Accidentally in Love: An utterly uplifting laugh out loud romantic comedy

by Belinda Missen

  While she gathers her things, my mind floats back to the darkroom yesterday. I’m still trying to process what it means and whether I’m quite ready to take that leap of faith so soon after John. I know I told myself I didn’t want to jeopardise the gallery, especially if something went wrong, but if I put work before a relationship, doesn’t that make me just as bad as John?

  ‘Are you okay?’ Her eyes catch my reflection. ‘You look upset.’

  ‘Me?’ I point to myself. ‘I’m great, just a little exhausted, that’s all.’

  ‘You should have opened a gallery in London,’ Lainey’s mum offers.

  I have no words.

  Camille has barely slapped down the final payment for the dress and is racing down the street squawking about a tennis club meeting when we’re tearing at the bag of cupcakes. Our coffee is now iced, but we swallow everything down like rabid animals as we laugh and talk like we’ve not seen each other in months.

  Lainey’s like a screaming pressure cooker, ready to pour out all her troubles this afternoon. From her too-involved mother to her barely-there father, playlists, first dances, and last-minute hiccups, she wonders aloud why anyone would be so desperate to get married.

  ‘Anyone would think it’s her getting married.’ She looks behind her just to be sure her mother really has disappeared.

  ‘Ah, she’s just excited.’ I bite my tongue and decide not to tell her how much I’d give for my own mother to be too involved in anything I’m doing. ‘Or, you know, limit the stuff you invite her to?’

  She groans. ‘I couldn’t not invite her today. She’s paying for the damn dress.’

  That doesn’t sound like the worst trade in the world, when you consider the prices I spied scrawled on swing tags in that shop. As we walk, I learn the boys’ suits have been ordered, the matron of honour is under control and there’s a bonbonniere-making weekend if I’d like to come along. I tell her I’ll think about it, but I’m sure the gallery is going to keep me busy.

  ‘You know, I was thinking of putting disposable cameras on each table.’ Lainey takes me by the hand and drags me into an American diner full of skating girls and milkshakes in metal tumblers. ‘Is that a bit unfashionable?’

  ‘Actually, could you?’ I ask as we slip into the first booth by the window. ‘Aside from the fact it’s not naff at all, I built a darkroom last weekend. While I’m learning, I’m also teaching someone to use it. We could do with the experience. And the only way we’re going to get experience is to have film to develop.’

  ‘Hang on, wait, you’ve employed someone? I didn’t think you could afford that yet?’ She looks concerned, and I can see her brain flipping over like an airport departures sign as she rearranges her cutlery.

  ‘No, no, no,’ I say. ‘I haven’t employed anyone. Christopher wants to learn.’

  She snorts. ‘The same Christopher you couldn’t get far enough away from last week?’

  I glance about nervously. ‘That’s him.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she says excitedly, shimmying on the spot. ‘Now we’re getting to the truth. What kind of help are we talking about? Are we knocking up doors and windows or are we knocking up to some Marvin Gaye?’

  ‘No.’ The flames of hell lick at my cheeks. ‘Not that kind of help. No. We sat down and talked through our differences. So, that’s that.’

  ‘I really don’t like him.’

  Immediately, I regret saying anything. Not because something scandalous needs to be hidden, or because I’m doing something wrong, but because I need some time to myself to work out exactly what this is or could be without interference. And I feel like Lainey might bulldoze the conversation with her own feelings. Oh, and because thinking about Christopher and the look on his face as he said, ‘I’m not even sure I’m ready’ on his way out last night touches on something sore.

  But that’s the thing about shedding first impressions and getting to know people, isn’t it? Your entire mindset can change on the flip of a penny, the slip of a hand, or whispered words in the dark. It’s confusing and beautiful all at once.

  Katharine nine months ago would have leaped straight into bed with him without thought to consequence. This morning, the gallery would have been a mess of clothes, empty wine bottles, and notes on the bedside table. If this ever amounts to anything more than bumbled apologies, the person I am today wants to nurture this, whatever it may be. I want to keep it safe and build something solid, and the realisation takes me by short-breathed surprise.

