‘Shit,’ Harvey said. ‘That is not a good day.’
‘That’s not even all of it,’ Cat said. ‘They were the edited highlights.’
‘I think you need to talk to your roommates…’ Harvey said gently.
‘I was thinking maybe a passive aggressive note,’ Cat said.
Harvey laughed. ‘That could work. But I always think talking is better.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right,’ Cat said. ‘Or maybe I’ll just move out.’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’
‘But where would I go? I’ve had a look at places I can afford and Kelly’s got cupboards that look more comfortable. Actually I probably could move into one of Kelly’s cupboards.’
‘I know,’ Harvey said. ‘It’s shitty. I’m sorry.’
Cat felt her shoulders start to relax for the first time in years. She shuffled down further under the duvet and thought about how sweet Harvey had been with Arnold. How well they’d got on in the first pub before the awkwardness of the conversation in the fake forest.
‘I wanted to ask you something actually,’ Cat said, closing her eyes as if she could hide from herself. ‘It’s going to sound a bit weird.’
Oh god, now she’d made it sound like she was about to Pretty Woman him. ‘It’s not sex or anything.’ Yeah, that was definitely less awkward.
Harvey laughed. ‘I didn’t think it was. I do now, obviously.’
‘God. Shut up. OK, you know Kelly? And her blog? She gets all these press opportunities and she’s offered me one at a spa – you know, massages, steam rooms, watercress and melon for lunch? But it’s for couples, so I have to take a man. And I don’t know any. But I really want to go because I’m stressed to fuck. So. What do you think?’
There was another silence, which Cat filled by assuming Harvey was appalled at the idea and wondering how he could leave the country and change his identity.
‘I mean, that’s not the most flattering offer I’ve ever had,’ he said eventually.
Cat laughed. ‘I’m sorry. What I meant was, I think it would be nice to spend a day at a spa with you. What do you think?’
‘I think it sounds great,’ Harvey said. ‘I’d love to join you. For massages, steam rooms, and shit salad. Thank you.’
‘Great,’ Cat said. ‘Text me your email and I’ll send you the info.’
‘And just so you know?’ he added. ‘If you had been propositioning me? I’d have been fine with that.’
* * *
Cat hadn’t long ended the call and was trying to decide between a bath and bed, when there was a tentative knock on her door and Georgie popped her head round.
‘Got a minute?’
Cat shuffled up to lean back against the headboard. ‘I actually wanted to talk to you too.’
Georgie sat at the end of Cat’s bed, pulling her feet up to sit cross-legged and picking the yellow polish off her toenails as she talked.
‘So I don’t know if you know that this flat was for sale,’ Georgie started.
Cat blinked at her. ‘No. I had no idea. Since when?’
‘Not long actually,’ Georgie said. ‘But now it’s sold.’
‘It’s sold?!’ Cat said. ‘Shit. What does that mean?’
‘Well, the thing is—’ Georgie stretched one leg out to the side ‘—we’ve bought it.’
For a second, Cat thought she meant the two of them: Georgie and Cat. She felt a burst of relief to be secure, to have a home that couldn’t be snatched away on a whim, to not have to constantly cull her possessions because it was too much of a faff (and too expensive) to hire a van to move each time. She hadn’t exactly planned to go into home ownership with someone she couldn’t really stand, but swings and roundabouts.
And then she realised.
‘You mean you have. You and…’ She was totally blanking on Georgie’s boyfriend’s name.
‘Pete,’ Georgie filled in. ‘Yes.’
‘Right,’ Cat said.
‘So I guess this is me giving you six weeks’ notice to leave.’
‘Right,’ Cat said again. ‘OK. Thanks for letting me know.’
Of course she was going to let her know. She wanted her out. In six weeks! Cat had no idea where she was going to go.
Georgie stood up and headed back over to the door, stopping with her hand on the handle.
‘Oh, what did you want to talk to me about?’
