‘She’s co-starring. We’ve only ever been in two films together but apparently the director liked what he saw.’ By ‘what he saw’ I presume he means chemistry, but I’m not going to say it.
The bed seems a bit lumpy. I don’t want to stay in it a second longer. I brush him and the crumbs aside and am pulling my knickers on as fast as I can.
‘You could come out for a few days, get a cheap flight?’ He’s still lounging on the bed, looking all film star-ish.
‘I’ve used up all my holiday quota coming here.’
‘Don’t be sad, we can stay in touch.’
Staying in touch works when you’re already in a relationship, not when you’ve had six days, three snogs, and one shag. The first two meetings don’t count. They were job interviews. We’ve not even had a proper date.
He’s excited though, I can tell, and it just isn’t fair for me to act like a spoilt child. But I’d just thought, hoped, that when we got home we could meet up. See if this was as good as it seemed.
Apparently it is not. It has already passed its sell by date. He is heading off to Greece with his ex.
And there was I, thinking that shared crumbs in bed and a late night ducking in a loch counted as something more meaningful than foreplay.
I do know he fancies me, and I fancy him rotten. But last night must have been about mutual lust, and pent up emotions after being flung into close proximity for a week. It has nothing to do with a proper relationship.
Or maybe the fact he’s so pleased to escape me is all my fault. I did do my best to cock things up, I accused him of lying (which he didn’t), of having a baby (which he hasn’t) and of being married (which he isn’t). I’ve screwed everything up. Relationships are about trust, and I haven’t trusted him at all.
So he’s going to Greece for a cooling-off period, otherwise known as escaping. For on-screen snogs with the glamorous Laura. I presume there will be on-screen snogs, and that it’s not a Greek tragedy where he runs her over with his chariot.
I don’t want it to be a modern day romance. I want there to be tragedy involved.
‘We can go out when I get back home?’
‘We could.’ But inside I know we probably won’t. ‘Sometimes the timing isn’t right, is it Jake?’
‘Sometimes you have to make it right, Sam.’ He says it seriously, but without pressure.
‘I’m sure it will be very exciting in Greece.’
‘I’m sure it will.’ He’s studying me as I hop round the room pulling on my clothes. ‘It’s a good part. Filming wasn’t supposed to start for weeks though, they’ve pulled it forward.’ He waves his phone. ‘Missed a lot of texts apparently.’
‘Fab.’ I start throwing everything else into my suitcase. ‘Better get a move on, I’m sure you need to rush home and learn lines or something. You can tell me all about it in the car.’
‘I will. Shall I get that? Probably your mum.’ I’ve been trying to ignore the knocking on the door because I need to get my head round this and work out how not to cry the moment anybody talks to me. But it’s too late, he’s opening the door. If anybody comes in now and cheerily says ‘how are you?’ I’m done for.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’
Okay, not quite what I expected. And the stranger at the door is not directing the comment at me, but at Jake. I stop throwing stuff into my case.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for days.’ He’s tall, slim, blond and fidgety. He looks stressed. And angry.
‘I told you I was taking a few days off.’ Jake’s voice is smooth, but I can see the twitch at his temple. He’s not happy. ‘I presume Amy told you where I was?’
‘She was a bit awkward actually, until I explained that if I didn’t get hold of you today the whole thing would be off. It’s been brought forward.’
‘Honestly Jake, what on earth are you playing at?’ Harry gives a yelp of recognition and hurls himself towards the door as a woman steps in. A woman I recognise. She doesn’t look as glamorous as she did in the photo that Sarah sent me. But it’s her.
‘Laura, what the hell are you doing here?’
‘Keeping my husband-to-be company of course.’ She smiles, and slips her hand through the crook of the man’s arm, and he smiles back.
‘Hi there!’ I wave. He’s still my date, I’ve paid up until the end of today, so they are not going to ignore me. ‘I’m Samantha. Pleased to meet you, and you are?’ I shove a hand in his direction. He looks slightly baffled, but automatically takes it.
