Tuesday (hungover) and Wednesday (still feeling rough) are spent finalising the pitches for Friday’s meeting, not that any of them particularly sound like winners to me. Mind you, if someone had proposed Bull Dog as a brand name, I wouldn’t have predicted that to be the huge success it is. Or that ‘intelligently designed’ would be the phrase you lead with when describing skincare.
But, honestly, I feel like I don’t know anything about anything anymore.
‘What do you think of Face Off as a concept?’ I keep pitching to Becky, hoping something will give me that ‘Jackpot!’ feeling. ‘Touch of testosterone in the inferred conflict, as well as removing the grime of the day. Hold on!’ I reach for my ringing phone. It’s reception.
‘Hi, this is Amy.’
‘Amy, there’s someone here to see you.’
‘Who—’ The line goes dead. ‘Every time.’ I shake my head.
‘She likes to keep us guessing.’
I huff as I get to my feet. ‘I bet it’s not even for me. Remember last time I signed for that package and then got accused of stealing five hundred latex gloves from the botox doctor down the hall?’
Becky has already stopped listening. ‘See you tomorrow!’
‘What?’
She points to the clock, never one to work a minute longer than our official close of business. It’s a good thing she reminded me – I promised Charlotte I’d come straight over to hers. In fact, it could well be her coming to meet me. I grab my bags and take the stairs at a clip.
‘Face Off, off your face . . . BEN!’ I exclaim coming to a sudden halt as I enter reception.
‘Hi!’ He smiles broadly as I approach.
‘Is everything all right?’ I look around, though I don’t know what I’m looking for.
‘Yes, everything’s fine – I hope it’s okay I came to your work? Nessa is at the groomer’s around the corner so I thought I’d chance it and see if you wanted to grab a drink.’
I was not expecting this. After the awkwardness of our last encounter I thought he’d just discreetly back out of my life.
‘Oh gosh, any other time I would,’ I respond. ‘But I’m just heading to Charlotte’s, we’re all getting together to hear about her honeymoon.’
‘Oh, no worries.’
‘But you could walk with me if you like, she’s just down the road from here . . .’
‘Perfect!’ He brightens. ‘Let me carry one of your bags, you look a bit laden down.’
I give him a grateful smile and hand him my farmer’s market tote. ‘It’s dragon fruit, if you’re wondering – my contribution to the dinner party, selected in accordance with my culinary skills.’
‘I’m sure you’ll do a beautiful job slicing them.’
‘I do have a particular flair for arranging fruit,’ I acknowledge as we sidestep a straggle of teenagers. ‘So, what’s the latest on Switzerland? Is there yodelling in your future?’
‘Actually, that’s why I wanted to see you – I leave first thing tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’
He nods. ‘Still haven’t packed but I wanted to apologise in person, for not being able to come to your mum’s party.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that!’ I assure him, actually quite relieved that he won’t be there. We continue on. ‘Gosh, so you’re really going up the Alps?’
‘I am. Of course, I’m suddenly thinking of a million reasons not to go now that it’s real.’
‘I think I can re-convince you in three words.’
‘Go on . . .’
‘Lindt Lindor Truffles.’
‘They are the smoothest,’ he acknowledges.
‘Like silk,’ I confirm. ‘Besides, this is what you want – the chance to focus on your screenplay.’
‘Maybe that’s why I’m nervous. I’d be all out of excuses there.’
‘Then all the more reason to go,’ I insist. ‘I see it all the time – young people today behaving like they’ve got all the time in the world to achieve their dreams. They haven’t. The older you get, the harder it is to run on adrenalin and optimism. You start to lose your nerve, second-guess yourself, worry about mortgage payments. It’s so much better to go all in when you haven’t got so much to lose, you know, when you are naturally more daring.’
‘Did you just call me a young person?’
‘You are a young person,’ I grin. ‘So go to the mountaintop. Fill your lungs with that zingingly fresh air and the page with your best work.’
He blinks back at me, a sheen to his eyes. ‘Thank you. I needed to hear that. All of my friends have been saying I’ll get cabin fever in a week.’
