‘I’ll make you a tea,’ I say quickly.
Priya hangs her limp head in her hands as I bustle over to the kitchen.
‘What are you doing this weekend?’ I call to her as I flick the kettle on. As soon as I say it I want to kick myself.
What is wrong with you? Obviously she won’t be doing anything. She spends every weekend with Josh.
‘Because!’ I babble before Priya can respond. ‘I thought we could have a fun weekend together. A girls’ weekend.’
I glance over and see Priya has cocked her head towards me.
‘Really?’ Priya says weakly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
I feel a wave of relief and I nod quickly.
It’s working! She’s stopped crying!
‘Yes!’ I say loudly, tipping boiling water into a large mug. ‘I’ll plan the whole thing. We’ll have a great weekend together. I’ll create a schedule, and an itinerary!’
My heart races as the words tumble out of my mouth.
Oh my God, I can crack open my new box of highlighters. Yes!
Priya blinks at me.
‘Okay,’ she says slowly. ‘And it will be fun, right?’
I grin at her, holding the steaming mug of tea.
‘Trust me, Priya,’ I say smugly, ‘it will be a blast.’
*
I wrench my eyes open and suck in a loud intake of breath as my dream fades away and I take in my dark room, silent around me.
I move my damp hands on to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. My T-shirt is wet and sticking to my skin.
I haven’t had the dream in months. I’m with Mum, we’re doing something ordinary like shopping or having dinner, but then she goes.
I always wake up before she comes back.
I feel my heartbeat start to slow down.
‘It was a dream,’ I say quietly, ‘it’s not real. You’re fine. You’re in your bed, it’s a Friday. You’re okay.’
I grip my T-shirt tighter, desperate for my heart to return to normal.
‘You’re okay,’ I say again, drawing a deep, slow breath down into my chest, ‘you’re okay.’
I find my phone, charging on my bedside table, and turn it over. The time flashes up at me.
3.07.
No messages, no missed calls.
I stare at the phone for a second.
There never are.
I drop my phone back on to my bedside table and notice the small circles of moisture swelling on the screen where my clammy fingers have been. I try to swallow, my mouth dry.
Decisively, I pull my duvet off my body and make my way towards the kitchen, my arms stuck out into the darkness. Which seems ridiculous, but I’d rather stub my toe en route to the kitchen than suffer the agony of turning the light on and blinding my poor eyes with rays of white light.
I mean, no wonder babies cry so much when they’re born. It’s torture.
I turn towards the kitchen, stepping into the pool of light cast across our living-room floor by the street light outside our house. As I glance out of the window, I hear an odd screech.
What is that?
My eyes are frantically trying to focus in the darkness, when I spot a small fox in the middle of Joy’s lawn, tearing at the plastic of her bin bags. I move towards the window and see Joy’s rubbish, originally neatly organised and ready for recycling, now all strewn across her manicured garden like a dismembered carcass.
I frown. How does she have so much rubbish?
I knock on the window. The fox’s orange eyes flash at me as it digs its claws into another plump bin bag and I wince as another mound of food spills out.
I click the living-room window open and flinch as the wet air slaps me across my face.
‘Shoo!’ I hiss to the fox. ‘Go away.’
I lean out of the window slightly and wave my arm in the fox’s direction. It doesn’t notice me.
I don’t want to get too close. Aren’t foxes pretty dangerous?
‘Shoo,’ I mutter again, glancing briefly at Joy’s silent home.
I don’t want her to wake up to this.
Begrudgingly, I tilt my body further out of the window and cough loudly, squinting under the heavy drops of rain that splash against my bare skin. At the sound of my cough, the fox slinks across the road and slips into a hedge.
As the fox disappears, I pull myself back inside and click the window shut.
I can’t clear all this up now, it’s too wet. I’ll help Joy in the morning.
I go to turn towards the kitchen, when my eyes stray down to the piles of rubbish, now scattered across Joy’s garden. I stare at the sea of food in confusion.