  ‘Katie? Earth to Katie.’ Lainey is snapping her fingers in my face.

  A waitress has managed to skate through the maze of tables and is ready to take our order. I feel a little dazed, a touch excited, and absolutely terrified of what this all means. I fumble about for a minute before I order the first thing I see, a cheeseburger and milkshake.

  I clear my throat. ‘In other news, I’ve got all my artists sorted for the first six months.’

  ‘Also.’ Her eyes light up. ‘I can’t believe I haven’t told you.’

  ‘Told me what?’ I ask. Yep, I’ve just been brushed aside. Again.

  ‘We’re going to do a bit of a combined hens and bucks thing in Sheffield,’ she says. ‘You know, for everyone who can’t make it to London. I thought that might be easier. You’ve been up and down so much lately.’

  Does that mean I’m uninvited to the London event? I don’t want to ask because I’m sure I know what the answer will be, and I don’t want to hear it. Well, she wouldn’t say it so much as imply it while dancing around how good a deal it is for me. It’s dawning on me today that, perhaps, I’m not as important to her as she is to me. My insides curl up and hide behind the metaphoric sofa.

  ‘That’s a great idea,’ I say, despite my feelings. ‘Who’s coming?’

  ‘Mostly cousins and stuff, but probably some of the old gang, too.’ Her gaze follows another waitress who’s gliding behind the order counter. ‘Why don’t they have men in roller skates, do you think? I mean, equality, right?’

  I chuckle as I dig through my bag and check my phone. It’s silent. No messages, no missed calls, not a sausage. ‘Who would you put in skates?’

  ‘Let’s see. Frank? No, no, scratch that. He’s unbalanced on a bicycle, let alone roller skates.’

  ‘All right, then. Someone famous?’ I ask.

  ‘I don’t know, maybe Sam Claflin?’ she tries.

  ‘Good choice. Though I always thought he looked a little like Adam.’ I zip up my bag and relax back into the booth.

  ‘But, what about you? You haven’t told me who you’re putting in roller skates?’ she asks. ‘What’s his name?’

  I hem and haw and huff so hard I can feel my fringe tickling my forehead. Christopher zooms past. ‘I don’t know. How about Henry Golding?’

  ‘Inspired choice.’ She offers an approving look. ‘Now, let me fill you in on more wedding stuff.’

  We spend the rest of the afternoon tucked away in that diner, ordering hot chips and milkshakes, apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Mostly, we talk about Lainey’s wedding. For the most part, I’m okay with that. It gives me time to work on the thoughts clouding the back of my mind. As I head home that evening, I don’t have a definitive answer, but I do know I need to talk to Christopher because, if I haven’t stopped thinking about him all day, I wonder what’s going through his mind, too?

  Chapter 23

  Does guilt abate after a few days? Asking for a friend. Not a friend, actually, just me.

  My finger has spent the last few days hovering over the call button, stuck in a state of shaky limbo as I try to work out exactly what I want to say to Christopher. There’s a desperate need to apologise, to explain myself and blurt out everything that my past year has been. Seems simple, yet I’ve struggled to arrange the hodgepodge of words in my head, going so far as to grab a pen and paper to jot down my thoughts. The page is still blank.

  At university, I could take notes until the sun came up, working and reworking facts into cohesi
ve arguments and acing essays. Now, I’ve gone blank. I guess that’s how I know this is more heart over head, and how this is so beautifully unique to anything I’ve ever known before.

  I don’t want to work today. It’s Friday. On top of everything that’s racing through my mind, the back and forth of Lainey’s dress fitting and a day stuck on the computer yesterday, I just want one day to myself. I forgo my morning routine of checking and double-checking emails and social media and, instead, decide to enjoy breakfast at a café I’ve never been to as I watch the world go by.

  Commuters whiz past on their daily journeys, cyclists and escargot vans vie for space while I sit happily on a milk crate chair with my coffee and fresh juice, attempting to frame the scene in a photograph. The camera on my phone is hardly a substitute, but I’m sure it’ll make for a nice post later in the day.

