Jasper pauses for dramatic effect, and then says, ‘I think a jumper and a shoe are a small price to pay to have met you.’ He holds eye contact for a moment, and his eyes dart down to my lips and back. It’s a tiny movement, but it makes me suspect he might be thinking about kissing me. I cannot believe how well this is going. Most men this attractive might be arrogant or conceited, but Jasper is neither; he is earnest and charming – everything I had hoped he would be. If only everything could freeze right here, then I wouldn’t be able to do anything to ruin it.
‘You know, I still haven’t actually been to the loo,’ I say, springing up and clasping my hands together. ‘Sorry, I got distracted by the kitchens before.’
The bathroom is covered in what looks like very expensive wallpaper, decorated in geometric gold shapes. There are framed articles from magazines, photo shoots of kitchens I assume must be Jasper’s, and a certificate for his grade eight piano, which makes me smile. I stare at myself in the mirror. Why am I running away to the loo, when everything is going so well?
I reach for my phone, feeling the need to hear a familiar voice, to speak to someone who will tell me straight why I am acting weirdly. I FaceTime Dee. It’s past ten but she never goes to bed before eleven.
‘Hey, can you talk?’ I whisper into the screen when she answers.
‘Yes, Neil is out with his running club friends, I’m Marie Kondo-ing my wardrobe, rather than packing a load of clothes I never wear.’ Dee shifts the screen so I can see the piles of clothes on her bed. ‘Why do I even own a single pair of heels? Have you ever seen me wear heels?’
‘Never,’ I shake my head.
‘So, have you found Suitcase Man?’ Dee asks, sitting down on the bed and giving me her full attention.
‘Yes, I’m in his bathroom!’ I say quietly.
‘It must be going well, then.’ She mirrors my quiet voice.
‘It is,’ I hiss. ‘He’s amazing, like dream-man-with-a-cherry-on-top amazing.’
‘So why are you calling me? And why are we whispering?’
‘I don’t know. It’s almost disconcerting how well it’s going. He’s good-looking, intelligent and charming, he plays the piano, he ticks all the boxes. Plus, I think he likes me.’ I pause, ‘He has five kitchens, though—’
‘Five kitchens?’
‘He’s a kitchen salesman. His house doubles as a showroom.’
Dee pauses for a moment, ‘Unconventional, but not a deal-breaker.’
‘It’s not. It’s actually kind of geeky and sweet.’
‘So …’ Dee says, clearly still wondering why I have called her.
‘I met this crazy aunt today, she told me my parents were never married.’
‘What?’ Dee’s face creases with concern.
‘She’s nuts, she also told me Mum had a phobia of seagulls and the dark. She must have their story confused with someone else’s.’
‘Seagulls?’
‘I think I would have known if Mum had any phobias. Then Suki’s mad at me for messing up this Instagram Live today, and then there’s this cab driver, Ted, the one I shouted at, he’s been driving me around today, and we’ve been talking a lot …’ I trail off, not sure why I mentioned Ted.
‘Laura, have you been drinking?’ Dee asks.
‘Yes,’ I say with a grimace.
‘Right, well. It sounds like you’ve had a pretty full-on day. Maybe you should rain-check Suitcase Guy, see him tomorrow when you have a clearer head. If he’s really so perfect, you don’t need to rush anything.’
‘Maybe you’re right. He’s already asked me out on a day date tomorrow.’
‘Great. Everyone loves a day date. Look, don’t put yourself under too much pressure. It feels like you’re set on writing the perfect article about the perfect story, all while trying to meet the perfect guy – it’s a lot to put on one weekend away.’
‘Hmmm,’ I say, screwing up my face at the screen, tucking a wisp of flyaway hair behind my ear.
‘You look tired, Laura. Have a good night’s sleep, pick things up with him tomorrow.’ I give her a grateful grin. I’m sure it’s good advice. ‘And next time we talk, we need to have a conversation about the state of the nation or politics or something,’ Dee says, opening her eyes wide and bringing them right up to the screen. ‘I refuse to be the “best-friend sounding board”, constantly playing second fiddle to the primary, male-focused storyline.’
‘OK, you’ve got a deal,’ I say, bringing my eyes right up to the screen too. ‘Look, I’d better go, and Dee – thank you.’