Cat shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
Eighteen
‘So,’ Nick said from the other side of the table. ‘Good Christmas?’
He’d texted her and suggested they meet in Central London, away from the office. They’d met at Picturehouse Central, upstairs in the members’ bar, with a view of Shaftesbury Avenue that reminded Cat of why she loved London so much. Sometimes.
She’d seen Nick at work a few times since the embarrassing incident, and they seemed to have got past it fairly well – Cat only blushed approximately three shades darker than her natural tone by now – but the last time he’d come in, he’d suggested that they actually go and get the coffee and here they were.
‘Yeah. Lovely, thanks.’ She’d spent Christmas Day and Boxing Day at Kelly’s and the rest of the week sorting through her belongings to see what she needed to pack and what she could throw away. It wasn’t the most fun she’d ever had. ‘You?’
‘Great, thanks. I went to Mexico.’
‘Of course you did,’ she said. She’d noticed he was looking tanned when she’d first arrived, but assumed it was fake.
‘So,’ he said, sitting back in his seat and half-smiling at her. ‘I’m moving to the New York office.’
‘Yes,’ Cat agreed. She didn’t want to think about it. She picked up her drink and took a sip.
‘And I was wondering if you wanted to come too,’ Nick added.
Cat swallowed – he was lucky she hadn’t done a spit-take – and stared at him. Her stomach had lurched at his words, but she’d almost certainly misheard. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Say that again?’
He leaned forward, grinning. ‘You’re the most efficient person in that office. More than Colin even. You stay calm under pressure, you’re good with the clients, you don’t make mistakes. I think you’d be an enormous asset to the New York office.’
Cat blew out a breath. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely. Also I’m a bit scared and I want a friend with me.’ He grinned.
Cat laughed. ‘God, Nick, that’s—’
‘Obviously, I don’t expect you to decide straight away. Think about it. Talk to your friends and your… imaginary boyfriend. And then once I’m out there, you can come out for a few days and see what you think. No pressure. I’ll email you the package – it’s better money. And relocation would be covered, obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Cat said faintly.
‘There’s plenty of stand-up clubs too,’ Nick said, smiling.
The thought of doing stand-up in New York was terrifying, but also there was a flicker of excitement deep down that Cat hadn’t felt for a while.
‘And I wanted to ask you something else,’ Nick said. ‘Will you do stand-up at my leaving do?’
‘God,’ Cat said, her head spinning. ‘Yeah. Of course.’
* * *
Cat couldn’t face going back to the office. She’d told Colin she had a doctor’s appointment and, after leaving Nick, she called and said she was having to go to the hospital for tests. Instead she crossed over Shaftesbury Avenue and just started walking, her coat pulled tight around her.
New York.
She’d always thought it would be amazing to live there. And she could start a whole new life. She’d miss Kelly. Obviously. But that might be for the best. She knew she was too dependent on her. And Kelly was going to be too busy to take care of Cat along with two kids. And really wasn’t it time Cat should be taking care of herself? As long as she had Kelly to bail her out, as long as she could run away to Kelly’s whenever something went wrong,
how was she ever going to learn to stand on her own two feet? How could she ever actually grow up? And she needed to find a new flat anyway. Why shouldn’t it be in New York? The timing was perfect.
Standing on the corner of Brewer Street she was hit by a pang of grief so strong that she bent double. She tried not to think about her mum too much or too often. Whenever something reminded Cat of her – a song on the radio, the scent of the Trésor perfume she always asked for for Christmas and birthdays, even something stupid sometimes like the texture of a fabric or the sound of a spoon in a cup of tea – Cat pushed it away and thought about something else instead. She was scared that if she let herself properly think about it, it would destroy her. But standing on the corner of Brewer Street, she felt totally alone in a way she hadn’t for a long time.
She took a breath, looked both ways, and crossed. As she skirted Golden Square, she told herself it was a good thing. She was entirely responsible for her own life. She could do whatever she wanted. She was only limited by her imagination. And the fact that she had about seventeen quid in the bank. But if she did decide to go to New York, all of that could change.