  When I’m done, I head to a back-alley gallery. This time, it’s not about scoping out the competition or looking for business ideas. All I want is to absorb art with an open mind and enjoy not having to do any of the work. Who knows, maybe it’ll inspire me to make more of my own. Now that I know the darkroom works, I’ve got one less roadblock in my way.

  Standing in a marble-floored space looking at a piece that’s been constructed with string and brightly coloured paint, I can’t say I like it. Sure, there’s a plaque next to it with notes about what the artist wants to convey, but I just can’t gel with it.

  ‘What do you think the artist is trying to say?’ asks a voice beside me.

  ‘Oh,’ I say, and it comes out in a way that isn’t just a sign of surprise, but one of relief and I’m-so-bloody-happy-to-see-you when I find Christopher standing beside me. He’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his khaki slacks, linen shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I don’t want to know why he still has bed hair in the afternoon.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’ He grins down at me.

  For the love of all that’s sacred, I love how my name sounds when he says it. Even if it’s a nickname I don’t love, I let it slide. My mind draws a complete blank and we fall silent. I watch as his eyes move about my face.

  ‘Hi,’ I pip.

  ‘Hello,’ he repeats.

  ‘What brings you out here today?’ I say.

  ‘Can I—’

  ‘—I’d really like it if we could talk,’ I say.

  ‘Can we please?’ he urges. ‘I’ve got so much I need to say but I feel like a fool and I don’t know where to begin.’

  I breathe a sigh of relief and almost laugh. ‘Firstly, you are not a fool.’

  ‘Let me start with the fact I owe you an apology,’ he adds.

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say.

  ‘B-but I have to because I obviously got the wrong—’

  ‘Honestly, it’s—’

  ‘And I would hate to think—’ he continues as if he’s not heard me at all.

  I kiss him. I reach up, hold his face in my hands and kiss him. It’s not the stuff of romance movies where everything’s perfect and rain tinkles down from the sky. For one, it’s a little awkward. I spend the first terrifying moments thinking my calves are about to cramp on me because I’m stretched up to meet him and, when I’m not panicking about that, I’m worried I’ve just done the wrong thing. Then, something wonderful happens; he relaxes into me and kisses me back.

  He leans down into me and my legs are more relieved than they’ve ever been. His mouth is warm against the air-conditioned gallery and his fingers slip and twist between mine, holding me tightly in place as if I’ll blow away if he lets go. I revel in him for a quiet moment, enjoying how different this feels from John. Instead of thinking he’s trying to take something from me, it almost seems as if he’s still apologising. I’m sorry I walked out; I’ve changed my mind; yes, please keep doing this. The amazing thing is, I want to keep doing this.

  When someone, somewhere in the back of the room clears their throat, he pulls away only enough to run the tip of his nose down the length of mine.

  ‘You didn’t get the wrong idea,’ I whisper, my voice tittering with nervous laughter. Only when I loosen my grip do I realise I’ve been clutching a handful of his shirt.

  He sucks in a deep breath. ‘Shit. Yes. Okay.’

  ‘How do you feel about getting out of here?’

  Crossing the city centre, we grab some chips and head for the shade of a tree in the nearest park, all while trying to untangle hands and mouths. Or maybe we don’t want to untangle ourselves. This feels huge and precious, and we both know it, and the whole time Christopher is bursting to finish his apology.

  ‘You know, I’ve been meaning to call you, I just wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to say.’ I keep my eyes fixed on the greasy parcel that sits between us on the wooden bench.

  ‘I think I panicked. I mean, we both saw that I did. It’s just that I’ve been on my own for a while now, so the idea of starting over and going through all that stuff again is scary,’ he says, offering me first pick of our lunch.

  ‘Absolutely it’s scary. All those introductions and new names and fitting in.’ I shudder. ‘Has my father ever told you about the time he introduced us to Fiona?’

  He shakes his head. ‘No.’

  ‘All right.’ I pivot so as I’m facing him, pulling my ankle up under my knee. ‘Dad rang Adam and me on a conference call, which we never do.’

  ‘Really? Because you kind of give off that vibe of a family who would do weird shit like that.’

