As I’m talking, I grow more confident. This is all off the top of my head, but as I’m saying it, I realise it is an interesting idea.
There’s a grunting sound on the line, then Suki says, ‘No.’
‘No?’
‘No. You’re not Malcolm Gladwell, Laura, I don’t want a revisionist history of your family. I want the coin meet-cute, the romantic proposal, the love story to end all love stories that you pitched to me. From what you’re telling me now, this whole trip has been a complete waste of time.’ She sighs heavily. ‘I want you back in the office on Monday. I think we need to have a serious conversation. I’ve allowed you a lot of autonomy, and you’ve shown a real lack of judgement these last few days.’
My skin breaks out in beads of sweat, and my stomach starts to cramp. I’m going to get fired. I can’t even fathom what shape my life would have without my job. Could I even make the rent if I had to go freelance again? I wouldn’t see Vanya every day, she wouldn’t be my flatmate or my colleague.
‘I – I – I can’t leave Jersey yet!’
Suki breathes in, preparing to bark at my insolence.
‘I’ve met someone.’ I squeeze my eyes closed, not sure where I’m going with this.
‘You’ve met someone?’ comes an angry echo down the phone.
‘Yes – and it’s a great story.’
The idea takes shape as I’m talking; I could use my own meet-cute as a story for the site. I tell Suki about Jasper, about the mix-up at the airport, the things I found in his suitcase, and my search around the island to track him down. As she listens, she mellows, her bark becomes an excited yap and by the end of the call, she is cooing with delight.
‘You see I can’t leave yet, Suki, I only just found him and—’
‘No, no, you can’t leave,’ she agrees. ‘This is perfect – this is wonderful – this is exactly the kind of fated love story people want to read about.’
I didn’t know Suki was capable of sounding so animated.
‘Well, not necessarily a love story yet, it’s all so new …’ I say in a feeble attempt to temper her enthusiasm. ‘But a good meet-cute in any case.’
‘Laura, the greatness of a love story is not determined by the amount of time a couple have spent together – just look at Romeo and Juliet, Rose and Jack, Marius and Cosette – these people barely spend five minutes together before turning their lives upside down for one another. No, this is fate, this is destiny, this is love at first – luggage!’
I’m annoyed she’s said that. Now she’s going to take credit for that phrase, and I had already thought of the ‘love at first luggage’ tagline.
‘Well, I—’
‘This could be a good enough hook to land a feature in a broadsheet magazine, great publicity for our brand. It could even go international: “Love Life’s lead journalist, unlucky in love and still carrying the emotional baggage from her mother’s death, resigned to a life of writing other people’s love stories, unwittingly finds her own … in a suitcase!’
I feel myself frown – I wouldn’t have said I was unlucky in love or carrying emotional baggage.
‘Leave it with me,’ Suki says in a sing-song voice. ‘I’ll work out how we can maximise coverage – you stay as long as you need to seal the deal with your Suitcase Man. If you pull this off in the way I know you can, we’ll have to talk about that promotion again. You know how much I appreciate it when people go above and beyond for a great story.’
I’m about to clarify that I wasn’t pursuing Jasper for the story, I was pursuing him because I genuinely felt he was the man I was supposed to be with. Is the man I am supposed to be with, I mentally correct myself. But before I can say anything, Suki has hung up.
What just happened? It feels like a good thing, in that I avoided getting fired and my boss mentioned the word ‘promotion’, but part of me can’t help but feel nervous about tying my work and my personal life so inextricably together.
Suki: Pictures we’ll need:
The suitcase
The suitcase contents
You and Suitcase Man kissing
You and Suitcase Man embracing by the luggage carousel, holding your cases in the air, ideally with your leg kicked up in excitement.
What have I started?
Suki: You can look quite pretty when you make an effort – expense a makeover, hair, etc. I don’t want any beekeeper bollocks in these shots. If this goes national, we don’t need any of your kooky eccentricity.
‘Kooky eccentricity?’ Now that’s just rude.
Suki: On second thoughts, I’m sending Dionne and Saul out on the first flight on Monday. We need professional, glossy shots for this. Get your man on board for press ASAP.