‘Do any of them visit fallen angel statues in cemeteries?’
‘No,’ he admits.
‘Well then. I’m sure you’ll miss them but they’ll all be here when you come back. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day and you’re the right man for the job – you’ve got the kind of heart that needs to be filled up with wonder.’
He heaves an extended sigh. ‘I really hope we can stay in touch.’
I give a little shrug. ‘Of course.’ Though I’m fairly certain he’ll forget me at the first glimpse of a snow bunny hottie.
‘And if you ever want to talk about your mum . . .’
I look up at him.
‘You know I understand what you’re going through.’
Now it’s my turn to get an eye sheen going.
‘Sometimes I want to reminisce about my grandmother but when I speak to my family they just say they miss her too and change the subject.’ He pushes back his floppy hair. ‘If you wanted to tell me everything about your mum from the beginning, just to practise remembering all the good bits, I’d be happy to listen.’
‘That’s really lovely of you,’ I sigh. ‘And I’d like to hear everything about your grandmother.’
He smiles. ‘Do I deduce from the fact that we’ve stopped that we’ve reached your friend’s house?’
I nod, suddenly feeling like I am going to miss this person I hardly know.
‘Okay, well, I won’t hold you up. I’m glad I got the chance to say goodbye.’ He moves towards me, arms outstretched. In my bid to make it very clear I’m not in any way angling for a kiss, I somehow misjudge the direction of his head and our lips meet, just fleetingly but it’s enough . . .
I wait for the rush, for the barrage of images and emotions.
None come.
‘Well, what do you know?’ I blink back at him. ‘We were always meant to just be friends.’
‘That bad?’ His fingertips go to his mouth.
‘No!’ I burst out laughing and then look at him fondly. ‘Say goodbye to Nessa for me.’
‘I will,’ he beams back.
As I wave him off I feel a strange sense of calm wash over me.
*
I turn to give an extra jaunty rap to Charlotte’s heavy brass knocker but the door opens before I even get the chance.
‘Oh my god! Is Ben back in the game?’
‘Were you watching us?’
‘Obviously!’ she hoots. ‘But I couldn’t hear anything!’
‘You look gorgeous, by the way,’ I say, taking in her khaki silk maxi and golden tan.
‘You too! No one wears a shirtdress like you.’
‘All white and I didn’t spill anything on it all day!’ I say proudly. Today really is turning out to be a good day.
‘Come on, we haven’t got long before Marcus gets home.’ She hustles me through to the lounge, still very much an interior design showroom as opposed to a home – I half expect to be handed a swatch of fabric samples as we sink into the sofa.
‘So how were the penguins?’
‘We can talk about the honeymoon when we’re all together,’ Charlotte says briskly. ‘Right now we need to focus on your romantic situation – I have two items to discuss but you go first as the new Ben dynamic could change everything.’
‘There’s nothing new to tell – except that he’s moving to Switzerland tomorrow . . .’
Charlotte looks deflated. ‘But the way he was looking at you . . .’
I smile. ‘It was nice. But I kissed him and nothing.’
‘Really?’
‘Zero romance,’ I confirm.
‘And you’re okay with this because . . .?’
‘Because I actually think we’re going to be friends.’ I clap my hands together. ‘So, what are your two items?’
‘They are not great items.’
‘Oh. Do we have to address them now?’ Just as I was starting to feel good.
‘The sooner we face reality, the sooner we can move on.’
Reality? This is never fun.
‘Firstly, May’s hunch was right – the venue owner did have a guest that night.’
My hand goes to my heart. Here we go again.
‘But it was a woman. His mother, who is in her eighties.’
‘Ah.’
‘I also checked if there were any extra staff that we hadn’t accounted for but that was another dead end.’
‘And the second thing?’ I ask, keen to move on.
‘Marcus got the film developed. The sepia one from May’s camera.’
I give a little shudder.
‘He’s bringing the pictures home with him from work. We took a few snaps on the honeymoon so we didn’t want to ask May to develop it.’
