by Emma Jackson
‘He’s still staring.’
‘Yup.’ A little devil poked at me and I gave him a cheeky wave. Maybe he’d just think I was being friendly after he stepped in with his obnoxious friend or maybe he’d remember that we knew each other. I wanted him to, I realised. I wanted him to figure out it was me and I wanted to see how he’d handle it. Would he continue ignoring me? Would he be angry and give me a piece of his mind?
‘Let’s stand over here.’ I pulled her over to a little gap in the seating where you could admire the view without encroaching on anyone’s privacy. ‘Would you go get another drink?’ I pulled out a couple of bills from my wallet for my round. ‘If he does recognise me, it’ll be the perfect opportunity for him to come over won’t it?’
‘Okay. Same again?’
I nodded and tipped the last of it back, handing her the empty glass. When she was gone, I glanced back over at Stephen. He wasn’t staring anymore; some woman was sitting on the edge of the coffee table practically leaning into his lap and taking up all his attention. I crunched down on my peppermint candy cane and turned to the view. The balmy air lifted tendrils of my hair and cooled my face as I looked out over the wall, little lights swimming like luminescent algae along the river of traffic below, as I waited and waited.
But he never came over.
Kaylee returned with our drinks. We chatted and sipped and despite me looking over and catching his eye, a number of times, he stayed right where he was. I went to fetch the drinks the next time and I thought I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked up toward the bar.
I skirted someone who was pushing their chair out, and the buckle on my sandal slipped, the strap sliding down and catching under my heel, making me stumble. A hand caught my elbow and stopped me from falling for the second time that evening.
Stephen appeared beside me. Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome. Neatly laundered, with perfect posture and the face of a Calvin Klein model.
‘Why hello, Mr Cartwright.’ I appraised him with barely concealed satisfaction. I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist coming over. ‘You finally decided to come say hi properly.’ I righted myself on my stupid sandal and still barely came up to his shoulder.
‘Hello, Ms Kingston.’ A smile touched the edge of his mouth, but his expression didn’t soften. There was a coiled tension in his body as he stood near me, despite the hands he’d slipped into his trouser pockets. He wasn’t going to give much away. ‘I didn’t realise it was you earlier.’
‘I didn’t think so. Would you have left me victim to your friend’s attentions if you had?’
‘He’s not a friend.’ He darted a glance over my shoulder towards the group he was with but looked away quickly, furrowing his brow at his shoes. ‘And he was being extremely rude – why would I have subjected you to that?’
‘I dunno. Revenge maybe? For the whole New Year’s Eve thing.’
His brown eyes flicked back up to me. I’d forgotten how rich their colour was: coffee and chocolate, but there was something glassy about them too tonight. Probably alcohol, though he didn’t seem that drunk. ‘You win some, you lose some,’ he replied with an enigmatic shrug of his shoulders and I felt a bite of disappointment.
Indifference – the worst of all forms of regard. I hadn’t mattered enough to hurt his pride. But I summoned a blithe smile. ‘It’s big of you not to mind losing.’
He gave a small laugh and leaned in closer. He smelt like my cocktail tasted and had nearly the same effect on my brain. His voice pitched low as it neared my ear. ‘It’s easier to accept when I know the loss wasn’t entirely mine.’
My senses returned as he stepped back again. ‘Oh wow, you think I missed out?’
‘It was a noble sacrifice for the sake of your friend’s happiness.’
‘Oh my God, your ego,’ I spluttered.
‘Don’t be such a hypocrite.’ He tutted. ‘You thought I would be aggrieved because I didn’t get to spend a night with you, didn’t you? Why is it so hard to imagine I would think the same?’
My mouth flapped opened.
‘Goodnight, Noelle, enjoy the rest of your evening.’ He winked at me and walked away.
Chapter Three
The heat of the day was baking the walls of my apartment. I was spread like a starfish on top of my bed sheets staring at the ceiling. All it needed was a fan going around like helicopter blades and I was basically in a seventies’ movie having a breakdown.
Beth texted me an hour ago and woke me up, but I hadn’t read the message fully or replied yet. I couldn’t remember what I’d texted her last night when I was drunk and I was a little worried to check, since it was highly probable it’d been about Stephen.