‘Sorry, darling.’ Jake puts a possessive arm round my shoulder, and even though I know he’s acting again, it’s worth it – just to see their raised eyebrows. ‘This is my agent, Mark, and…’ He pauses. ‘His fiancée, Laura.’ Which is tons better than him saying ‘my ex’.
I blink as it sinks in. He’d not told me that bit. He’d omitted to mention that ‘a text from my agent’ equated to ‘a text from Mark’. Father of the baby. No wonder he felt bloody betrayed!
‘I’ve just discovered that even more congratulations are in order, he’s also her agent now as well as mine. Though he wasn’t when she got cast as my leading lady, were you Mark?’ His tone has that dry edge and Mark flinches, but doesn’t respond.
This is all starting to feel very awkward, and weird, and horrible,
‘Hurry up and pack, it’s taken us hours to get here.’ Laura has patted Harry and now shoos him away. I haven’t offered to shake her hand, I’m not sure I want to.
‘Well, you’d better both set off back then, you don’t want to miss the plane, do you?’
‘The three of us are all on the same flight.’ Mark dips into his pocket and pulls out tickets with a flourish. I rather suspect he had aspirations of acting, but ended up managing instead.
‘Leave my ticket, I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow. I’m going home with Sam, aren’t I?’
I nod, but my face feels all ache-y and wrong when I smile. I can’t say no, can I?
By the time we cross the border back into England I know that it is not a Greek tragedy. Or an island murder. It is a romcom, which is the most depressing thing I can think of right now. Romcom means flirting and fun.
Apart from polite discussion about the film, we don’t talk much other than when he tells me I’ve taken a wrong turning or offers to drive. He puts his hand on my knee at one point, but when I jump and nearly steer the car into a ditch he thinks better of it. We both remember the Landrover experience day.
It seems like the longest drive I have ever been on, and nowhere near as much fun as when we were heading up to Scotland a few days ago. But that was when he made me laugh with silly jokes, and Harry kept licking my ears. Even the dog senses the strained atmosphere, and spends most of the journey asleep in the footwell, occasionally waking up and scrambling onto the parcel shelf so that he can check out the scenery.
I’ve been driving slower and slower as we get nearer to home, and practically crawl into the station car park in first gear.
‘So, here we are. Safely home!’ I really am turning into my mother.
‘Here we are.’ Jake looks at me, and Harry sticks his head through the gap between the seats and rests his head on my shoulder.
‘I could drop you off at your place.’
‘Here’s fine. It’s been a long drive, and the train’s quick.’
‘Jake, I—’
‘Sam, we—’
We speak at the same time. Then both stop abruptly. It’s awkward. Like a first date, except it could be the last.
‘Ladies first.’
‘Thanks for this week.’ I swallow hard, determined to be sensible. Strong.
‘You’re welcome.’
‘It’s more than just the boyfriend bit.’ I stare into those lovely eyes of his and wonder if I’ll ever see them again, apart from at the cinema when he’s famous. ‘You made me feel good. You gave me back “me” if that makes sense. Thank you.’ I’m blabbing on to stop myself saying that I want him, but I still mean what I say. T
here had been too much compromise while I’d been with Liam, and I’d not even noticed the real me drifting away until suddenly our relationship was over, and I felt like nothing was left. I feel like crying, but I can’t help but smile at him.
‘I didn’t do a thing, darling. You did it all yourself. You keep working on it, and you’ll get everything you want, Sam.’ He cups my chin in his hand. ‘You can do anything.’
‘Good luck with the filming, this is your big break!’ His big break, our big break.
‘Could be. I can’t not take it, Sam.’
‘I know, I never said you shouldn’t!’ There’s a hollow in my stomach, and my throat is all blocked up. Our lives are totally different. He rushes off to exotic locations, spends time with his glamorous ex, and glowers at his agent. He is complicated and confident. I have Sarah, cocktails and takeaways.
‘But you don’t seem happy.’
‘I’m happy, over the moon.’ I smile my happiest possible smile. ‘Back to work tomorrow!’
‘You should come out, just for a few days. I can book the ticket.’
‘I can’t, I told you. I’ve got a job, stuff to sort out.’ And I don’t want to see him in a clinch with Laura, just thinking about it makes me shudder. If I knew him better I might be rash, just ditch everything. But I don’t know him better.