‘Say no more.’
‘I mean, she said sepia was really flattering and there was just so much good wine . . .’
‘Really . . . Say. No. More!’ I hold up my hand for emphasis. And then I get a wary look. ‘I feel like you are trying to prepare me for some bad news.’
‘Not at all. We haven’t seen them yet, it’s just . . .’
‘You don’t think they are going to provide any revelations,’ I finish her sentence for her.
She sighs. ‘I’ve been over the guest list so many times. I may have even made a few discreet enquiries while I was away . . .’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I just wanted to do my due diligence. You know I’m a very thorough person.’
‘That I do.’ My eyes narrow. ‘What did you find?’
‘That’s just it – I drew blank after blank.’ And then her expression changes. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way but I have to ask . . .’
‘What?’ I gulp, not liking where this is going. I pull one of the overstuffed cushions onto my lap for comfort but then find myself prickled by tiny white feathers trying to poke their way to freedom.
‘Look, you were pretty drunk – we all were. Is it possible that the premonitions got muddled up with a dream. A really vivid one?’
My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
‘I’m not doubting you, Amy. But the wedding setting . . .’
‘You think the happy ending premonition was just wishful thinking?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know how else to explain it now that Ben and Tristan are out of the picture and we know you’re not going to have a sudden change of heart about Elliot.’
I sigh. What if she’s right? What if this has all been a wild goose chase of my own invention.
‘Hi, honey, I’m home!’ a voice calls from the hall.
‘Marcus,’ Charlotte mouths, though I think even I could have deduced that.
‘Heyyy, how are you?’ I say, getting to my feet so I can shake his hand like a politician while he opts for a hug.
‘Is that appropriate?’ He darts a look at his wife. ‘I never know these days.’
‘It’s fine, you’re family now.’ I pat his pinstripe shoulder. ‘You’re looking very well.’
‘I am well. The only bore is having to go back to work after all that bliss.’
‘I bet,’ I say, clinging to the small talk.
‘The photos, darling . . .’ Charlotte reaches out her hand.
He gives her a cautionary look. ‘Perhaps we should quickly vet them first?’
‘Yes, why don’t you do that?’ I falter, not sure where to position myself. ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’
A sugary tea sounds appealing right now.
‘No need, it won’t take a second.’
As the newlyweds begin sorting through the pictures, giggling and nudging, gazing and reminiscing, my mind wanders. Could Charlotte be right? Is it possible that my happy ending vision was nothing more than a dream? Certainly all the memories were tangled in my boozy brain. But why would only the bad ones be verified? And why would the good one feel the most real of all?
‘Oh my god! I told you that was a bad angle!’ Charlotte suddenly exclaims, shredding one picture on the spot.
‘Wedding, wedding . . .’ Marcus begins to drop the vetted images on the sofa cushion beside me.
I hold them up one by one trying to bring my blurry eyes into focus. It’s surreal to be taken back to that night once more, remembering the giddiness as I careened between assorted men. Would I do things differently if I could guide myself with the knowledge I have now? Of course I would. I’d avoid Tristan for one thing. When I look at his face now I just feel repulsed. I can’t wait for that whole scenario to become a distant memory. Oddly the sight of Elliot makes me feel almost fond now, but that could be because he will be forever associated with free Nutella bombolone.
‘You look so beautiful in this one,’ I say to Charlotte, pointing to an image of her looking lovingly at Marcus.
‘Am I the luckiest guy in the world or what?’ he smiles.
‘Don’t get distracted,’ Charlotte chides. ‘This is our last chance to find a clue.’ She flips through a series of similar images. ‘What are all these ones of the entrance?’
‘You told me to get a picture of the main staircase,’ Marcus defends himself. ‘It kept coming out wonky.’
‘I think it was a bit wonky,’ I concede.
‘Oh my god!’ Charlotte clasps a photo to her chest.
‘What?’
‘Marcus – get your grandmother’s magnifying glass.’
‘What did you see?’ I clamour.
She reaches for my hand and grips it tight. ‘I just need to be sure.’