Dionne and Saul are a stylist and a photographer who Suki uses for big product shoots. They’re expensive; they style all the minor royals. If Suki’s sending them, she’s serious about putting this story everywhere. How the hell am I going to sell this to Jasper? He’s a lovely guy, but this kind of publicity parade would be enough to put anyone off.
Tiger Woman on Qualifiers
When tigers have something to say, do they work on a draft? Do they litter their message with niceties: ‘yours sincerely’, ‘thank you’, ‘please’? No. They do not. Women constantly undermine themselves with qualifying phrases like, ‘Sorry’, ‘I’m no expert but …’, ‘I just wanted to check’, ‘I might have an idea’. Change the words you use, and you will change the way you are seen: I am not sorry, I am an expert, and I’m certainly not ‘yours’, sincerely or otherwise.
Chapter 24
I’m not going to pull Jasper out of his own mother’s party just to pick me up, so I order a cab to take me to Maude’s house. In the car, I tap out an apology to Dee:
You know I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m sorry. I’m on my way to see Jasper now. xxx
The cab driver stops for me at one of the honesty boxes by the side of the road, a small stall selling vegetables and flowers. I can’t imagine anything like this working in a big city. Checking I have the right change, I pick up a bunch of ‘modern pinks’ for Maude and put the money in the box.
When I arrive, I can hear people out the back, so I walk around to the garden. Jasper is chatting away to an elderly lady in a wheelchair, while holding a plate of sandwiches and a bottle of champagne. He’s laughing kindly at something the woman is saying, and I feel instantly glad that I came.
He looks up and sees me across the garden and his face breaks into a huge smile. I wave, not wanting to interrupt his conversation. He says something to the lady in the wheelchair, and she waves both hands at me in delight. Jasper bounds over and kisses me on both cheeks.
‘You came,’ he says. ‘How did you know where to come, I forgot to send you the address?’
‘Oh, um, Google. I am a journalist,’ I half laugh, half sigh.
Jasper tilts his head in concern. ‘And are you feeling better after a lie down?’
I nod, prickling with guilt as I think about the nature of my ‘lie down’ – in the sand, with Ted on top of me, his mouth against mine.
‘You look flushed, Laura; are you sure you’re alright?’
‘Yes, fine, thank you, feeling much better.’ I pinch my lips together, annoyed at my face for giving me away.
‘Let me introduce you to my family. I’ve already told them all about our suitcase story.’
Jasper ushers me over to Maude, who is seated on the patio, talking to Keith and a lady with messy grey curls. At the far end of the table are two women in their thirties who look alarmingly like Jasper, but with Kate Middleton’s physique and wardrobe. They both have long dark hair, the same dimpled grin, and aristocratic posture. The taller of the two has a long string of pearls around her neck, and the other wears some eye-catching orange earrings.
‘Laura, this is my mother, Maude,’ Jasper says, making introductions. ‘Keith and his wife June, then two of my sisters, Jocelyne and Juliette, who are over from the UK for the day.’<
br />
The sisters both hold up a hand in greeting. Keith eyes me suspiciously, recognising me from the fete.
‘Laura and I met at the fete yesterday,’ he says, narrowing his eyes. ‘Glad to see you tracked your man down, then.’
Keith says it like I’m some kind of sniper out to snare Jasper in my black widow’s net, and there he is, sitting between his wife and mistress in broad daylight, giving me the judgey eyes. I don’t often take against people, but I have decided I do not like Bee Man Keith.
‘Happy birthday,’ I say, smiling at Maude and handing her the bunch of flowers. I’m finding it hard not to think a little badly of her, too, the fact that she’s invited the wife of the man she’s carrying on with to her birthday party. June sits silently, hardly acknowledging my presence. Poor woman, she probably knows what’s going on, but Keith’s gaslighting her into thinking Maude’s ‘just a friend from bee club’. Then again, maybe kissing two different men in the same day precludes me from making moral judgements here.
‘Jasper’s been talking about you non-stop,’ says Maude.
