If I Never Met You

by Mhairi McFarlane

  “Oh, jeez . . . yeah, you might be right.”

  Jamie looked slightly uncomfortable and Laurie realized she’d been a trifle direct and crude. She’d indirectly referred to his . . . king and privy council, as Dan’s dad called it. His junk. Argh. She’d not congratulate herself on this moment when she awoke blearily tomorrow.

  “If only they’d asked, I could’ve told them of my strict ‘no making or sending grot’ policy and given them access to my iCloud to prove it. I’m not a lawyer for nothing.”

  Laurie laughed.

  “So, either I get myself a steady, respectable girlfriend by their end-of-year deadline, or no name above the door for me,” Jamie concluded.

  “They were that prescriptive?”

  “Oh, it was coded. You know. Unless something changes . . .”

  “Is that likely?”

  “Put it this way. I’m kind of a communist when it comes to relationships.”

  “You think we should all be state owned?”

  “I think whenever they fail, we focus on what specific people did wrong within the system, overlooking the fact that the whole institution’s rotten and dysfunctional. I don’t think it works—cohabiting, monogamy. I mean, I think it works, practically—halving the cost of living, getting a mortgage, raising kids. I can see why capitalist society wants us to organize ourselves that way. Then the government doesn’t have to find you full-time nursing care when you have the massive stroke, because someone stood up in a church and told a God they didn’t believe in, fifty years ago, they’d wipe your arse.”

  “Wow,” Laurie said. “I wish someone would write their own vows and use those exact lines. ‘I pledge to keep your bum cleft clean.’ Certainly better than that ‘I will always make your favorite banana milkshake’ BS.”

  Jamie laughed, a body-shaking laugh, and she could see he was taking to her, perhaps more than he expected to. She wanted nothing from him, and she was bright, his equal, and dry of humor. These things might be a novelty, given who he romanced.

  “But works emotionally, makes you happy?” Jamie said, swirling his drink. “Not so much. It’s usually a fostered dependency on someone you slept with and felt briefly passionate feelings for in your twenties, and you feel guilty moving on once its time has passed. In fact, that guilt is often the trigger for putting the roots down, tying yourself into it, convincing yourself it’s as good as it gets. I’ve best manned a few weddings where that is the exact description of what’s going on. It’s the least romantic thing imaginable. Yoking yourself to someone you’ve been having the same disappointing missionary with since freshers’ week.”

  Laurie twinged hard at the direct relevance.

  “Great best man!”

  “Hahaha. I left the part where I think marriage is a grotesque harmful sham out of the speech. No, I mean, I don’t push my controversial views on other people. Live and let live.”

  “But you were in a relationship in Liverpool?”

  “Ah. Nah. She wanted it to be that, and I thought a semiregular cop off was a semiregular cop off. I’m very . . . upfront about my priorities since that experience. Leaving any room for doubt can go badly.”

  Laurie was equal parts fascinated and repelled by Jamie’s cynicism.

  “I think long-term relationships are the most potent demonstration of the sunk cost fallacy you’ll ever see,” Jamie said.

  Laurie picked up a small handful of dry roasted and threw them into her mouth. She only noticed, on chewing them, how wildly hungry she was. “Meaning?”

  “The definition of sunk cost fallacy is a refusal to change something that makes you unhappy. You won’t, because look at the time and money and effort you’ll have wasted if you do. Which of course only means more waste.”

  Had this been what Dan decided?

  “Well. Happy weekend to me. You’re as much fun as falling into a barrel of tits, aren’t you!” Laurie said, and she and Jamie both burst into loud, alcohol-fueled laughter.

  Jamie paused. “None of this is remotely personal by the way, not as if I knew you and Dan as a couple.”

  “None taken.” Laurie waved her hand. “What about falling madly in love though? Don’t you make any allowances for that?”

  “I do, I only hope it never happens to me. It looks from the outside to be a temporary heightened manic state during which you do yourself all kinds of damage and make reckless promises you can’t keep.”

  “Hahaha. I guess it’s that too.”