She takes the jewelled handle and walks over to the window, holds up the picture and squints at it like Miss Marple.
‘It’s him,’ she whispers in a stunned voice.
‘Him who?’
‘Your third kiss.’
‘What?’ I lunge towards her.
‘It doesn’t make any sense . . .’ She trails off, limply handing me the magnifying glass. ‘Look to the left of the staircase . . .’
‘To the left . . .’ My heart stops. I can’t believe it – there I am, lost in the dreamiest embrace.
With Gareth.
All the feelings come flooding back – the warmth, the heart-swirling joy, the certainty, the comfort, the desire.
‘How can this be?’ I croak.
Charlotte shakes her head, stunned. ‘I don’t know. Why would he deny this?’
I can’t take my eyes off the picture.
Marcus shifts awkwardly, lightly clearing his throat.
We both turn to him.
‘Do you have some kind of man insight?’ I ask. ‘Why would he be so insistent he’s not The One? Why wouldn’t he speak up?’
‘Um.’ Marcus looks trapped.
‘You can say,’ I urge him. ‘Is it obvious to you that he doesn’t want anyone to know? Or that he just wants to forget it because he thinks of it as a mistake?’
‘I was going to say he might be peeved because it meant the world to him and then he saw you kissing another man. Or that he’s hurt because you didn’t even remember kissing him.’
‘Oh god, he’s got a point – how could I not remember?’ I turn to Charlotte. ‘I mean, of all the people . . .’
She looks as lost as me.
My shoulders slump. ‘He’s my happy ever after and he wants no part of it.’
‘You need to ask him outright. He’s the only one that knows what actually happened. Remember, he wasn’t really drinking.’
‘No way,’ I reply.
‘No way?’
‘He’s had multiple opportunities to tell me and besides, he’s seeing Peony now.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Marcus grimaces. ‘I saw her at work today and when I asked how things were going, she looked like she wanted to kill me.’
‘Really?’
Marcus leans forward. ‘You know I’m a man and thus would never recommend talking as a solution to a problem . . .’
‘Exactly!’ I turn to Charlotte.
‘But in this case, I really think you should clear the air.’
‘What?’ I turn on him.
‘For the sake of your friendship and the group dynamic.’
‘It worked out with Ben,’ Charlotte encourages.
‘Well, that’s a little bit different – I haven’t been in love with him for the last twenty years!’
The pair of them raise their brows at me.
I blink in shock. ‘Did I just say what I think I just said?’
They nod back at me.
‘Oh my god – I think it’s true,’ I mutter in a daze. ‘I think I’ve loved him since that first day he walked into the classroom.’
I flump down on the sofa, releasing the photograph to the table so I can let my head fall into my hands.
‘Are you okay?’ Charlotte sits beside me.
I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry to spill out all these crazy emotions, this is supposed to be a fun night.’
‘Not at all,’ Marcus soothes, taking a seat on the other side of me, putting his hand on top of Charlotte’s.
Is this how children feel when parents join forces to rally around them? It’s really quite nice.
‘There’s no time like the present,’ Charlotte insists. ‘If we leave now, we might get to Gareth’s before the others and then Marcus and I can make ourselves scarce.’
‘Oh no. Not tonight. I don’t want to spoil the evening.’
‘I know you, Amy,’ Charlotte tuts. ‘You’re just going to spiral if you don’t nip this in the bud.’
I turn back to face her, eyes welling up again. ‘I kissed him! I kissed Gareth.’
‘You know the weirdest thing? It suddenly makes perfect sense, the two of you, together.’ She hands the photograph back to me. ‘Look at the pair of you!’
I gaze at it and then gaze some more. This kiss looks so ardent, so real. ‘At least we know now I didn’t dream it.’
Charlotte nods. ‘We just need to find out what happened next.’
‘I spoiled it,’ I sigh. ‘Whatever the reason, it has to come down to that.’
‘Well,’ she shrugs, slotting the photograph into my shirtdress pocket above my heart. ‘There’s only one way to find out for sure.’
