‘Well yes, but…’ This is a bit odd, I hardly know him. We’ve barely touched hands, and now we’re going to have to get all touchy-feely. And kiss. Gulp.
‘I won’t bite.’ He leans in closer. ‘Honest. I’m not really an alien hybrid.’ He grins, and some of the tension disappears.
‘I might like being bitten.’
‘It’s going to be fun finding out.’
When we get to the restaurant, they find us a table for two in a corner. Probably because of the way Jake keeps looking at me. He has obviously slipped into role, and is treating this as an audition.
‘So, you’ve always wanted to be an alien?’
‘Always.’ He is straight-faced. ‘It is what every actor aspires to, you can’t claim to be a proper actor until you’ve played an alien. All the greats would give their right hand to be an extra-terrestrial.’
‘Though not necessarily a Shakespearian one?’
‘Not necessarily, those parts are like gold dust.’
‘And what do aliens charge?’ I am dying to find out more about what he’s acted in and what he really wants to do, but I also need to get the money bit out of the way. What if I can’t afford to do this? ‘You know, if they are whisked away to a very posh country house, a castle, and they get free food and drink?’
‘Hmm, well food doesn’t feature high on the normal alien agenda.’ He is not being helpful.
‘And travel expenses, plus a clothes allowance?’ Please God, I hope he doesn’t only dress in Armani or some other designer gear I can’t afford.
‘Ah, well are we talking about a classy alien?’
‘Definitely.’
‘And what standard of performance are you expecting from this alien?’
Ha, bloody ha. ‘Entertaining…’ I pause. ‘But without weird alien voices, and no extras.’ I mention that so that we are clear about the sex thing.
‘But with smooching?’
‘Who says smooching these days?’
‘I’m an actor, darling.’ The waitress comes over at that precise moment and does a double take. I can tell she’s heard what he said and is trying to work out if he’s famous. And she’s taking far too much time sprinkling the pizza with parmesan and pepper. If she doesn’t stop soon I’ll be sneezing all evening.
‘He was third bed along in Holby City,’ I say, helpfully. ‘Arm in a sling.’ It does the trick. She loses interest and heads off with her pepper grinder to listen in on somebody else’s conversation.
‘You should have mentioned the alien.’ He looks pretend hurt.
‘She’s not an alien type of girl, I can tell.’ I take a big bite of pizza, I’m starving. ‘No smooching, can’t afford it. I won’t even be able to afford pizza after this.’
‘My treat.’ He says it lightly.
‘But you’re only here because of the job, my treat.’ I try to sound assertive.
‘I wouldn’t say “only”.’ He shrugs. ‘You’re not bad company, and you had to endure the play, so I think I need to pay.’
‘But this is business.’ He made that quite clear, and so did I of course. I don’t need a man in my life, and definitely not one I’ve had to tempt in with the offer of payment.
‘Sam.’ He puts his slice of pizza down and leans forward slightly. ‘It is business, but we can be friends as well, can’t we? Won’t it make it easier?’
‘True. And I split the bill with friends.’
‘God, you’re stubborn.’ He grins. ‘But the no smooching bit is boring. I might throw some in for free, for authenticity.’
‘You aren’t being very helpful here.’ It’s my turn to sigh now. ‘And people don’t smooch their friends.’
‘They don’t, but they don’t do a lot of what we’re going to, do they?’
Which reminds me, we’re supposed to be agreeing his fee here, not who pays for the pizza.
‘I’m not very good at negotiations, am I?’
‘Nor am I. My agent normally does it.’
Oh gawd, he’s not suggesting we arrange this through his agent?
He laughs. ‘You should see the look on your face.’ Then he looks all serious again, apart from the glint in his eye. ‘This is one contract I don’t want him to have anything to do with, though I am thinking about sacking him anyway.’ He looks at me earnestly. ‘I know you can’t afford to pay me loads, and I don’t expect you to.’ His voice has softened, and I know that he’s the best person I ever could have found to help me out like this.
