This is a Love Story

by Thompson, Jessica

  I looked at the cumin seeds and the bread sitting sadly in a blue bag where I’d left them on the kitchen table and wondered what on earth I should do. I sat at the bottom of the stairs and picked up my phone, holding my thumb on the number two. There were two rings and then her voice.

  ‘Sienna, can I come round?’

  Sienna

  Nick arrived at my door at 8 p.m., looking like a wet dog. A sad, wet dog. A whippet, to be precise. I’ve always thought he looked a bit like one of those . . .

  ‘Oh, come in, Nick,’ said my dad as he answered the door, holding on to the dado rail for safety.

  The second I’d told him that Nick was coming round, he had gathered together a pile of books about the Congo, his latest fascination. I’d tried to warn him that it might not be that kind of visit. I could tell by the tone of Nick’s voice.

  I was sitting on the sofa when I heard the door go. I stood up as he walked in, slightly shocked by just how wet he was. Droplets were running down his face and his fringe was spiked into dagger-like rows, giving him a greasy boy-band look.

  ‘Nick, what on earth has happened to you? Let me get you a towel,’ I exclaimed, making my way to the bathroom.

  ‘Er, well, don’t worry. We can talk later,’ he said as he sat down next to my father, who immediately started showing him the books. I threw a bright pink hand-towel at him and made my way back to my seat. Whatever Nick had gone through, it was almost impossible to tell as he started listening to the things my dad had learned today. His way with him was incredible.

  I made a pot of tea and spread out a selection of biscuits on one of our best plates. I had a warm feeling in my stomach because he was here. It was a feeling I never had at any other time. I sat on the chair and watched as he and Dad turned the pages, pointing at photos and examining the notes Dad had written. It was like nothing else mattered in the world. He had drawn maps, charts, thought processes in pencil. It was incredible.

  After a while, when Dad went to the fridge to get Nick a beer, I gently intercepted. ‘Nick, are you OK?’

  He looked up at me and I could see it in his eyes. Something really bad had happened. ‘Well, not really,’ he said, sighing deeply and rubbing his hair with the towel.

  His T-shirt was stuck to his body and I could see every ripple of muscle. Stop, Sienna. Must. Concentrate.

  ‘Chloe left me tonight. She thinks I’m cheating on her.’ He looked towards the table almost in shame. The look was so guilty that for a second I wondered if he had.

  I leaned forward so I could be closer to him. ‘And you haven’t, you know . . . cheated on her, have you?’

  Dad sat back down and watched us both. His lids were starting to pull down heavily over his eyes like theatre curtains.

  ‘No, no, of course not. It’s ridiculous, really. I went to the shop to get some stuff we needed for dinner. I left my phone in the kitchen and Amelia set me a message completely out of the blue and Chloe obviously just read it.’ He looked mortified.

  ‘Oh dear. What did it say?’ my dad asked, showing genuine concern.

  Nick picked up a chewy chocolate-chip cookie and bit into it, leaving a perfect impression of his teeth. ‘Just that she missed me and stuff. I honestly haven’t contacted her since the split, and that was so long ago.’

  ‘So what did Chloe say?’ I asked him. Perhaps it had been one of their silly rows. The ones that they seemed to have so often . . .

  ‘She basically accused me of cheating on her – she said I have wandering eyes, all sorts of stuff. She packed her bags and left.’ He winced as he said it.

  ‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said my dad as Nick slurped his beer anxiously.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, butterflies filling my stomach suddenly. I wondered why I felt like this. Well, in truth, I knew. Although I really wanted him to be happy and settled, I also knew that maybe we could get back to the way things had been. Me and Nick, having fun . . . I knew I was being selfish. Before he had the chance to answer, my dad cut in.

  ‘Guys, I’m really struggling to stay awake here – no offence, Nick. I’m going to have to go to bed,’ he said, his head lolling forward for a moment before he managed to snap himself out of it.

  ‘No worries, George. Thanks for listening,’ Nick joked, taking another huge swig from his can.