Jasper is sitting at the piano when I come back. The sheet music from his bag is open, and he starts playing ‘Against All Odds’ as I walk across the room. His fingers move organically across the keys in a rapid flurry of notes; he’s clearly talented. I tilt my head to the beat as I sit down on the window seat near him. Unbidden, my mind drifts back to the beach, to the warmth of Ted’s voice, and I realise that this is the second piece of live Phil Collins music I’ve enjoyed this evening.
‘Didn’t I say I wouldn’t be able to do it justice?’ Jasper says as he closes the lid.
‘You’re amazing. I could listen to you play all night long,’ I say, bringing my mind back into the room, then I bite my lip, worried my words sounded suggestive. ‘But listen, if we’re going boating tomorrow, I might call it a night. It’s been a long day for me.’
Jasper’s eyes flash disappointment, but he quickly hides it with a smile. I offer to call a cab, but he insists he will drive me home.
We’re about to leave when Jasper says, ‘Your case!’
He presses a palm to each cheek, and we both laugh at the fact we might have forgotten. Opening a hall cupboard, he pulls out my suitcase. When he hands it over, I hug it to my chest – relieved to finally have it back. I’ll have so many choices of what to wear tomorrow, my good mascara, my silk pyjamas, my diary, and the shampoo that makes my hair smell like a spa in a citrus farm. I didn’t know these objects were so important to me, but clearly, they are.
There are two cars in Jasper’s driveway, a black SUV and a red sports car. He takes me to the Land Rover, which he opens with two beeps of a key fob. Were these expensive cars inherited from his uncle, too, I wonder, or are kitchens a lucrative business? When we reach Ted’s drive in L’Étacq, I tell Jasper he can drop me on the road – I don’t want to disturb anyone by driving in so late – but Jasper insists on seeing me to the bottom of the drive. The beach is dark, no sign of the party, but inside Gerry’s house the living room light is on.
I start to open the car door, but Jasper says, ‘No! Wait. Stay there.’ He leaps out of his side and runs around to mine, opening my door and taking a little bow. He has rather sweet, old-fashioned manners, or perhaps he’s simply trying to impress me. If he is, it’s working.
‘Why thank you,’ I say, with a little curtsy. Then I lean forward to kiss him on the cheek, but he’s leaning in to kiss my other side and we end up bumping foreheads. We both clutch our heads and laugh. Jasper blushes at his own clumsiness and then feigns leaning in again, knocking his head on the car door, and falling down on the ground, flat on his back on the gravel. His clowning makes me burst out laughing, and I reach out my hand to help him up.
‘That wasn’t very suave of me,’ he says. ‘I was trying to be suave.’
As his eyes meet mine, I see a flash of nerves and I’m surprised a man who looks like Jasper could be nervous. Standing opposite him, I feel a warm glow of validation; I was right about the suitcase. Everyone thought I was being nuts, but look, here he is, exactly what I sensed from his luggage he might be.
‘I’m looking forward to seeing more of this suaveness tomorrow,’ I say with a grin.
‘Another day in paradise,’ he says.
‘Well, if leaving me is easy.’
‘You’ll be in my heart.’ He smiles, pressing a hand to his chest.
‘Are we actually doing this? Are we having a conversation in Phil Collins song titles?’
‘Oh, I could keep going all night,’ Jasper says with a dramatic sigh, and I feel my cheeks begin to ache with smiling.
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I say, turning towards the garden.
‘Laura,’ he calls after me, and I turn to look back at him. ‘I can’t wait.’
The words send a hum of contentment through me, and I raise my eyes to the sky, silently thanking the stars for their part in this.
12 September 1991
Alex,
I’m so disappointed you aren’t coming this weekend, when it’s our last opportunity to see each other before you go to Greece. Surely you could find the money for the flight. Would your mum not lend it to you?
I can’t understand why you were so cross with me on the phone. I only borrowed the coin to make a way for it to be worn – otherwise, it will only sit in a drawer. I know you don’t believe me, but I feel its memories when I hold it, it shouldn’t be hidden away. I thought you would be taking it back to her after your visit this weekend. You will be so pleased when you see how it looks.