She and Kelly had gone to New York together after university. The first weekend in July so they’d expected – and packed for – sun. It rained every single day. Cat’s best memory was of the two of them running across Broadway, rain streaming down their faces and splashing up their legs, the lights from the shops and neon signs reflected in the water on the ground. A couple of firefighters had been standing outside their firehouse and cheered when Cat had lurched into a particularly deep puddle, and by the time the two of them made it into the Starbucks they were aiming for (one of four within two minutes of their hotel), they were as soaked as if they’d just got out of the shower.
Now she pictured herself living there. Working there. Going to bars and making friends and meeting people and having an entirely different life.
Her phone started vibrating again. It was probably her dad. He’d left another message a couple of days ago, but Cat hadn’t called him back yet. She still hadn’t decided if she was going to call him back at all.
Cat walked up Carnaby Street, stopping every couple of minutes to tip her head back and look up at the Christmas lights. They were completely over the top: red, silver and green, shimmering and vibrating in the breeze. Cat loved them. But they’d be gone soon. And maybe she could be too.
Her hands were freezing, so she stopped at Pret for a coffee. And it was only when she stepped back outside that she realised where she was. John Lewis.
Where she’d brought Arnold to see Santa and they’d found Harvey instead.
If she went to New York, she could stop thinking about Harvey. She wouldn’t have to see her dad, could stop thinking about everything. Leave it all behind. A blank slate. A fresh start.
But first she had to do stand-up at Nick’s leaving do. Why the fuck had she agreed to that?
Nineteen
The spa was on a main road, which surprised Cat, but as soon as she was inside, all thoughts of traffic went out of her head. It was like walking into a hotel. Perhaps in Morocco. Not that she’d been to Morocco. But the walls were cream marble (possibly not actually marble, but they looked like marble), the tiled floor made Cat immediately think of Instagram (#ihavethisthingwithfloors) and the furniture was huge and soft and jewel-coloured, red, blue, jade green. It smelled incredible too. Like flowers and the sea and something herbal. The contrast to the grey damp January day outside was startling.
‘This is not what I was expecting,’ Harvey whispered, from behind her.
It was so quiet and serene that Cat couldn’t really imagine conducting a proper conversation there. She smiled at him over her shoulder and then checked them in at an enormous curved desk with a waterfall behind it. The receptionist directed all her questions to Harvey, even though Cat was the one answering them.
‘She was flirting with you,’ Cat told him as they headed to the changing rooms.
‘She wasn’t,’ Harvey said. ‘She was just being nice.’
Cat snorted and then covered her mouth when it echoed through the marble foyer.
‘Smooth,’ Harvey said.
‘Shut it. We need to go and get changed.’
‘I know,’ Harvey said, smirking. ‘Jasmine said the changing rooms are just over here to the left.’
‘Jasmine.’ Cat rolled her eyes. ‘Bet her real name’s Jane.’
‘You’re probably right, Catherine.’
‘Oh my god.’
They’d reached the changing room doors and Cat said a small silent prayer that they weren’t mixed. And it worked. Once through the main doors they were faced with separate changing rooms.
‘See you on the other side,’ Harvey said, pushing through the door with his shoulder.
Cat had a vision of them walking out through the verruca footbath and into an enormous chlorinated public pool, but of course that wasn’t the case. She changed into her swimming costume (‘plain but a bit sexy’, Kelly had called it) in the stylish and calm changing rooms and then walked through to the stylish and calm spa.
Harvey was there already, sitting at a foot bath with his back to her, his white towelling robe hanging down behind him. It was only when Cat walked round to the opposite side, ready to sit down, that she saw his robe was open.
‘No,’ she said before she could stop herself.
‘No what?’ Harvey said.
She forced herself to look at his face and not his body. ‘No, I don’t want a foot spa.’