  I held on to Dad and walked him into his room, just in case he fell. He climbed into bed heavily and took some tablets. As I kissed him on the cheek, he said something strange: ‘Look after him, Si. He loves you – you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, don’t . . . don’t worry,’ he said through thick fatigue as his head dropped softly onto the pillow.

  How odd, I thought, as I pulled the duvet over him. He looked so sweet as I stood there for a moment or two, watching him breathe.

  When I went back into the living room, Nick had moved onto the double sofa.

  ‘Come here, Si,’ he said, hanging his head sadly.

  ‘Aw, sweetheart, don’t worry. You never know, you might be able to sort this out. Right?’ I asked as I curled up beside him.

  My heart was racing. I suddenly felt that nervousness I’d felt before with Nick. When it was just us, spending time together. He pulled my shoulders down and I rested my head on his chest, wrapping my right arm around him and holding him tight. I felt that warmth flood my body. His heart was pounding too – I could hear each and every beat. My hands ran across his ribs, I could feel them under his damp T-shirt. That familiar Nick smell filled my nostrils. I hadn’t been this close in a long time. He said nothing, just ran his fingers through my hair. It felt like he was touching my heart.

  That ache was returning. The pain that had plagued me for years. I had managed to distract myself from it with new boyfriends, missions to house the homeless and serious but unsuccessful bids for promotion in the office. Now it was back – and I wanted to push it away. I couldn’t cope with all this again.

  ‘Have you heard from Ben?’ Nick asked suddenly, sweeping a whole handful of my hair away from my neck. It sent chills down my spine.

  ‘No. It’s been quite a long time now. I was waiting for him to come running back, but he never did, so I think I can safely give up on that one.’

  ‘Do you miss him?’ he asked.

  Did I miss him? I wondered about this . . . The weeks after he left me on the night of the Christmas party had been spent with a dark cloud hovering over my head. Every time the phone rang I’d hoped it would be him. I was always disappointed, and then my disappointment had melted into anger, bitter as coffee. Anger because he’d told me he loved me and then deserted me. He couldn’t really have loved me, could he? You don’t leave people you love. That’s why I’d figured my mum hadn’t loved me. She could never have packed her bags if she had.

  ‘Not any more. I still think about him, but it’s all over, isn’t it? No point in dwelling on it.’

  He sighed again. The way he ran his fingers through my hair was making me sleepy. I was so relaxed I could feel every part of my body almost sinking into him and the sofa as though they were grains of sand.

  The clock struck midnight. ‘I should go,’ he said, really quietly now.

  The thought of him leaving hurt even more. I didn’t know why. Then three little words just came out of my mouth. I didn’t plan them. ‘Please don’t go.’

  I couldn’t believe I’d said it. I swiftly started backpedalling. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Of course you should go . . .’ I trailed off, blushing into his soft T-shirt before peeling myself away from him.

  He lay there for a few moments, just looking at me. He was so handsome it hurt. He still made my heart race like the very first day I’d met him on the train, when I instantly labelled him the most gorgeous man in the carriage, if not the world. It was quite an assumption to make for a twenty-year-old girl who had only ever been as far as Paris on a school trip. Ridiculous, really, wasn’t it?

  I could see the tho
ughts racing through his mind before he started to get up. ‘I’m sorry, Si. Thanks for the offer, but I’m really tired now. I think I need to go home and take stock of this mess.’

  I felt embarrassed. I had done it again. For God’s sake. Just like that time I thought it would be a great idea to climb into bed with him and cuddle him.

  ‘Don’t worry. I don’t know why I said it, really!’

  He pulled me in for one more cuddle before walking out quietly, his head still bowed like a sad man.

  I didn’t sleep well that night. Not well at all.

  Nick

  Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

  Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

  Oh, here we go again, I thought, as I sat at my desk, photoshopping a pair of breasts for a cosmetic surgery feature. What a sad bastard I am. A sad, sad bastard. Anxiety was nibbling away at me. Where’s your wife, Nick? Oh no, you don’t have one. Kids? Course not. Running that art studio you always wished for? Dream on.

  The door to my office was shut and the blinds were drawn. I was working away like an angry, disfigured creature that had spent so much time in the dark it would turn into ash if it so much as set foot outside.