‘I want to be fair, pay you what you’d be earning on a job.’ I look him straight in the eye. ‘It is business after all.’
He sighs. ‘But I am taking a break, and I am getting something out of this as well. A fun week away, nice company.’ His fingertips touch mine.
‘A distraction.’
‘Like I say, a fun week away.’ His fingers move away. All the way across the table.
He’s being evasive, something in his eyes has kind of shut down. There’s a no entry sign which I’d really like to knock down. My stomach feels all empty again; it’s almost like being on a proper date, one minute you’re on a high and the next it feels like you’ve said the wrong thing. Which is weird, when I hardly know him. We’re not even friends, really.
I swallow. I just have to be business-like. ‘I did look on the internet at equity rates.’ I quote the daily rate and expense allowance I found. Just saying it out loud makes my skin clammy and leaves me with a desire to eat all the pizza.
‘Half of that is more than enough.’
‘But you need to live. You can’t have been paid much for your part in that play I’ve just seen.’
He grins, back to his normal open self. ‘You’d hope not, wouldn’t you?’
‘I didn’t like to say it but…’
‘I’m not a penniless actor, Sam.’ His hand is back on the table. ‘An uncle of mine used to act, and when he found out I was following in his footsteps he set up a fund for me. It’s not masses, but he wanted me to have some backup if I needed it.’
It makes sense; he and Amy definitely look like they come from a rich background, so he’s probably better off than I am.
‘Now, shall we order dessert, seeing as you’ve polished off the pizza?’
‘Oh God, I didn’t, did I?’
‘You’ve been frantically munching as you talk.’
‘I do that when I’m nervous. Hell, did you have enough?’
‘I’m fine.’ He is grinning, and his dimples have appeared. ‘It’s nice to eat out with a girl who actually eats.’
‘I suppose your girlfriends are usually slim, gorgeous actresses and models?’
‘I don’t really have girlfriends.’ He tops up our wine glasses, and for once isn’t looking me in the eye. ‘I got stung once and realised the whole commitment thing wasn’t what I wanted.’
I stare at the menu and ignore the slight lump in my throat.
‘That’s partly why I want to help you out.’
‘Oh.’
‘But I did want to be straight with you, because—’
‘Oh goodness gracious me!’
I do not get to hear the reason (which is bloody frustrating) because I am grabbed from behind and assaulted. Or rather smothered, by my mother’s bosom.
‘Samantha, fancy that, and you’re with a man!’ Mother is excited, but I do wish she wouldn’t make it sound like seeing me with a man is such an unlikely occurrence. ‘A real man!’
Jake is desperately trying not to laugh, but the quirk of his eyebrow is making me want to giggle.
‘And there was I thinking you’d made him up.’
‘Mum!’
Jake winks at me, so I scowl back. ‘Somebody as gorgeous as your daughter must have men queueing at the door.’ He blows me a kiss. ‘I’m a lucky man.’
‘You are indeed.’ My father, who has been lurking behind me steps forward. ‘David, Samantha’s father, and you must be?’
‘Jake, Jake Porter.’ Jake stands up and they shak
e hands, and he kisses Mum on the cheek which makes her go all fluttery, which she never used to do when she bumped into Liam.
Dad pats me on the shoulder. ‘Let’s leave these lovebirds in peace, shall we Ruth?’ He winks at me as well, it must be catching. I just feel like I’ve got a nervous twitch.
‘Oh yes, yes of course, darling, but we must make plans.’ My heart plunges down to floor level. ‘Now, now Samantha, let’s organise supper.’
‘Mum!’
‘I know you’ll ignore me if I send you one of my little texts.’ Her little texts are like novels. ‘She’s a naughty girl.’ She smiles at Jake as she pats my hand, as though I’m five years old. ‘But you both must come over for supper. How about Saturday?’
Jake raises an eyebrow in my direction.
‘Sure.’ I only say it to get rid of her, I’ll work out later how to cancel. Supper with Jake and my parents is definitely not on my ‘to-do’ list at present. Or ever.
‘Wonderful.’ Dad is steering Mum away. ‘Speak to you later darling, enjoy your meal.’