‘It’s good,’ Harvey said. ‘Bubbly.’
Cat sat down and lowered her feet into the water. It was indeed bubbly.
The foot spas were arranged around a central table so the two of them were sitting opposite each other, flat rock between them.
‘I feel like we should be playing chess,’ Harvey said.
‘Do you play chess?’
Harvey shook his head. ‘I’m more of a Scrabble man.’
‘I think we should arm wrestle,’ Cat said.
‘Winner buys dinner?’
Cat put her elbow down on the table. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
Harvey grinned and reached for her hand. Which was when she realised she hadn’t thought this through. His hand was soft and huge and gripped hers firmly. She remembered how she’d held onto his hand at the theatre when they were encouraging Arnold to come out onto the light rigging. How it had made her feel safe.
‘No cheating,’ she said.
‘Of course. Ready?’
She tried to relax her shoulders and firm her core and not be distracted by the Jacuzzi at her feet.
‘Go.’
Cat had half-expected Harvey to just slam her arm right down, but whether he was lulling her into a false sense of security or whether all the bags of supermarket shopping she’d carried up to her flat had paid off, she managed to hold him at bay for a few seconds until her arm started to dip. She stared at their hands, releasing her fingers and adjusting her grip a little before pushing back. Harvey laughed and she looked at his face to see he was biting his lower lip, a frown line of concentration between his eyebrows. She pushed harder and actually managed to lower his arm a couple of inches before he flexed his hand and pushed their arms flat on the table.
‘Shit,’ Cat said.
‘Guess I’m buying you dinner.’
* * *
‘I’ve never been on a water bed,’ Harvey said a couple of hours later.
They’d had breakfast in the courtyard garden, then split up to try out the various steam rooms. Cat had tried the Herbal Room, a ‘Tropical’ shower, the Menthol Room, and the Turkish Hammam (the air in that one was like a physical presence, as was the hairy bloke sitting in the corner, and she was dripping with sweat after just a couple of minutes). She’d showered again, popped into the ice room to cool down and that was where she’d found Harvey. He was sitting on the ice bench in just his shorts, long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back and
eyes closed. Cat couldn’t understand it. She could barely stand on the ice floor; the thought of sitting down on the bench was horrifying. She’d let her eyes drift down Harvey’s body, wondering if the thought of straddling him on the bench would warm her up, and when her eyes returned to his face, he was looking at her with a small smile.
‘Now I know why Pingu was always so pissed off,’ she’d said.
They were sitting on sunloungers overlooking a hydrotherapy pool that seemed to be a swimming version of a treadmill: small with jets so she was effectively swimming on the spot.
‘Well, no,’ Cat replied. ‘Because we’re not swingers and it’s not the seventies.’
‘I’m going to try it,’ Harvey said. ‘Come on.’
‘I’m staying here.’ Cat closed her eyes and then felt Harvey’s hand on her ankle, lifting her leg. She yelped and pulled it away. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Come on! Water bed! Live a little!’
‘How is that living? Even a little?’
‘Don’t you need to review it? Think of all the jokes you could make about a water bed.’
‘You make a good point,’ Cat said, pulling her robe around herself and clambering off the sunlounger.
The water bed was unbelievably comfortable. Like lying on a cloud. A warm cloud that cradled and hugged in all the right places.
‘This must be what Heaven is like,’ Cat mumbled, her face squashed into the pillow.
‘The gay club?’ Harvey asked and Cat snorted again, opening one eye to look at him. He was looking back at her and he was too close, she had to close her eyes again.
‘You’re allowed to sleep, right?’ Cat asked.
‘I think we can do what we want as long as we’re off them in forty-five minutes,’ Harvey said.
That put some thoughts in Cat’s head. She rolled onto her other side so Harvey didn’t see her blush. She was trying to stop herself thinking about exactly what she could do with Harvey on a waterbed for forty-five minutes when she fell asleep.
* * *
The One Who's Not the One: A feel-good, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Page 11