  “That’s all it is, I’m sure of it.”

  Laurie had no comeback that didn’t seem pitiful, given her circumstances.

  “Hey. I hope poor Gina, twenty-nine, from Sale, isn’t looking for a soul mate if she’s meeting guys like you?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty confident that’s not the kind of mating she’s looking for,” Jamie said with a wolfish knowing glance, and Laurie said, “Blee.”

  14

  “I’ve had an absolutely mad idea, while at the bar,” Jamie said, and Laurie sincerely hoped it didn’t—shock, horror—involve getting naked. She would feel both embarrassed for him and dismayed by him. “It’s either a fit of divine inspiration or the stupidest notion ever to spring into a human mind.”

  “High stakes, here,” Laurie said bullishly, but she cringed. Him setting it up like this meant it was potentially embarrassing if she said no. She’d not had so much as a hint of sleaze from Jamie, but, well. That might be the secret of his success.

  “You want to get back at Dan Price? Realistically, unless you mean the kind of revenge that could see you getting sent to prison, that will involve making him angry, bewildered, and jealous, am I right?”

  “Yes . . . ?” Oh God, he was going to try it on? I’ve got a fiendish plan—it involves you sitting on top of me. What’s in it for me? Oh, merely the joy of seeing you prevail over this terrible gentleman.

  “I need to show my conventional settledness to get this promotion.”

  “Yeeesss . . . ?”

  Oh God.

  “What if we pretended we were dating? Proper whirlwind romance, stuff of fairy tales. Social media nowadays is the perfect place for showing off.”

  “Me and you?”

  “Yes. I mean, I know I’m not as good for your brand as you’d be for mine,” Jamie said, taking a deep glug of his beer.

  Laurie sensed behind the bravado, he was slightly nervous about her response. This seemed an odd reversal of power. He was the one everyone wanted to be seen with. All the girls dreamed that they’d be your partner.

  “How would it work?”

  “We could post loved-up pictures on Facebook, Instagram, whatever. Praise each other to the skies. All over by Christmas, once it’s served its purpose, because they’ll give me a verdict on the partnership by then. But we both go around saying we’ll always care about each other or whatever. A no-fault divorce where we stay best of friends.”

  “People would buy it? You and I have barely spoken before now.”

  Laurie shrank from saying: No one is going to think Hermione Granger here is having it off, big style, with Draco Malfoy.

  “If we sell it well enough.”

  “You think Salter and Rowson would approve? Am I really impressive enough to get you your promotion?”

  “Are you kidding?! You’re the golden girl. The haloed one. The star. Salter adores you. I struggle to think of anyone’s image who could do me more good by association.”

  “You say this, and you didn’t know my name earlier!”

  Jamie covered his eyes with his palm. “Aaaargh. Only because Michael refers to you as Lozza. I could hardly call you Lozza and couldn’t remember what it was short for.”

  Laurie laughed.

  “And Dan would think I’d moved on and was having an absolute ball?” Laurie toyed with the stem of her wineglass and thought, Dammit if this idea doesn’t have immediate appeal.

  She was flattered. Might as well admit that element to herself. Jamie Carter was prepared to publicly de
clare himself in love with her? This Greek God was prepared to anoint her his Phony Goddess? It did feel like the most-longed-for boy in school asking you to prom.

  It’s because you’re in favor with Mr. Salter and Mr. Rowson, she reminded herself. You’re swot girl offsetting his louche image, remember. The whole POINT is you’re not a natural choice for him—you’re subverting the rock-star-and-supermodel expectation.

  “Oh, we’d make sure it was obnoxiously romantic,” Jamie said. “We’d blow Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan out of the water. We’d make Sleepless in Seattle look like a Ken Loach film.”

  “Hahaha. Hmmm. I mean, if I wanted to mess with Dan’s head . . . it’s certainly not what he’s expecting . . .”

  Laurie knew that this urge to hurt Dan, to get his full attention again, was beneath her and unhealthy. So what, though? Life, she had realized fully, was extremely unfair.

