredibly comfortable on my side.

  "Are you going to tell me why you we're so upset at the thought of Cylvie and me together?" he asks, watching me in my dressing table mirror as I brush my freshly blow-dried hair.

  "No. It's stupid"

  "I'm not disputing that... I'm 99.9% sure it's stupid," he says, taunting me.

  "I'll tell you if you tell me who you were angry texting last night at the pub, Helen and Laura told me."

  He sighs as he combs his fingers through his hair, probably weighing up whether or not telling me is worth opening up. It's the only way I can think of avoiding the subject of Cylvie because, I'll be honest, I really don't know why I'm so against her. Yeah, she is mean and cruel but, deep down, I want her approval, I want her to like me. I've always been the type of person who needs validation, the type of person that needs to be liked by everyone. As far as I'm aware, I've done nothing to offend her and, yet, she constantly cuts me down. It grates on me.

  Yeah, like I said, stupid.

  "I was texting you," he finally says. I really didn't expect this conversation to continue so I turn on my stool to face him.

  "Me? Why?" I say, taken by surprise.

  "The whole you-on-a-date thing took me off guard. You're my friend, Maggs, and I know we haven't had a great relationship for a few years but you're still one of my oldest and best friends and you didn't tell me you were dating again. I care about you. I want you to be safe. I know that the decision to start dating must have been a hard one to make. I just want you to know that you can talk to me about anything and, since we've spent every recent waking moment either together or talking to each other, I didn't expect you to keep that a secret from me. I don't know what else to say other than ‘I'm sorry’."

  "Oh," is all I can muster in response to him.

  I turn back to face my dressing table mirror and busy myself with my mascara while I digest what he's said.

  "She's not good enough for you," I say, grabbing his attention again and meeting his eyes in mirror. "She is mean and narcissistic and you deserve better. You deserve someone who is honest and kind and brings out the best in you."

  "I don't know about that. I've not been the best behaved myself when it comes to women."

  "Everyone makes mistakes, we've all done things we're not proud of. You should focus on the person you are now, not the person you once were, because the Jake you are now deserves the world."

  "Is that what you're doing? Focusing on who you are now?"

  "I'm trying to. It would help if I knew who I was anymore," I admit. "I'm still figuring that part out."

  ***

  After our honest talk in my flat, Jake and I spend the day slowly wandering around Borough Market, all tensions left behind. He links my arm through his as we peruse the different stalls, aimlessly trying to narrow down what we want to eat for lunch. There is just far too much choice.

  The smell of delicious world food fills the air and, with every moment that passes, my stomach growls louder and louder in protest. I never did order that take away last night, settling for a packet of chocolate Hobnobs and a Cherry Bakewell, instead.

  Okay, three Cherry Bakewells but I'd had a bad night so I was comfort eating.

  "Can you just pick something, please?" Jake begs me. "You're making some strange noises over there."

  "Okay... Paella," I say, eventually making up my mind.

  "I don't like seafood," he moans.

  "You can get something else, you know? We don't have to eat the same thing," I argue.

  "But, if I get something you like, you'll want some which isn't fair on me, is it?" he whines on. "You know I can't say no to you when you want feeding."

  I laugh because it's true. I often get FOMO when it comes to food and he always shares with me even when he doesn't want to.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you act like a toddler when you're hungry?" I say. He looks at me with the cutest pet lip and I can't stop the laughter bubbling up again.

  "Okay, fine, you decide. What do you want to eat?" I ask, slowly like I'm talking to a child.

  "I feel like pizza," he eventually says.

  "Okay, you get pizza and I'll get a spag bol and we can split them."

  He agrees so I quickly take his hand and lead him back through the crowd to the Italian stall we walked past about an hour ago.

  "I feel like I need to remind you that I'm lactose intolerant so we will either have to pick vegan cheese or go cheeseless."

  "I know, Jake, I remember."

  We pick up our food and walk towards the river to a secluded bench in Sarah Ballantyne Square. Although it's a bit cold and gloomy, the rain and wind thankfully hold off.

  "This was the best idea you've had today," he says, taking a bite of our cheese-less pizza.

  "I have those, occasionally."

  My phone noisily vibrates for the umpteenth time today.

  "What is going on with your phone?" Jake asks.

  I just groan as I look at the screen. Yet more dick pics. Great.

  He takes my phone off me and his face drops when he notices what it is.

  "Okay, I am taking you off this bloody app. How many of those have you gotten?" he says, holding it up to my face to unlock it.

  "Please do. I lost count at thirty-five or something."

  He looks horrified and, after a few minutes of silently seething to himself, he hands my phone back.

  "There, your profiles are deleted and apps are uninstalled."

  "Thanks. It should have been the first thing I did when I got home last night," I say, putting my phone away again and returning to our food.

  ***

  After we polished off the very last bite of our delicious lunch, we went back to the market to pick up some produce and then went in search of a pub. I was parched after a day of walking around the busy market and our arms ached after being loaded down with bags of amazing food.