There is a long silence. Jake is trying not to laugh. I know he is.
‘Don’t you dare say I am just like my mother, or I will dump you.’
‘So heartless.’ He grins. ‘I was going to say you look like you need something sweet.’
‘I’d better not have a dessert.’ The puddings sound amazing, but I have a wedding to go to soon. I might have sorted my date, but I think the ‘looking my sexiest’ isn’t quite there yet.
‘Death by chocolate sounds just up your street,’ he says as if he hasn’t heard me trying to deny my cravings.
He’s right though. It is. I was practically drooling as I read the description.
‘I need to lose at least four more pounds before the—’
‘Rubbish. You look perfect.’
I let him order dessert. He is my date, and he says I look perfect – so surely that has to be good enough for me?
I text Jake after I get home, and confirm what I will be paying him. It is more than half, but less than what I had originally calculated. He doesn’t exactly send an orgasmic thank you, but he doesn’t say no. Which solves one problem, and leaves me with another MASSIVE one.
Knowing that this would happen, I planned ahead and have made an appointment with my bank manager. Tomorrow instead of spending my lunch hour comparing diet plans with Sarah, I will be sat in the bank, working out just how much grovelling I need to do to get a ‘home improvement loan’. I’m now worried that not only could all my family and friends hold me in contempt for lying to them, but I could be arrested for falsifying information for material gain. It all sounds terrible, doesn’t it?
I’m beginning to think that Jake could be one ‘kitchen update’ too far. No way will he add value to my house. I haven’t told him he’s an appliances update, because he’d probably rather be a new sports car than a top of the range oven, but I wanted the bank manager to think I was sensible and looked after my money, and would spend his loan wisely on something that would last.
Jake is only going to last six days. Well, last as in ‘feature in my life’, I’m sure not even my mother is capable of killing him off in a week.
I will be spending the money wisely though. Just not in an approved manner. Last time I looked at the ‘reasons you may want a home improvement loan’ on the bank website, ‘pay for escort services’ was not on the list nestling between ‘loft conversion’ and ‘restyle interior’. It wasn’t on the leaflet either, I checked just to be sure.
I feel strongly that this is an oversight, as surely if said escort was good with his hands (most are I’d imagine) then they could do a bit of DIY in between other essential servicing, and make the house far more appealing? I know for a fact, though, that it would make Liam go a funny puce colour with indignation if a client ever requested money for anything that didn’t have a resale value on eBay.
Anyhow, my bank manager is built in the same mould as Liam, so I know it will be a total waste of breath trying to persuade him I’ve got a valid need – so I’m going with kitchen update, though I’m normally quite an honest person. In fact I was very honest until this wedding, and the huge girlfriend, cropped up.
I wonder if offering a cut-price deal on a Caribbean holiday will swing the deal, then decide that adding bribery to white lies probably isn’t a good idea.
Chapter 9
Hooray! Friday has been brilliant so far. I have a bank loan – I can afford to take Jake to Scotland. This is excellent news.
Luckily when I got to the bank, I discovered that my grumpy bank manager had been transferred and instead I would be seeing Zoe.
Zoe turned out to be infinitely nicer than I could have imagined.
She was roughly my own age and wearing the exact same shade of nail varnish as I was. In fact, once I pointed this out to her, it turned out she was mates with Jasmine who did my nails, who is besties with Sarah, and she really would be over the moon if I could sort her out a cheap deal to Crete.
I got the money for my new kitchen, henceforth to be known as Jake, and she will get the best room I can wangle for her, with a view to die for and cocktails on arrival.
To celebrate, Sarah and I decide to go out for the evening. The only confusing bit is a text I get from Jake, just as Sarah knocks on my front door.
He seems to have got confused, or maybe it is meant for somebody else, or maybe we are not on the same wavelength at all. I’ll ask him. Later.
***
‘Why have we come here?’ Sarah is ushering me into the newest bar in town, rather than our normal cocktail bar. ‘What about Appletini Callum?’