  “I don’t know Dan Price very well, but I do know male psychology,” Jamie said. “Was he ever jealous?”

  Laurie nodded vigorously. “A lot. Very.”

  She wanted this known. She had mattered, once.

  “Then I promise you, he can be again. We could help each other.”

  He fixed his gaze on her steadily and Laurie knew she was getting a variant of his seduction routine. Laurie had never met a proper ladies’ man before, only gobby lads who fancied themselves as busy scorecard shaggers and weren’t worthy of the title, really.

  She was anthropologically curious. To other women this must be magic, and to her it was a card trick. She’d quite enjoy doing a Penn & Teller on his act, deconstructing it.

  She looked at Jamie’s intense dark blue eyes and glowing skin, the light sweat on his brow, that thick dark hair you wanted to push your fingertips into, and wondered what age he was when he discovered how beautiful he was and the power he wielded over women.

  Awareness of that power, plus having a quick wit and no heart of his own—a dynamite combination. His laid-back manner, his playful sense of humor, his ability to focus exclusively on you—these were the ingredients, Laurie figured, that added up to a man who made husbands jealous. He should ditch the law and become a high-class gigolo, working La Croisette in tennis whites for diamond-rattling divorcées.

  Had fortune and fate vomited him into her lap at precisely the right time?

  “It is mad. And yet. It appeals,” Laurie said hesitantly.

  Jamie broke into a broad smile. He had her.

  “You’d have to meet up with me every so often to create our dynamite content, but apart from that. We need to set terms and conditions for this showmance. Text me your personal email and I’ll message you over the weekend.”

  They agreed they were both awash with drink and needed to head home to find food, and Jamie insisted he’d see Laurie into a taxi.

  As they stood on the pavement, Laurie’s teeth chattering, her arms folded tightly across her body, she said, “I have a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “You were told that Eve was off-limits. You want this major promotion. You still took her out to talk work. Why? I mean, the risk versus reward doesn’t seem to stack up.”

  Laurie knew what she thought had happened, and nothing he was going to say would persuade her otherwise. She was curious at how he’d explain it away.

  “She asked me out, not the other way ’round, and so technically she took me out. Eve’s no wallflower.”

  Laurie tilted her head. “Still . . .”

  “Ack, I got very annoyed with the idea her sixty-two-year-old uncle gets to choose who she’s allowed to socialize with. I can be like that sometimes. An obtuse little twat. Yes, it was a risk, but if I’d given in to their rubbish, I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

  “You were, in fact, respecting her agency and autonomy?”

  “Precisely,” Jamie said, grinning. “And she’s going places. I was networking, if you want the unvarnished version. That was the incentive.”

  “With a twenty-four-year-old?” Laurie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “I’m not kidding, she’s ferocious. Photographic memory, doesn’t miss a thing, would leave any of us for dead without checking for a pulse. She told me her nickname is Eve of destruction. One day she’ll have her name above the door, of that I’m sure.”

  “Yet you didn’t close the deal?”

  She could tease Jamie that Eve wasn’t into him, but Laurie remembered the body language from the night in question.

  Laurie wouldn’t have dared be this personal and pushy if she wasn’t hammered. But this was her professional training. Pursuing something until you felt you understood it. You couldn’t advocate for someone without it.

  “I know it runs contrary to what you think of me, but I’m perfectly capable of enjoying female company without it having to end in bed.”

  To be fair, Laurie had felt that herself, only hours previous.

  “Plus, she was, as you said, way too young for me.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “I thought you were younger!”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I bet you meant immature. How old are you?”

  “Thirty-six.”

  “I thought you were younger,” Jamie said, tip of his tongue in corner of his mouth.

  “Thanks!” Laurie huffed.

  “I thought it was a compliment when you said it?”

  Laurie rolled her eyes.

  “Here you go,” Jamie flagged a Hackney. “I’ll email you over the weekend?”

  “Yes! Thanks.”

  It was only as the cab pulled through the streets that Laurie noticed the pitfall in this plan, the part that didn’t suit her, at all—she hated being a scandal. She was an intensely private person, maybe because her parents, in different ways, were such a show.