‘He has,’ confirms Jocelyne, reaching out to squeeze Jasper’s cheek, ‘he’s a smitten kitten.’
‘Please don’t make me sound uncool,’ Jasper blushes, and I feel a swell of affection for him.
‘Well, thank you for letting me gatecrash your party,’ I say to Maude.
‘Jasper’s “suitcase girl” is most welcome. Thank you for these,’ says Maude, smelling the flowers I have given her.
Jasper buzzes around me, fetching me a drink, introducing me to his mother’s friends. I wonder at how welcoming everyone is. This is the second party I’ve been invited to join – I can’t even think of the last time I went to two parties in the same weekend. The guests here feel more staid than Gerry’s. The tone is more cucumber sandwiches and tea from good china, than sausage baps in napkins and sangria out of plastic cups.
Jasper leads me over the croquet lawn, up to the far end of the garden to show me the beehive he commissioned Keith to make for Maude.
‘There’s nothing Keith doesn’t know about bees,’ he explains.
‘So, Keith’s a friend of your mum’s, is he?’ I ask, unable to stop myself from prying.
‘Yes, they’re very close,’ says Jasper as we walk back towards the group gathered around the patio table outside the house. Then I notice Keith is holding Maude’s hand, right in front of June; the man is completely shameless!
‘So, what brings you to the island, Laura?’ Jocelyne asks, straightening the blue velvet Alice band on her glossy mane of hair.
‘Laura’s a journalist; she covers love stories, unusual ways people have met,’ Jasper explains, putting a hand around my waist.
‘Ah, a “cute meet”, I think they call it nowadays, don’t they?’ says Maude.
‘Meet-cute,’ I correct her with a smile. Everyone at the table then looks at me, clearly waiting for me to expand on exactly what it is I do. ‘I work for a lifestyle website, we cover all sorts of things, but the love stories are always the most popular. So many people meet online these days, which can feel a little unromantic. I think people still yearn to hear about those magical real-life meetings – to believe that “the one” might be found in the strangest of places.’
‘Like meeting through a suitcase,’ says Maude, one eyebrow arched.
‘I met my husband online,’ says Jocelyne, icily.
‘Me too,’ says Juliette, twirling her string of white pearls around one finger, her top lip curled.
‘Ah, well, um, not that the internet can’t be romantic too—’ I trip over my words. ‘It’s just, er, you know, more, well, it’s less – um.’ No, I can’t think of any words to dig myself out of this hole, so I just leave the sentence hanging and take a large gulp of tea.
Jasper offers me a chair and then pulls up a seat beside me, before offering me another platter of cucumber sandwiches. His face is so earnest, so keen to please – a doting Labrador.
‘Laura and I have the same favourite book and a shared passion for Phil Collins,’ he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. His easy physical affection makes me self-conscious, worried what all these people will think, when they know we only met yesterday. Perhaps something in my body language gives me away, because when I glance over at Maude, I’m convinced she can see right through me. I reach up to pat Jasper’s hand, which is still resting on my shoulder.
‘It does feel like someone up there was sending us a sign,’ I say brightly, giving everyone a beaming smile.
‘On dating apps, you can add details like what books you like and your taste in music,’ says Jocelyne, clearly still annoyed about my earlier comment. ‘You don’t have to rely on careless behaviour at the airport to find that.’
‘Jocey thinks romance is her husband putting the dishwasher on,’ Jasper says with a smirk, before gently kicking his sister beneath the table.
‘Ow! Trust me, when you have three children under six, it is,’ she says, then turns to me. ‘Be warned, Jasper wants enough children to make his own cricket team, so you’d have your work cut out.’
‘Don’t listen to her,’ Jasper says, giving his sister a friendly scowl across the table, ‘and don’t ask Jocey about her children, or she’ll tell you each of their birth stories.’
‘Well, don’t ask Jasper about kitchens, or you’ll be past child-bearing age by the time he’s finished talking,’ says Jocelyne, and then they stick their tongues out at each other.
Looking between Jasper and his sister, I envy this easy teasing between them. I always longed for siblings, to have someone who would always understand where you came from.