‘I’ll skype you, and maybe a date when I finish filming?’
‘That would be nice.’ This time I say maybe, not no. Because my heart doesn’t want to be sensible. And it will be months. By the time he comes home, our time together will be a distant memory.
Jake has been worth every penny. But this is the saddest goodbye ever. I kiss Harry and bury my face in his fur.
‘You’ll be okay?’
I nod. ‘I wish you’d stop asking. I’m a big girl now, I’ll be fine.’ And I will be. Harry licks my hand, my salty face. Tidying up the tears I hadn’t cried – except it appears I have been a bit leaky. I thought I’d got away with it. ‘Dust in my eyes, from having the roof down.’
The corner of Jake’s mouth lifts, but he looks sad, not smiley. He dips his head closer to mine and those dry firm lips of his brush against my own, and when Harry snuffles and pushes his nose between us it’s almost a relief. I can’t do a big passionate snog outside the station, then watch him disappear. ‘Sure.’ His thumb rubs lightly over my cheek and I really, really want to lean into his hand. But I don’t. I pat the dog.
‘Come on, Harry.’ Jake ruffles his hair, and then mine. ‘Looks like it might be me and H against the world together now. Laura texted me earlier, she’s finding the baby a bit demanding, asked if he could stay at mine for a while when we get back from location. I don’t think Mark is keen on him.’
He hands me an envelope as he gets out of the car. The same envelope I’d stuffed in his bag this morning. With the money in.
I push it back. ‘You’ve got to take it. It’s yours, we had a deal. You have no idea what I had to go through to get it.’
He smiles, but it’s a sad smile. ‘I daren’t ask.’ Then even the sad smile falters and he’s just looking at me. ‘I don’t want your money, Sam. I just wanted to be the man who makes you smile.’ He taps me on the tip of my nose, and then they both go. Walk out of my life. Man and dog.
Maybe I need a puppy in my life, not a man. Maybe visiting that dog’s home wasn’t fate’s way of introducing me to Jake, but of telling me I need a dog. Just not Tank.
Chapter 27
I will be 30 when I wake up in the morning and
1. I don’t have a boyfriend or husband, and the closest I’ve got to a maybe has left the country
2. I’m not rich and about to be whizzed off to Monte Carlo
3. I don’t have a Ferrari
4. The only thing I love about my job, if I’m honest, is Sarah
5. I’m still not thin (but am happy as I am, so should probably delete this one).
There are many good bits –
1. My family are deluded about points 1, 2 and 3
2. Jake said I am the size I’m supposed to be. I have now realised that ‘thin’ is not me. This is me, and I am sensational (according to him). I have written this on the envelope he gave me, next to the ‘I CAN DO IT’, but in smaller letters as there wasn’t that much room left.
When I say many good bits, many might not be an appropriate word, but I might think of more positives to add later.
I have realised though, that I am still living a lie. Despite nearly telling my parents that Jake was not a real boyfriend, I still haven’t done it. I also kissed him in the loch. They saw us whizz off together the next morning looking like we’d barely slept (we hadn’t). I never told them that we were in a hurry because Jake was fleeing the country with his ex and her lover, and it was over before it had barely begun.
I will write a round-robin text tomorrow, like people do at Christmas and New Year, and I will explain.
Hi all, well what a busy decade I’ve had and what a relief that I am now in my thirties and mature. Sorry about the little white lie that Jake was my boyfriend when he wasn’t, but he actually was briefly, but now he isn’t again as he has a starring role to play in Greece (Mother will probably think it’s a re-make of Grease and he is the new John Travolta, but you can’t spell everything out in a text). But I have good news! Jake was excellent in bed, and is the master of toast buttering. See you in my thirties! Sam x
Something like that will do, but I will re-read it before sending. But now I am going to have an early night and prepare myself for departing my twenties. Tomorrow I have work, and then a surprise celebration with Sarah.