  ‘Oh!’ I laugh. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I mean, you’re all so in each other’s pockets. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to see, but it’s so alien to me. My parents more or less leave me alone ninety-eight per cent of the time. We have supper occasionally and it’s all very “How are you, son?” and that’s it.’

  And, I suspect, that’s exactly why he spends so much time with my father.

  ‘I can’t imagine that,’ I say. ‘Bizarre. Anyway, he invited us up to dinner. He explained he wanted us to meet someone and didn’t want to tell one of us before the other.’

  ‘You do realise neither of you can do wrong in his eyes.’

  ‘That’s because we can’t.’ I pat his knee. ‘So, on he goes, he’s telling us about her and adds in that if we don’t want to stay the night, he would pay for a hotel because he knows that this might be awkward for everyone. Immediately, we both jumped in and said of course we’ll stay. It’s Dad. If he’s happy, what’s the problem, right?’

  ‘That’s still a lovely gesture.’

  ‘Honestly, I think it’s a little sad he was worried we’d react like that, but nevertheless, we popped up and met her. She was dressed in a Minion outfit because she wanted to paint something fun and she said that got her in the mood. So, immediately we were like “She’s perfect for him.”’

  Christopher laughs. ‘Yeah, that’s definitely her.’

  ‘It gets to dinnertime and Dad needs something, so I volunteer to go up to the supermarket. Fiona says she’s coming, too, and you just know something’s coming, right? We pop into The Moor. I don’t know why we ended up there, we just did. Conversation is all lovely and what about the weather and tell me about your job, that sort of thing.’

  ‘And then?’ Christopher hangs his elbow over the back of the bench and rests his head on his fist.

  ‘I turn around and she’s stopped walking and she’s in tears and I ask her what’s wrong because I think I’ve said something to upset her. I don’t know this woman, maybe I’ve touched on something without knowing, I don’t know. So, she dries her eyes and she says, “I just want you to know that I’m terrified of you and your brother.”’

  ‘Shit, that’s heavy.’

  ‘What do you say to that though? It’s such a massive thing to be so open about.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I just hugged her and told her it was okay.’

  ‘Look, your first problem was shopping in The Moor,’ he says. ‘That’ll make
anyone cry.’

  I laugh and wipe my eyes. ‘Oh, and I suppose you’re a Devonshire Street lad, are you?’

  He winks and I fall about laughing.

  ‘Anyway, moral of the story is it took Dad ten years to do anything and it was still terrifying, for everyone, so whatever you’re feeling is okay and you don’t owe anyone an explanation as to what you are or aren’t doing.’

  ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’

  ‘Eh.’ I give a half-shrug and screw up my face though I can feel my insides turning to water. ‘Took you long enough to realise.’

  ‘How do you get along with her now?’ he asks, popping a chip in his mouth.

  ‘I love her. She’s been amazing for Dad, and he adores her. As much as we all love Mum, we can’t change any of that. He should be happy, right?’

  ‘And what about you?’ he asks.

  ‘Here’s my theory.’ I pick at a loose thread on the knee of my jeans. ‘If we do this, if you do still want to do this, then I want to do it properly. I don’t want a quick fumble in a darkroom. I want to know you and, so far, I feel like I only know the big stuff.’

  ‘The big stuff?’

  ‘Let’s see.’ I stumble over the elephant in the park for a moment. ‘Lovely Claire and the art school come to mind. I know some of your friends, only by default because they’re my parents, but I want to know the little things, the everyday stuff that slips through the cracks.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘For instance, I was thinking about you while I was in Graves Gallery earlier.’ I silence my ringing phone and slip it back into my pocket.

  ‘You were?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s just that, I don’t even know what your favourite painting is,’ I say, sounding more of a question than a statement.

  The answer flashes across his face lightning fast. ‘For pure enjoyment? Almond Blossom by Van Gogh.’

  ‘Stunning,’ I agree. ‘Calming and soft and beautiful. Makes great wrapping paper.’

  ‘Wrapping paper?’ he almost shrieks. ‘Katharine, sacrilege.’