‘I need to avoid him for a bit. There are only so many apple cocktails a girl can take, and … he is only doing it part-time, he’s an astrophysics student.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘Honestly, who wants to talk about stuff like that all the time? Geeky is only good when it sounds dirty, and he doesn’t know a thing about horoscopes.’ She gave a fake shudder. ‘He hasn’t got a clue about how compatible Leo is with Pisces. How strange is that?’
‘Well, I’m not being funny but I’m not a Leo, so I haven’t a clue either.’
‘No, but he studies astrophysics, which is about stars, isn’t it? He doesn’t know anything about horoscopes, Star Wars or Star Trek. I reckon he’s looking at a totally different sky, all these objects he goes on about in outer space are just confusing.’
‘He probably thinks you’re confusing.’
‘That’s the intention.’ She opens her eyes wide. ‘Come on, we need to celebrate, and this place is supposed to be totes on trend. You’ve got yourself a date! Woohoo!’ And with that we’re in.
‘What do your parents think about Jake?’ Oh shit, I’ve just realised what that text from Jake meant. He said Fish and chip supper, or posh? Cazh or classy? x I quite like the way he always tags a kiss on the end, though this could be because somebody might see them – or it could just be an actor thing. Buggering hell though, I’ve just realised that ‘cazh’ means casual, and he’s talking about supper at Mum and Dad’s tomorrow. I was supposed to be working out how to wriggle out of that one, and I’ve run out of wriggling room before I’ve had the chance.
Unfortunately the new ‘on trend’ bar is playing music loud enough for my deaf gran to make out every word. This is shouting territory, and I’m not sure I want to share facts about my fake date at full volume. I definitely don’t want to start talking about supper with mother.
‘They’ve not met him properly yet. Just said hello at the pizza place.’
‘Made him wet?’
‘Met him yet!’
‘He’s the best hot stew around, your mum’s bound to love him.’
‘Hot stew?’
‘What?’
‘You called him a hot stew.’ Hot I could understand, from a purely business-like point of view, but stew? For a moment I do wonder if she said ‘hot screw’, but not even Sarah would say those words and mention my parents in the same sentence.
‘No I didn’t. I said he’s the best of what’s around, tons better than wanker-banker Liam.’
I heard that bit, well mainly the last three words, as did most of the restaurant. She yelled it out in that teeny weeny gap between tracks.
It was at that point, when the word banker left her lips, that I remembered I had to tell her not, under any circumstances, to discuss this with Jasmine, her nail-technician bestie. Because if Jasmine found out about Jake, and accidentally told my new friend, Zoe at the bank, then I could have a lot of explaining to do. And possibly no loan. Which meant, possibly no date.
‘Can a bank ask for a loan back early?’
‘A low backed what?’
‘Oh shit.’ All of a sudden I’ve forgotten all about the dangers of Jasmine and the risk of early repayment, or criminal charges.
I half-slide under the table, and Sarah joins me. ‘Oh shit what? And low backed what?’
Miraculously the noise levels are much better down here near floor level. ‘He’s just walked in.’
‘Jake?’ She pokes her head above table level.
‘No.’ I pull her back down. ‘Why would I be hiding from Jake? Liam.’
‘Liam, here? Where?’ She’s up and down like a bride’s nightdress as my grandad used to say. I don’t actually think it’s a very tasteful thing to say but it’s the first thing that comes to mind, probably because all I can think about it this bloody wedding, and how it’s going to ruin my life and leave me destitute.
I pull her back down. ‘By the door. With a bloke in a grey pullover.’ Figures.
‘Let me go and tell him what a shit-face he is, and show him a picture of your new man.’
‘No!’
‘No?’ She looks at me with suspicion. ‘I thought you were over him? You told me…’
‘I am. Really. I am so over him. But I don’t want him to see me…’ Like this are the words I don’t add. I am still a tad overweight (even if Jake is happy with me as I am), my roots need doing (I was hanging on until the day before I go up to Scotland), and I am slightly tipsy.
The Wedding Date Page 8