  I couldn't leave without stocking up on the freshest fruit I've ever seen: It makes the fruit in the supermarket look like scraps. Not to mention the enormous cakes we passed on our way out that I had to buy! Jake insisted on buying burgers to make for our dinner tonight so we picked the plumpest tomatoes and the best potatoes we could find at the greengrocers along with some deliciously smelling, fresh bread buns to complete our meal.

  We hid away in the warm, cosy pub for hours until we decided we were almost too drunk to cook and had better make our way back to Jake’s flat.

  I had never been in Jake's flat before tonight and it's surprising how neat and tidy it is for a bachelor pad, especially considering the chaos his side of our office is in. He has bookshelves full of DVDs, CDs and all of the old vinyl records he's collected over the years. When I question if he has a need for CDs and DVD's (since he already has subscriptions to 4 different TV and movie streaming platforms plus Amazon Music) his answer is simple.

  "What if the Internet went down?" he proposes. I can't fault his logic.

  I pull out a CD and smile as the memories hit me. "You still have this CD?"

  "Uh, yes, it's amazing!"

  I mess about with his CD player, select track two and the Fratellis' 'Chelsea Dagger' plays on the surround sound. The music takes me back to a time where we had no worries and trauma didn't haunt me on a daily basis.

  "I used to love this song," I say, grinning. "You would always have it playing in your car when you would pick us up from sch
ool after you had finished sixth form. Everyone thought you we're so cool because you listened to Indie Rock, wore a leather jacket and drove an old, shitty Citroen Saxo."

  "Good because I thought I was so cool."

  "The girls in my year would go crazy wanting to wait with me, Philip and Laura so they could catch a small glimpse of you."

  "Teenage girls are apparently easy to please if all it took was me turning up in my shitty car."

  "Every girl in our school fancied you and James. It was all I heard about for years; horny teenage girls talking about what they wanted to do to my brother and best friend." I pretend to wretch at the thought.

  He laughs because he knows it's true. He knew that, back then, everyone fancied him and he loved it.

  "You know, you were pretty cool, too. The way you'd immediately jump up and dance whenever the Arctic Monkeys would come on the radio. You’d wear your short skirts, even in the winter, and those white sand shoes you'd get from the army surplus shop in town. You always looked way better than the girls who'd walk around with a face full of cheap make-up and fake designer clothes and handbags they'd buy in Benidorm on their summer holidays."

  His compliment makes me smile. I don't tell him how much I envied those girls growing up, how I still envy girls like that. Like Cylvie. Except, with her, the fake stuff is most definitely designer fresh from Milan, Paris or New York and her make-up is expertly applied by the best make-up artists in the country.

  I had forgotten all about those shoes until he brought it up. They were the most comfortable shoes I'd ever owned and I insisted on wearing them everywhere. My style hasn’t changed that much. Even now, when I am not working, I opt for skinny jeans and my worn-out Adidas Gazelles. I wear high heels and expensive dresses for work but it's the last thing I want to wear on a weekend.

  Jake connects his phone to the speakers and searches for a suitable playlist while I open the bottle of red wine we bought at one of the stalls today. We get started on cooking our burgers as we sing along and dance in the kitchen to late noughties Indie Rock anthems. It's surprising how many of the words we remember considering I haven't listened to this music in years. Jake appoints me sous chef and I happily help by chopping the potatoes into chips, ready to go in the air fryer.

  "For a man who eats out a lot, you have all the kitchen gadgets, don't you?" I say, looking around his kitchen at the various appliances.

  "I love cooking, I just don't have the time to do it very often. Mum taught me how to cook and bake so I used to help her all the time when we were growing up. Dad would go off to the football on a weekend and I preferred to stay home and bake a cake or pie or whatever else with Mum."

  "I always remember you being a mummy's boy. It's really sweet."

  "I always have been a mummy's boy. I'm not ashamed to admit it," he says, smiling.

  "I loved spending time with my dad and I always wanted to be just like him but I was a mummy's girl. She's my best friend… Or she was, at least. I just wish I had time to go out there more often than I do."

  "My mum misses you, too, you know? She talks about you all the time. Every time she calls me, you're at the top of her list of questions. You and Laura are like daughters to her."

  I think about that for a second. I really should make the effort and spend more time with Mum and Jake's Mum, Margaret, as well as Laura's mum, Angie. I make a mental note to plan a girl’s day sometime soon, maybe to the theatre. We always said we'd go see Mamma Mia but never got around to it. I get excited thinking about how much fun we used to have on our nights out and quickly text Laura my plan to search online for tickets in the morning.

  I know it'll make our mums happy but, not only that, it’ll make me happy, too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Laura: Let us know when you're home safe. Enjoy your date!

  Helen: And tell us all about it!

  Maggie: There's not much to tell. He's half an hour late. I'm leaving in 5 when I've finished my wine. Are you at the pub?

  "This dating thing is turning out to be one big failure after another. Last week, I end up in handcuffs - Not the kinky kind, the police kind - because they thought I was involved in my Tinder date's drug cartel or whatever. This week, my date stands me up," I say to the waitress as I pay for my wine. "Oh god-," I say, suddenly distracted by what I see - or rather, who.