Let’s be friends again, please? Maybe I can find a way to come and visit you in Greece once my dance classes break for half-term. I miss you every day, and the days you do not call are hardly days to me at all.
All my love,
Annie
Chapter 17
Once Jasper has driven away, I glance furtively back at the house. I’ll have to walk past the kitchen window to get to my cottage but don’t want to draw attention to my return. If I walk behind the stone wall, I can avoid the spotlight shining onto the lawn from the kitchen window. I pick up my case and carefully climb onto the low granite wall – oh, this is fine, easy as anything – I’ll just walk along the wall; I have the balance of an Olympic gymnast.
‘AHHHHHH!’
I stumble on a lump in the rock, launch forward like a bat without wings, landing splayed across the lawn with a THUNK. Pain alarms explode in my leg. ‘FUCKING OW! FUCKITY OW!’ I cry. I know I said I don’t swear much, but breaking my leg buys me some allowances on the language filter.
As I’m lying there, lamenting that my adult gymnast career is over before it even began, the kitchen door opens, and I see Ted’s broad-shouldered silhouette standing in the doorway.
‘Laura, what are you doing? Are you alright?’ he says, running down the hill and crouching down next to me.
‘My leg,’ I say, trying to sit up, ‘I think it’s broken. Oh jeez, is that my bone sticking out of the bottom? If it is, I’m going to be sick.’
I’m not good with gore. When I watched that movie about the guy who got stuck up a mountain and chopped off his own hand, I couldn’t look at my own hands for a week without gagging.
‘That’s your suitcase handle beneath your foot,’ says Ted. ‘Definitely no bone. Let me get you inside, and I’ll take a proper look.’
He helps me up, and I let out a wincing, ‘arrrghhhh-eeeehhh’ sound, like a fox with its tail stuck in a cat flap. Ted sweeps me up in both arms and carries me back to the house. I murmur protests, but he lifts me so effortlessly that we’re back inside before I can articulate any sort of proper objection.
In the living room, Ted deposits me gently on the only remaining chair. The furniture that was in here earlier has disappeared; only boxes and piles of objects remain. There are a few lamps on the floor, the side tables they’d once stood on, gone. They emit a warm, low light, giving the room an inviting feel. Ted kneels down to inspect my leg. A thin line of blood trickles down from a gash on my shin.
‘I don’t think we need to amputate, it’s just a cut. You must have fallen on a sharp rock.’ He fetches a first aid kit, cleans the wound and carefully applies a large plaster. ‘Did you twist your ankle?’ He firmly holds my foot in one hand, and then with the other, gently presses the skin. ‘Does this hurt?
Does it hurt?’ he asks again, and I realise I haven’t answered, distracted by the feeling of his hands on my skin.
‘No, it’s fine,’ I say.
Ted carefully packs the first aid case away. He’s being all serious and professional; this must be his doctor mode.
‘Dare I ask why you were dancing along the wall?’
‘I didn’t want to disturb you, traipsing across the garden,’ I say, weakly.
He tilts his face to meet mine.
‘If I wasn’t disturbed by the car-side flirting and giggling, I don’t think I would have been disturbed by you walking through my garden.’
Now I wish my leg was broken and I was safely on my way to hospital rather than having this brain-meltingly awkward conversation. Clearing my throat, I roll my ankle between my hands to distract from having to respond. Ted picks up the medical bag and his lip twitches with the hint of a smile.
‘Do you want me to help you down to the cottage?’
‘Could I just have some water?’ I ask, in an exaggerated, hoarse voice. Now that the leg-breaking emergency is over, I feel sheepish about how things were left between us, and I want to apologise before I go anywhere.
He gives me a compassionate look as if to reassure me he’s not annoyed or jealous or disapproving or – jealous? Why did I think that? Of course he’s not jealous. I gulp down the glass of water Ted hands me.
‘Ted, I’m so sorry about this evening,’ I say, putting the empty glass down on the carpet next to me.
‘It’s fine, I was up anyway.’
‘No, not now – well, now, too – but I meant earlier. You were only trying to look out for me, as any friend would. I was rude to you and I’m sorry.’
Ted smiles, a genuine smile that reaches his eyes.
‘That’s OK. So, did Mr McGuffin live up to expectations?’