  I didn’t want to see Chloe sashaying around the office and looking at me like I’d just been ejected from a pigeon’s bottom. This was why I had made that promise to myself about relationships with colleagues. I expected that my next tea would be riddled with arsenic . . . She had skipped work for a few days after we’d broken up and I’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t come back, but she did.

  An instant message popped up and jolted me from my spiral of self-loathing. It was from Tom.

  ‘COME ON, MOPEY HEAD. DON’T BE SAD ’

  I sighed and smiled. He was such an idiot, but I liked him. ‘I’ll be fine, Tom, chill. Let’s go for a beer later. What do you reckon?’

  ‘YES. YES AND YES. IN FACT, LET’S GO FOR SEVEN BEERS AND SLEEP IN A BIN SOMEWHERE. SOUND GOOD?’

  ‘My perfect night out.’

  ‘SPEAK LATER, BALL HEAD.’

  I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about the people around me and how brilliant they were. Not brilliant in terms of changing the world, or even changing their underwear, but I was glad to have them in my life. I was lucky to know them. Even if they did throw things at me and call me testicle-related names.

  I picked up my phone and texted Ross:

  ‘Ross. Tom and I are going drinking in Balham tonight. From 6 p.m. in the Sheep’s Head. Can you come? Text the boys. Nick.’

  The boys. I wondered for a moment why I called them that. I think we’re still boys at heart, passing thirty hadn’t changed that. Even when we’re all wearing puffy shoes with special soles and Velcro fastenings and trying not to fall over on the bus, we’ll always be ‘the boys’. Some day, though, this boy was going to have to grow up . . .

  It was 4 p.m., just another hour before I could leave the office and have some fun. My phone rang; it was an internal call. I suddenly feared it could be Chloe. Oh shit. I picked up the receiver with trepidation but it was Ant, thank God. I never thought I would be happy to hear his voice.

  ‘Nick, can you come to my office for a sec?’ he asked.

  Oh dear. I was probably in trouble, I thought, as I put the phone down. I was going to have to walk across the office floor now. Past my ex who would probably try and staple my lips together or punch some extra holes in my nose. Head high, Nick. Head high. I felt a sharp pang of regret and foolishness for ignoring the no dating your colleagues rule.

  I opened my door and walked across the office, my heart thumping in my chest. I could see her in the corner of my eye but I didn’t look. I wasn’t going to entertain any of her bullshit. After what seemed like an age I finally reached the foot of his stairs. I took a deep breath of relief, but couldn’t help but wonder what was coming.

  ‘Come on, Nick – hurry up, will you!’ he shouted jokingly from the management tree house, ruining my attempt at being low-key. Anyone who hadn’t noticed me skulk past would certainly know I was there now.

  I dashed up the stairs, realising how unfit I was when I reached the top and struggled to catch my breath. He was wearing a dark navy shirt with horizontal stripes, which did his growing stomach no favours at all.

  ‘Sit down, Nick,’ he said with a wide grin, which seemed to consume his whole face. He certainly meant it when he smiled, that was for sure, even if it didn’t happen too often.

  ‘What’s up, boss?’ I asked, stretching my legs out and placing my hands over my torso.

  ‘Two things, really. The first is why are you such a miserable bastard?’ He pushed a tray of chocolates and biscuits towards me and I had an awful feeling I was in for some kind of management counselling session. But his man-to-man chats always involved ridicule.

  ‘Me, miserable? Really?’ I asked, feigning ignorance.

  ‘Yes, you. Look at the state of your face – there’s too much hedge going on. And you aren’t ironing your clothes any more.’

  He had a point. Chloe always used to iron.

  ‘Come on. I heard about you and Chloe,’ he said, pushing some chocolate buttons into his mouth with a knowing look.

  I wasn’t going to be able to escape this, was I? ‘I’ll be fine. It’s been a few days now, anyway . . .’

  ‘Weeks, Nick. A few weeks. And you look like you haven’t washed since then,’ he said bluntly, crossing his arms.

  I had washed . . . and it hadn’t been that long, had it?

  ‘Well, I have great news for you. She’s leaving.’

  Oh, thank God, I thought. I wanted to shriek with joy. This was brilliant.