  "Is that your date?" she asks, staring at Jake as he makes his way to my table.

  "No, he's my business partner and my best friend. We're close enough for this to be really embarrassing for me."

  He smiles at the waitress as she leaves my table with a reassuring pat on my shoulder.

  Christ. Kill me, now.

  "Jake! What are you doing here?" I ask, trying not to think about how gorgeous he looks in the dim candlelight of the restaurant.

  After our day at Borough Market last Saturday, we spent the rest of the night in his flat. We had far too much to drink and I fell asleep on his couch. When I woke up in his bed the next morning, I feared the worst, worried that I had done something I couldn't take back. Turns out we had both passed out on the sofa and, when he woke up a few hours later, he carried me to his bed and he took himself back to the sofa like a gentleman.

  Earlier in the week (as promised), Laura had set me up with the guy that goes into her bakery. This time, I took no chances and told Jake right away. Instead of reacting the way he did last time, he was okay about it all. That being said, he didn't seem too interested in knowing more than the date and venue so we didn’t talk about it all week.

  "I'm meeting my team for our belated Christmas night out at Junkyard Golf and this is the only Friday that everyone could get together. It's just down the road and I saw you through the window. Thought I'd say hi and check how your date is going, see if I needed to intimidate anyone."

  Right, he did tell me about that. I should have known he’d walk right past here before I chose the window seat. Now would be an appropriate time for the ground to open and swallow me up.

  "You haven't checked the group chat then?" I say as I finish my glass of wine and stand to put my coat on.

  "No, what's up?" he says, getting his phone out to catch up on the messages he's missed. "Oh," he adds as he reads.

  "I don't want to keep you. I'm just going to go home and wallow in my own self-pity," I say with an exasperated sigh. “Might swing by The George to see the others.”

  "Come with me! Brian had childcare issues and had to cancel but we already booked his spot and it's paid for."

  "I shouldn't. I don't want to intrude."

  "You can't waste a gorgeous dress like that by going home at 8 o’clock. Please?" he asks nicely as he wraps my scarf around me, carefully un-tucking my hair from the back. "I'm not going to take ‘no’ for an answer so you can spare us the argument and just come with me?"

  I beam up at him. "I have been wanting to go there for ages."

  "Besides that, I need you to keep me on the straight and narrow. In the office, my team are professional, hardworking individuals. After a couple of drinks, they're like wild animals and you know how easily lead I am.”

  He offers me his arm the way he always does and we step into the frosty winter air which sparks an involuntary shudder up my spine.

  "Are you cold?" he asks as I pull my coat tighter around my body.

  "Yeah, but I'll warm up when we start walking."

  He takes off his thick, wool scarf and wraps it around my shoulders.

  "Aren't you cold now?"

  "I've just spent half an hour on a hot, sweaty tube. I need to cool down," he says, smiling as he links my arm back through his.

  It's amazing how comfortable this has become, Jake and I walking closely together with either my arm linking his or his arm around my shoulder.

  "Are you sure your team won't mind me tagging along?" I ask nervously. "Should you not call someone and double check?"

  "Of course not. Anyway, you know most of them now that they've moved up with us," he says in an
attempt to reassure me.

  It's only a short walk from the restaurant to Junkyard Golf and, as we turn off the main road onto a pedestrian street, the bar is hard to miss. Neon flashing lights and the thumping base of the music coming from the small, windowed entryway announce its location.

  Since we're last to arrive, almost everyone is already waiting inside.

  "You're late," a girl I don't recognise says with a smile.

  "I had to pick up a straggler," Jake answers, patting my arm as I smile at the girl.

  "Hi, I'm Claire," the girl says, holding out her hand with a welcoming smile.

  "Maggie."

  "I know who you are and it's lovely to finally meet you. I've heard so many wonderful things," she says, winking at Jake who just rolls his eyes at her.

  "Claire is currently on maternity leave. She comes back next month - Thank God. She's the best Copy Writer we have and we miss her dearly."

  "Everyone else is inside, come on," she says, leading the way through the doors to the most brilliantly chaotic place I've ever set foot in.

  It's like I'm walking into the Tardis. The small entryway leads way to a much bigger bar area surrounded by chain link fence, exposed brickwork and much more neon. Even the golf balls are fluorescent. A dozen familiar faces greet us with enthusiasm. I make my way around the group and, by the time I'm finished saying hello to everyone, Claire is back from the bar with two huge cocktails decorated with party rings and popping candy.

  "There are 7 cocktails and 2 alcoholic slushes on the menu. I say we try them all. This one is called ‘Hotline Ting’," she says grinning at me as I eagerly take the pink and purple drink from her. "I don't get out often so I’m making the most of a child-free night," she explains as she takes a large mouthful of the colourful liquid.

  "Cheers to that," I say as we clink glasses.

  "So, how long have you and Jake been together?"

  "Oh, we're not…"

  "Sorry, I just assumed... You looked so comfortable with each other, that's all. Pretend I didn't say anything," she says, waving her hand in dismissal.