  Plus, they had some significant credibility hurdles to clear.

  Which was going to be harder, persuading everyone Jamie Carter could settle down, or that Laurie Watkinson could fall for a cad?

  15

  To: LaurieLee101@gmail.com

  From: jamieryancarter@gmail.com

  Hi!

  As discussed, here’s how I thought the arrangement might work. Obviously feel very free to say either no, these are the ravings of a lunatic, or suggest any guidelines of your own.

  As said, we’d start next weekend (how you fixed to take a photo in a bar, early Saturday?) and then run it up until Christmas. We can work out the breakup details in the New Year. God this is civilized compared to actual relationships, huh? ☺

  Not that I’m saying this is our professional speciality, but—the way to make a lie work is to mix in as much truth as possible. In terms of origins story, let’s say we got trapped in a lift and hit it off during a drink afterward. Mick can verify. And hey, that’s essentially true, right?! (Right? ☹)

  We’ll bung up Instagrams and Facebooks on a roughly weekly basis and generally make it clear we’re having a better time and are more smitten than anyone has been since Taylor and Burton. Without the fights, drinking, giant rocks, and remarriages. OK, maybe with the drinking. We’ll try to keep it as tasteful as possible obviously, and no public mucky talk or anything too ripe. Neither of us want to return to the smoking wreckage of where respect for us once stood, once it’s over. All posts to be preapproved by both parties. (Oh, and none of that “Snuggling up, hashtag blissville” stuff! Brings me out in a rash.)

  No seeing anyone else during the period of the “relationship.” No public wooing. No PDAs. Being cucked is very much not the look either of us are going for here. I’ll delete my Tinder. No, no need to thank me for this extraordinary sacrifice. <3

  This might be the sticking point, but, for this to work for me, I kind of need us to go to the Christmas party as a couple. Misters Salter’s and Rowson’s beady eyes will be firmly on that event & it’s the one major on-premises showcase for our Coupled Upness. I know you’re not much of a one for the company do (Michael told m
e that too) (think you may have a fan there, FY to your I) (no bagging off with him until you’ve finished fake dating me, thanks ☺) but it’s the prime opportunity to make sure this gets results—for both of us.

  Oh, last point, but vital. The way secrets get round in good faith is everyone thinks they can tell someone they trust, and that one person trusts someone else, and so on. I propose we tell absolutely no one, not a soul, that this is fake. Zero risk of exposure, peace of mind for both participants. Consider this a Nondisclosure Agreement for afterward too. We never talk about this not being real.

  Whaddya think?

  Jx

  Hi, Jamie,

  All sounds good, except the CHRISTMAS PARTY?? Oh GOD, I’d rather tour the Helmand Province in a day-glo unitard. ☹

  Lx

  L,

  Haaah, I did think you’d object. It is quite a harrowing experience.

  I don’t mean, you know, making out while you sit in my lap. Just arrive at the same time, sit next to each other, leave at the same time.

  Jx

  Argh. OK, we have a deal. NO KARAOKE THOUGH.

  Lx

  A deal, but Laurie had already decided to break the rules.

  “Look at us in a garden center on a Sunday; we’re officially wholesome, middle-aged, and deeply heteronormative,” Emily said.

  “Don’t nonhetero-conforming people go to garden centers on Sunday?” Laurie said, unclicking her seat belt.

  “The cool ones don’t.”

  Emily had announced she wanted to do things with Laurie that weren’t pubs, bars, and restaurants.

  “Otherwise I will have helped you out of a broken heart and into cirrhosis. What could you not do, when you were with Dan, that you wanted to do? Ring the changes. Enjoy your freedoms!”

  “Erm . . . he was funny about indoor plants. And especially flowers. He said they were amputated dying things merely giving the illusion of life. Little did I know they were a metaphor for our relationship, har har. I had to fight for the potted palm in the front room. And he was heavily allergic to anything with fur obviously, so that ruled pets out.”