Why does she have so much food?
I look down at a large cake, tipped sadly on its side and sagging under the heavy downpour of rain. There’s a smattering of scones, pressed into the mud, and I notice a round, golden quiche, still intact, sitting proudly beside a puddle of milk.
There aren’t any packets or wrappers. Just piles and piles of untouched food.
Did she make all of this?
I walk into the kitchen and fill a glass with water, the image of Joy’s garden stuck in my brain.
What is she doing with so much food?
Maybe she had a party.
As I make my way back to my bedroom, the confusion is swallowed by a ripple of anxiety as I look down at my bed. I take another sip of water and climb in, gripping the covers.
‘You won’t have the dream again,’ I say quietly. ‘You’re okay.’ I close my eyes and take a deep breath. ‘You’ll be okay.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
I look down at my chart and beam. It really is a thing of beauty.
It is perfectly organised and colour coordinated, and I’ve even used my Christmas gel pens.
Priya is going to love it.
I sink down into the sofa and suck my pen as my eyes scan the schedule again.
11.00: Breakfast, prepared by me. Fry-up and continental options available.
11.15: Clean kitchen (mainly aimed at me, but I will heavily hint at Priya helping. Spoiler alert: she won’t.)
11.30: Thirty minutes of getting ready time (we can try on cute outfits for each other and do fashion shows like we used to do at uni, and fake fight over who owns what top).
12.00: Country walk.
14.00: Pub lunch with lovely glass of wine and girly chats.
17.00: Head home and straight into PJs and comfy slippers.
18.00: Choose and order takeaway.
18.00: Watch movie marathon or X Factor. Eat takeaway and defrost ice cream.
I smile at the schedule. And then, on Sunday, I’ll make us all a roast. We haven’t had a roast together in ages.
‘Hey.’
I look up as Priya wanders into the room. Her hair is screwed up into a knot above her head and her face is blotchy. She scrunches up her eyes at me in confusion.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks. ‘Are you working today?’
I look back at her and try to contain a laugh.
Please, like I’d ever work on a Saturday.
‘No,’ I say, following her into the kitchen, trying to stop my voice squeaking with excitement. ‘It’s our schedule for today.’
My eyes follow her wildly as Priya starts opening cupboards.
What is she doing?
She can’t eat breakfast now. I had her scheduled to be asleep until eleven. I haven’t warmed up any of the pastries!
‘Why don’t you have a seat?’ I say, steering her out of the kitchen.
Priya frowns at me.
‘What?’ she says grumpily. ‘Why? What are you doing?’
‘I’ll get you breakfast,’ I say, as she drops on to the sofa.
I click the kettle on. My eyes flick back over to the schedule and I feel a small swell of pride.
Gosh, I really can’t get over how beautiful this schedule is. If today goes well with Priya, I might get it framed.
‘So,’ I say, bustling back in
to the living room with two mugs of tea, ‘are you excited for our day of fun?’
I feel a grin spread across my face as I look back at Priya. Priya’s face doesn’t move.
‘Yeah?’ she says half-heartedly.
Okay. Well, that wasn’t the opening Disney number reaction I was expecting, but never mind. Maybe it will come after she’s had her tea.
Damn. I should have made her a coffee.
‘Great,’ I say. ‘So here is the schedule I made.’
I pull the schedule across our laps and wait for Priya’s reaction.
She peers down at it.
‘Wow, Bea,’ she says quietly, ‘did you make all this?’
‘Yes,’ I say smugly.
Har har. I’m a genius.
There is a silence as Priya’s eyes skim over the boxes.
I loiter, trying not to leer at the schedule as she reads.
Why isn’t she saying anything? I thought she’d be bouncing off the sofa in excitement. She’s acting like I’ve just given her a maths equation.
I feel my eyeballs strain in frustration as I look back at her.
Calm down, Bea. You do not require constant affection and reassurance.
‘Do you like it?’ I practically shout, unable to control my desperation for compliments.