Every ten minutes after that my phone pinged to tell me Daisy was ‘in the house’ and available to video chat and I had about six invites from my brother Sam to play Animal Crossing. Why didn’t they entertain each other? They lived in the same house, for goodness’ sake. Actually, that was exactly why they didn’t want to spend time together: they were sick of each other. I got on infinitely better with my siblings once I didn’t live with them anymore.
However much I did genuinely like them though, I had work to do.
After our fourth cocktail Kaylee and I had started scribbling ridiculous ideas in my notebook about what to do with the love triangle and how it might fit the plot I already had with some tweaks. Newsflash – it didn’t. But if I came up with a better plot – one that might just be within touching distance if I could get my head to stop pounding – it might work. It was either that or rewrite the whole thing and I didn’t have the time for that. Unless…I asked for an extension of my deadline.
I was not the greatest at hitting deadlines. My editor was used to me requesting a couple of extra weeks, but I didn’t mind that because I always delivered soon enough, and the extra time was for tweaking and polishing each draft. It was hard to stop fiddling sometimes.
This, however, this was totally different. If I asked for an extension how long did I ask for? Two weeks, a month, two months? I hadn’t even reworked my plot yet so how did I know the scenes that would need the most work? Or how many new scenes I needed to write that didn’t even exist yet. It was a mystery. A mystery locked away in the depths of my own mind, and I needed to go at it with a chisel and brush like an archaeologist, scrape and scrape away until I found something real.
To do that though, I needed to move. I needed to get food, get dressed and sit at my laptop and work. Why did this feel like an enormous ordeal? Why was I terrified of getting this wrong? Hadn’t I always worked on the ‘you can’t fix a blank page’ method? What else was keeping me flat on my back on the bed, sweaty and pathetic?
The image of a dark-haired man with a wide, devilish smile filled my mind.
Stephen. He’d got the last word the evening before and it was driving me to distraction – literally.
I blamed the alcohol for inhibiting my ability to give him a snappy comeback. Of course I’d expected him to be disappointed – he’d actually wanted me to go over to his apartment for sexy times, whereas I’d only been engaging in innuendo via text to trick him. I had no desire to be another notch on his bedpost – the thing was probably whittled to matchsticks by now. I was so done with men who drained my time and energy and gave me nothing in return. And he…he…
Well, he was perfectly infuriating.
I rolled myself out of bed and stumbled through my bedroom door, around the couch into the kitchenette, where I fumbled a pop tart out of the packet and into my toaster oven. Next I went to open the window by my desk to let in some fresh air. My air con was on its last legs and until my next royalty payment arrived, maintenance on it had to wait. If things got too unbearable, it would be a job for my credit card.
‘Morning, darlin’,’ a husky voice called across to me as I pushed the swollen window up, the wood screeching.
‘Morning, Mr Biggins,’ I said automatically, not needing to check to see who it was. Mr Biggins lived with his wife
in the next building, which backed onto mine. He was always sitting by his open window, smoking cigarettes. Watching the alleyway, he said. Waiting to cop an eyeful of me in my underwear more like. Once the window was open, I twiddled the blind so that he couldn’t see inside and went back to force my burnt pop tart down my throat. I should’ve gone out to source some better sustenance, my stomach was roiling at the thought of more sweet things after all those cocktails, but I couldn’t face the glare of the sun yet. Even with my blinds down, I was tempted to put on my sunglasses.
Blowing on my pop tart and still managing to burn my mouth, I collected my cell phone and notebook.
Beth: What happened?
Okay, I scrolled back, blinking – I really needed to check what I’d written to her first.
Me: Hey, just bumped into Cartwright, Stephen Cartwright.
He’s still an arrogant asshole, isn’t he?
Oh. Yeah. Now I remembered. I went to write a message:
Me: Any chance you’re free for a Skype chat?
She pinged me back almost immediately.
Beth: Gimme ten minutes and I’m there.
I forced myself into the shower quickly – it’s not like she could smell me, but it seemed only polite – and I’d just plugged my laptop in and sat down in front of it with a massive glass of water when the ring tone started.