  I kept my feelings hidden. ‘Oh, gosh. That’s a shame. Where’s she going?’

  He peered over my shoulder in some strange attempt to check she wasn’t looking, then he leaned in close and whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone this, Nick – and it’s going to come as a shock. She’s moving away, to live with her old boyfriend – some guy she met at uni or something. I think it’s safe to say “negotiations” were taking place when you two were still together . . .’

  Holy shit. Cheated on. Again. So that’s why she was acting like that. I didn’t quite know how to take it. My mind flashed back to the first time we’d had lunch in the pub and she’d talked about love, about how she’d had it once.

  I was furious. A raging, blood-boiling fury was washing over me and all I could do was sit in front of my boss and be ‘professional’. How dare she accuse me of cheating when she was having it off with another bloke behind my back all along?

  ‘I’m sorry, mate. It shouldn’t be me telling you this, but I’m fed up of looking at you in this state and I think you need a kick up the bum to get over it, yeah?’

  I nodded my head, but really I wanted to run down the stairs and confront her. She’d tried to make out it was all my fault that she was leaving – she’d almost had me believing it. I didn’t know any more. I felt like I didn’t know anyone . . .

  ‘And the second thing . . .’ Ant interrupted my thoughts just at the right time. Before I imploded with anger and spontaneously combusted all over his office. A foot hanging from the desk lamp and unidentified bits of me all over his face.

  ‘Yes, Ant, what’s that?’

  ‘Sarah, the editor of SparkNotes, is leaving. She’s going travelling.’

  A flashback to the Christmas party, and how Chloe had known about this a long time ago. Urgh, Chloe. But what did this have to do with me?

  ‘I’m looking for a new editor. It’s a big job. And I have someone in mind for it, but I need you to convince me.’ He smiled again.

  I was starting to think he wasn’t that bad at all. A rush of warmth came over me – he must be talking about Sienna. I wanted to jump on my chair and preach to him about how wonderful she was. How hard she worked. About how she deserved it more than anyone in this office. OK, it wasn’t the editorship of a big national, but it was bloody amazing for a twenty-five-year-old girl who thought there was nothing
ahead of her but prescription tablets and making walls out of cushions.

  The possibilities started to whizz through my mind. How she would look in her own office, how she could breathe new life into the magazine, how she would have more money so that she and her father could live a better life. Suddenly I wanted this for her more than anything.

  He looked at me expectantly. ‘Well, come on then, Nick, you’ve seen her work more than I have. What do you think? Is she ready?’

  ‘Oh God, Ant, she’s ready. She’s more than ready. She’s a superstar, she’s talented, she’s, she’s incredible . . .’ I paused, almost out of breath.

  He raised a suspicious eyebrow. ‘All right, mate, steady on.’

  I turned crimson. I could actually feel my face burning.

  ‘Go on, get out of here,’ he chuckled.

  ‘You are going to give it to her, aren’t you? You are, please tell me you are,’ I begged over the desk, knocking a pile of papers onto the floor.

  ‘I’m not totally sure yet, Nick, but when I know I’ll tell you, OK? I’ll probably deal with it tomorrow.’

  ‘All right. You’d better,’ I said.

  All of a sudden I felt light and airy as I walked out of the door and down the stairs. I immediately saw Sienna in front of her desk, typing away like a maniac. I was so excited. Chloe wasn’t there, thank goodness – she’d obviously gone to make a drink – so I walked over to Sienna and whispered in her ear. It felt strange because I hadn’t done that in such a long time.

  ‘Hello, superstar!’

  She jumped a little, then looked around her nervously as if I shouldn’t be near her at work. ‘Nick. What are you talking about?’ she giggled shyly.

  I winked at her and walked away, ducking into my office. She looked confused for a moment and then continued typing. I was so happy for her. I had to avoid her because I just knew I would tell her if I spent any time with her.

  Five o’clock came and went. I slowly opened my blinds to see 90 per cent of the desks were empty, including hers. The office was quiet. The strip lighting was flickering in that headache-inducing way it does. I looked over to the lift and daydreamed about the moment I’d stepped out of it and she became a part of my life.