All I want is for her to comment on my colour scheme or my impeccable tick box system. Is that too much to ask?
Priya hunches over, closer to the chart, her phone dangling limply in her hand. My gaze slips down and I notice an Instagram screen shining back up at me.
I frown.
I recognise that irrefutable beard.
‘Is that Josh?’ I say, my head craning round to get a better look at Priya’s phone.
She snatches her phone back to her chest, and to my alarm her eyes fill with tears.
‘No,’ she says quickly, shoving her phone into her dressing-gown pocket.
I scowl at her. It definitely was Josh.
Why is she looking at his photo?
‘What—’
‘I think I might have a shower,’ she looks back at me, ‘if that’s okay?’
Without quite meaning to, my eyes glance back at the schedule.
‘Of course,’ I babble. ‘Shall I start making breakfast?’
Priya smiles. ‘Yeah, okay. I’m not that hungry, though.’
‘Okay,’ I nod. ‘That’s okay.’
More for me.
‘Cool,’ she says. ‘See you in a bit.’
*
I click open the oven door as the smell of warm, fresh pastries swirls around the kitchen.
Bloody hell, these smell incredible.
I place them all on the cooling rack and beam.
I am such a great homemaker. The house smells incredible! And I’ve already done my Saturday morning hoovering. Look at me go.
I look down at my phone as the time ticks to 11.00.
And look at that, I am sticking to my schedule, to the second! This is going to be a great day.
‘Oh, that smells nice.’
I look up at the sound of Priya and do a double-take.
Her mass of hair is twisted up into foam rollers and she has a lurid green mask pasted over her face.
Wow, she’s really making an effort for our day of fun.
I wasn’t even planning on washing my hair.
‘Are those rollers?’ I say.
Priya hasn’t curled her hair since she first dated Josh.
‘Yeah.’ Priya hops up on to our kitchen worktop and flicks the kettle on. ‘God, I’m glad to have a weekend off work.’
‘When’s your next shift?’ I ask, taking two mugs out of the steaming dishwasher.
Priya passes me the box of tea bags. ‘Monday,’ she says. ‘I’m back on nights.’ She pulls a face and drops two tea bags into the mugs. ‘Also,’ she says, as I glug the bubbling water into our mugs, ‘I’ve got good news.’ She shoots me a large grin.
‘Oh?’ I say, gesturing towards the pastries hopefully.
Priya picks up a pastry and her black tea and walks back into the living room. I slosh some milk into my mug and follow her, pastry in hand.
Priya picks up her phone again and starts tapping as I drop down on to the floor.
‘Do you remember Tim?’ she says casually.
I shift on the floor. ‘No,’ I say, ‘I don’t think so.’
‘He’s a guy from work.’ Priya carries on, her left index finger scrolling through her phone. ‘He’s really fit.’
I turn the pastry between my hands, wincing slightly as it singes the tips of my fingers. I feel like this is too hot to eat. I can barely hold it.
But it smells so good.
Screw it! I’m just going to eat it. What’s the worst that can happen?
‘He’s been messaging me,’ she says.
My ravenous mouth takes an enormous bite of pastry, which instantly clings to the roof of my mouth like fire.
Oh my God. What have I done?
It’s really hot.
Oh my God.
‘And he wants to go on a date with us.’
Argh, this was a terrible idea! I can barely breathe.
‘What?’ I cry, a jet of steam puffing out of my mouth as if I’m a hysterical Thomas the Tank Engine.
I stare at Priya who looks back down at her phone.
I somehow swallow the pastry, which slides down my throat like a burning boulder.
I try to focus my streaming eyes on Priya.
Did she just say a date with us?
‘Us?’ I repeat.
‘Yeah,’ Priya says casually.
Hang on, what?
A date with us? Us?
Today? But I’ve scheduled today. We’re going on a walk and having a glass of wine.
That’s the plan. We both agreed on the plan.
‘Err,’ I blurt. ‘I’m not going on a three-way date.’