My stomach twists into a knot.
‘He’s nice,’ I say, feeling my face getting warm.
‘You’re blushing. That good, huh?’
I try to temper my smile, but feel some accidental smugness radiating out of me.
‘And a paid-up member of the Phil Collins fan club?’
I nod, pinching my lips together. ‘He played “Against All Odds” on the piano.’ Why did I say that? Ted doesn’t need to know that detail.
‘Well, I’ll expect a mention in the wedding speech,’ Ted says. ‘I think it was my detective work on the bee club that cracked the case.’
Watching him talk, I can’t read his expression, but I haven’t heard this unnatural breeziness before. I wave a hand around the room, keen to move the subject on from Jasper.
‘What have you been doing in here? Did you keep on packing after the party?’
Ted shifts his gaze to the carpet.
‘I couldn’t sleep, so I’m trying to be ruthless. I’m taking Dad to his new home tomorrow, then the estate agent wants to take photos of an empty house.’
‘Do you have to sell it?’ I ask, noticing he looks tired, his eyelids heavy.
‘I can’t afford to keep it, not with Dad’s care.’
‘I thought doctors earnt a fortune?’ I say, drawing out the word ‘fortune’.
Ted looks at his hands.
‘Well, my career is in about as good a state as my marriage at the moment.’
‘Oh.’ I feel a jolt of concern. ‘How come?’
Ted inspects his knuckles then clenches and unclenches his hands.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He glances across at me, almost shyly, then groans. ‘I’m so bad at this stuff, Laura.’ For a moment I think he means talking to me, but then I see he’s gesturing towards the boxes.
‘Let me help you,’ I offer.
‘You don’t want to help me sort through my parents’ junk at eleven thirty at night,’ he says, but strangely, I do.
‘I’m good at this kind of thing, please, let me help.’
Ted’s lips move into a grateful smile and he gives a small shrug of acceptance. He disappears upstairs and brings down more boxes, and we quietly unpack the contents. There are old clothes, paperwork, bundles of letters, old bits and pieces collected over a lifetime. H
is mother’s silver-plated hairbrush, dusty watercolours of the English countryside, a calendar from 1995, sticky cookbooks, and half-empty face creams. Endless coat hangers and jars full of pens, boxes of outdated electrical items, a VHS player and an old-fashioned toaster – things no one would ever want or need.
‘Gerry didn’t want to sort through any of this?’
I can see why Ted has been overwhelmed by the task.
‘We started doing it together, but it was upsetting him,’ Ted explains. ‘He tries not to dwell on the past and packing up a house is pretty much a field trip in nostalgia. In the end, he packed up a box of things he wanted to keep, the rest he was happy for me to deal with. I figured it’s enough of a wrench making him leave this house without forcing him to rake through the ashes of his life too.’
‘You’re not making him leave, you know,’ I say, hearing the guilt in Ted’s voice. ‘He can’t live here on his own any more. The move isn’t down to you.’
Ted rubs an eye with his finger. The air is heavy with dust, and my eyes begin to itch too.
‘I guess not.’ He doesn’t sound convinced. He picks up a glass paperweight and turns it over in his hands. ‘I thought I’d just chuck all this stuff, but it feels too – I don’t know – disrespectful, not to at least look through it all.’
‘There was so much of my mum’s stuff I didn’t know what to do with,’ I say, looking around. ‘It’s strange, the things it upset me to throw away. Weirdly, her toothbrush really got me. It suddenly felt the saddest thing that she’d never brush her teeth again.’
‘What happened, to your mum?’ he asks, cautiously.
‘Colon cancer. It was very advanced, happened quickly.’ I think Ted’s the first person I’ve said that to without crying.
Ted gives me a nod of empathy and understanding, and I feel the depth of compassion in his eyes, none of the pity or embarrassment I usually see when I tell people about my mother.
‘Anyway, I suspect it’s easier to sort through a stranger’s things,’ I say, clapping decisively, returning to the task at hand. ‘We’ll make piles; Keep, Bin, Recycle, Sell, that’s the way to do it.’ It’s already 11.30 p.m., but having felt tired at Jasper’s house, I now feel a second wind of energy with the prospect of being helpful to Ted.
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 16