‘Some love isn’t all bells and whistles and fancy stories,’ says Keith, leaning over to squeeze June’s hand, and I feel irritated that he is daring to weigh in on the topic of love.
‘That is true, dear,’ says Maude, giving him an affectionate smile.
‘Laura, do you plan on writing about Jasper for your website, then?’ Juliette asks, cocking her head at me.
‘Um, maybe. It could be a good story. We’ll have to see.’ I let out a sigh that goes on too long. ‘June, Keith told me you met through a shared love of maps, is that right?’ I ask, keen to steer the conversation away from me and to include June, who is looking left out.
‘What’s that, dear?’ asks June, sounding surprised that someone is talking to her. Then she laughs a little too loudly and turns to Keith, as though expecting him to answer for her.
‘That’s right,’ says Keith, patting June’s hand.
Maude looks at me unblinking, narrowing her eyes slightly, as though she knows that I know. She couldn’t, could she? Maybe I left fingerprints all over the coat alcove. Maybe there were traces of my perfume on her brown Barbour jacket, and she’s just this second sniffed me out. Damn it, I should never have returned to the scene of the crime. That’s probably the first rule of crime club.
‘Laura’s also writing about Jersey,’ Jasper says, saving June from answering, ‘a travel article about local dishes and traditions. I thought you could give her a few of your recipes, Mum.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ says Maude, standing up. ‘Why don’t you come inside with me for a moment, Laura? We’ll have a root around. I might even have some old snaps of Jasper in his birthday suit you’ll find amusing.’
‘Mum,’ Jasper rolls his eyes, but looks secretly pleased.
Glancing across at June, I’m worried she’ll think me rude to leave before she’s answered my question, but Keith is now talking to her quietly and her eyes drop to her lap.
Inside, Maude ducks into the kitchen and picks up a large leather book, stuffed with loose pages, then she shows me through to the living room and offers me a seat on a blue sofa. I perch uncomfortably on the edge, wondering if Keith’s naked body has lain here before me.
‘Local recipes, right, let’s see what I have,’ says Maude. As she flicks through the huge book in her lap, I explain my idea for a travel piece told th
rough food.
‘It sounds like a wonderful idea. My late husband and I travelled around Europe a great deal, and you know the strongest memories I have of those trips are the meals we shared: a game tortellini in Tuscany, currywurst from the Rhine. You must taste a place to remember it.’ Maude pauses, smiling to herself. ‘What is the taste of Jersey, then? You’ve got Jersey wonders, of course, cabbage loaf,’ she starts ticking off a list on her fingers, ‘bean crock, apple layer cake, ormer stew, oysters, Jersey Royals done properly, there’s an art to that.’
I start taking notes in my phone. This is just what I need. Jasper was right about his mother being an excellent resource.
‘June used to make a mean apple layer cake,’ Maude says, pausing to catch my eye. ‘She has dementia now.’ She waits a moment for this to sink in, then goes on, ‘She hasn’t a clue who’s who. She’s in full-time care, but Keith likes to take her out at the weekend. She’ll still go with him, despite not knowing his name. There’s an acknowledgement that she’s somewhere safe, with people who love her.’
Her words hit me like a punch to the chest, the strange dynamic between them immediately making sense.
‘Oh, how sad,’ I say, my voice quiet. I feel rebuked, though Maude has been nothing but kind.
‘Poor Keith has had a hard time of it,’ Maude says. ‘I sometimes think I was luckier to have Frank die on me, than to have endured what Keith has – to see the person he loves fade away in front of his eyes.’
A tight ball of shame forms in my stomach; shame at the assumptions I made about people whose lives I knew nothing about. I think of my conversation on the beach with Gerry this morning – about assuming too much.
‘Last year, June came here, and she said, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name, but I remember I love you.” I cried, and she didn’t know why I was crying.’ Maude blots at her eye with the edge of her hand, and turns to look out of the window. ‘You know, love is not all about the grand gestures and the cutie meets, Laura.’ I smile that she still hasn’t got the phrase right. ‘That’s the shiny book cover, not the story inside.’
Just Haven't Met You Yet Page 22