Priya flashes me an amused look and she laughs loudly.
I blink back at her pompously.
‘No, you idiot,’ she grins. ‘A double date. Tim’s got a friend, it’s a set-up. They want to come over tonight. No offence, Bea, but if I was going to have a three-way it wouldn’t be with you.’
She grins at me and I feel myself puff out like a peacock.
Oh, well that’s nice.
Why not? What’s wrong with me?
‘I think you’d find you’d be very lucky to have me,’ I mutter, my face flaming.
This is all going terribly. There was a reason why ‘awkward conversation about threesomes’ has never made it on to any schedule of mine.
Priya laughs again and shifts in her seat.
I blink back at her.
A double date? Tonight?
‘But,’ I say, glancing at the floor, ‘the schedule . . .’
I trail off as Priya goes back to her phone.
I don’t want to go on a double date with two random boys. I want to go on a nice walk and sit and watch Mean Girls with my best friend and a bottle of wine.
I thought Priya would want that too.
‘We can do the schedule another time,’ Priya snips, and I flinch slightly at her tone.
Following a schedule at a different time completely misses the point of a schedule.
‘They just want to come over,’ she adds. ‘It’ll be fun, like when we were at uni.’
I look back at her as she ignores me, but I notice colour rise up her face as she glares at her phone.
Come on, Bea. You have a say in this too. Priya probably doesn’t even realise how much you’d hate this. Tell her how you feel. She’s your best friend. She’ll understand.
I take a deep breath.
‘But, Priya,’ I say, ‘I don’t really—’
‘Look!’ Priya snaps, her eyes burning into her phone. ‘I want to do something fun, Bea. I’ve just been dumped. Tim is a really nice guy and I want to go on a date with him. I don’t want to just sit in on a Saturday night.’
My heart thumps.<
br />
Right.
‘Okay,’ I say in a small voice, ‘well, it doesn’t matter.’
I glance down at my schedule, which is staring optimistically back at me. I feel a burning sense of humiliation and I suddenly wish I’d never made it.
Of course she doesn’t want to do the schedule. Who would? What sort of 24-year-old makes a schedule on a Saturday morning filled with things you normally do with your grandparents?
Who would want to do any of this stuff?
With great effort, Priya tears her eyes away from her phone to look at me.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says grumpily, ‘this day sounds fun. I just need to get out there.’
To my alarm I feel my eyes burn as I attempt to hide my bright schedule under my foot.
I nod and pull myself to my feet.
‘I’m going to get in the shower,’ I say limply.
Stupid Bea. This is why you spend every weekend on your own.
‘Bea!’ Priya calls after me.
I turn back to look at her.
‘Tonight will be fun, okay? I promise.’
I look at her blankly and try to force a smile.
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘sure.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
I shoot Priya a look as she shimmies past me, anxiety wriggling inside me like a jittery tapeworm.
I can’t believe I’m about to have two strangers in my house. Two strange men too.
And one of the strangers will be a man that I’m going to have to talk to all night. Will he want to talk about RuPaul’s Drag Race? Unlikely.
I glance down at my wine glass, wobbling slightly in my hand.
We didn’t follow my schedule. Priya said that we didn’t have time to do any of it and insisted that she needed all day to get ready.
I glance over at Priya who is glued to her phone, like she has been all day. Her eyes are angry slits and her lips are sucked together like a prune.
I angle my body to face her.
I bet she doesn’t really want to go on this date either. I’ve never even heard of her mentioning this Tim guy before. And a guy from work? You don’t want to dip your nib in the office ink, everyone knows that.
I take a sip of wine.
I try to catch Priya’s eye and move the wine glass between my hands. It sticks slightly to my clammy fingers.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
She hasn’t spoken to me for about two hours. I’m not sure when she is planning on breaking this weird silence. She’d better speak when they arrive. I’m certainly not leading the conversation. I can barely lead a conga.
The Accidental Love Letter Page 5