I’m not sure I should have agreed to the surprise bit. I am officially too old for surprises – especially the Sarah type. Appletini guy still hasn’t recovered from the marshmallow surprise which he thought was something to do with hot chocolate. He will never look at a marshmallow in the same way again. I will say no more, other than they go very soft and sticky if put in warm places and can take a lot of dislodging. Which Sarah says is the whole point. She says it was a stamina test and he passed with flying colours.
***
Thirty does not start off with a bang. It is very sedate, which I hope is not a sign that this is how the rest of my life is going to be.
Work has been quiet. We’ve hit the lull. Most people have already booked their summer holidays, and some organised people have booked their winter ones too. The less organised people are actually on holiday, packing, unpacking, or thinking about how they’re going to pay the balance. Which gives me time to mentally prepare for the next decade of my life, and for this evening.
Things I must do now I’m thirty:
1. Buy anti-wrinkle cream (I have never looked after my skin properly, but as thirty is the new forty I think I should).
2. Write a five-year plan.
3. Decide what I really want to do (see point 2 – I am no longer sure that travel agency work is my true vocation or fulfilling in any way other than the holiday discounts).
4. Oops, scratch the cream – Sarah has just told me I’ve got it the wrong way round. Forty is the new thirty, thirty must therefore be the new twenty and so I need not worry, yet.
5. Get a dog.
By the time I’ve written the list, and tried to come up with some alternative careers for which I’m qualified (I’m not entirely convinced that the dog-walking scenario will work for me – I don’t like early morning walks for a start, so am back to concentrating on travel), it is 5.30 p.m. and time to head home. Sarah gives me a hug and tells me she will be at my house for 7 p.m. so that she can check I am dressed appropriately before we hit the town, or wherever it is she’s planning to hit.
I am trying on the third dress, and thinking about point five on my list, when the doorbell rings. I’m not sure I want a teeny-tiny handbag dog because I’d probably forget it when I’m rushing round in the morning, and might sit on it. This would be disastrous on many fronts. I would be distraught about hurting it, and my ba
nk manager would no doubt be disappointed at the vet’s bill. I also don’t want a big strong dog like Tank, I’d end up looking like a bodybuilder if I had to hang on to his lead. I really just want a medium-sized dog. A dog like Harry. With an owner like Jake.
I can’t believe my stupid head has taken me down this cul-de-sac. One minute I’m thinking about cute canine companions, the next he is on the scene again.
But I do miss Harry. And Jake.
I might agree to see him if he ever comes back from Greece, and he wants to see me, and he calls. But so far, things have panned out exactly like I thought they would.
He did ring from the airport after he’d landed, but it was awkward. And he has sent the odd text, but texts just aren’t enough are they? I mean you can totally misunderstand what somebody means. And it has been a whole five days since I dropped him off at the station. He did ring when he arrived on location as well, but the line crackled and then we got cut off. I don’t think it’s very good for communication on remote Greek islands. Then there was a text saying that maybe we should cool it until he came home.
Cool it? It is so tepid warm that we will soon be entering chilled territory.
See? This is what happens when somebody throws in a few extras for free and you think they actually mean something.
I had spent quite a bit of time since I came home looking online at flights to Greece. Maybe as a go-getting thirty-year-old, I should grab my chances while I’ve got them, pull a sickie and go and see him. But the fact that we haven’t had a meaningful conversation since he went, and then I got that text, has stopped me pressing the ‘book now’ button.
I did also have ‘avoid men like the plague’ on the list I wrote when I was in Scotland, and I am beginning to realise that my sub-conscious did actually have a valid point, before Jake led me astray in the loch.
Dress number three looks dowdy. It belongs to the type of girl who has been cheated on. Not the type of thirty-year-old who is determined to be the best she can for her own sake. I pick up dress number four.
Sarah has insisted on taking me out for my birthday, but has refused to say exactly where we are going. Which leaves me slightly afraid. I hope it’s not some kind of club where you’re expected to stick pound coins between a man’s naked buttocks, or the local pizza parlour. I’ve not got anything against men’s buttocks, or pizza, but after rather a depressing day at work I have decided it would be quite nice to see in my thirtieth year in a slightly more sophisticated way than I greeted twenty.
The Wedding Date Page 27