‘Hello,’ Beth chimed once her image came into view on the screen. I avoided looking in the top corner at myself. She’d braided the front section of her hair and the rest was out, bouncing around as she waved at me. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Painfully.’ I couldn’t help but smile back at her as I rubbed my temples. ‘Don’t be offended but I’m gonna turn the volume down on you – I was drinking cocktails last night.’
‘Oh, don’t show off. I was serving the alcohol, rather than indulging in it. Pimm’s on the terrace for the Wimbledon festivities.’
‘Strawberries and cream too?’
‘Strawberries and cream. Strawberries on Victoria sponge, strawberries in the Pimm’s. So many strawberries. I was slicing them for hours.’ She sniffed her fingers. ‘I don’t think that smell is going to ever go.’
‘There are worse things to smell of.’
‘True.’ She laughed. ‘So, you saw Stephen when you were out drinking these cocktails? Did he join you? What happened?’
‘Not much really. My text was probably a little over the top.’
‘You, over the top? Never.’ She feigned a scandalised look and I poked my tongue out.
‘Yeah, yeah. We just said “hi” and I asked him if there were any hard feelings and he brushed it off like I was the one who should’ve been disappointed that we never hooked up.’
‘I see. He does have this way of bantering that leaves you wondering whether he really means it or not.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I take it you’re not going to meet up for more reminiscing?’
‘That would be a no.’ I laughed and lifted my hair from the back of my neck. I’d left it wet after my shower, but it was already half dry and sticking to my skin.
‘That’s a shame. Nick should be doing some transatlantic flights next month. He was thinking of staying with Stephen for his stopover days.’
‘He should bring you. Surely you’d get discounted tickets as the pilot’s girlfriend? And if you stay with Stephen it’d be free accommodation. I could stomach his company if you all wanted to meet up.’ I was dying for Beth to come over on vacation so we could go out for cocktails. Actually, maybe not cocktails.
She smiled, but it was dimmer than usual, and she shook her head. ‘I mentioned it a couple of times, but he didn’t seem keen.’
I tilted my head. ‘How come?’
‘He didn’t really say. Just sort of changed the subject. Maybe he just wants to spend some time with Stephen – brotherly bonding or something.’ She pulled one leg up to rest on her chair, so she was hugging her knee.
‘He’s missing his brother that much? I didn’t get the impression they were that close.’
‘No. They are. They were just going through a hard time when you saw them at Christmas. But…is it weird? Shouldn’t he want me to come with him on a romantic city break or am I being completely self-absorbed and jealous to think that?’
‘No. You’re never those things, honey. Are things all good with you and Nick generally?’
‘Yeah, they’re good,’ she said automatically and then her brown eyes went kind of hazy and she drifted off into a daydream. ‘They’re really good.’
‘Excuse me, ugh, can’t deal with the lovey-dovey nausea.’ I grabbed my wastebasket and brought it into view, pretending to be sick into it.
‘Noelle.’ She glared at me, but I could tell a laugh was threatening.
‘I’m kidding. You know I love you guys. I take credit for you getting together.’ I dropped the wire basket to the floor again. ‘So, you’re all happy and he just wants to spend some time with his brother. I guess it’s not that weird – it’s just hard for me to imagine needing to schedule in more time with one of my brothers or sisters. I can’t go to the grocery store without tripping over a sibling, y’know?’
She laughed. ‘And to be fair, Nick did say that Stephen is trying to find someone while he’s on this secondment. Nick wanted to see if he could help him while he was staying with him.’
‘What, find someone, like, “the one”?’ I raised my eyebrows.
‘Oh God, no. Stephen? Are you kidding?’ She waved a hand as though swiping the crazy idea away. ‘Someone their mum left money to in her will.’
‘Don’t the lawyers usually deal with that sort of thing?’
‘I don’t know.’ She pressed her lips together for a second and I sensed she wasn’t telling me everything. ‘Stephen decided he wanted to deal with it, but he hasn’t found the guy yet.’
‘What details do they have for him then? Just a name? How do they know he lives in New York?’
She pointed at me. ‘Ha, look at you – your eyes have lit up. You’re a regular Nancy Drew. One whiff of a mystery and you want to get straight on it.’
‘No. Not me. I have a book to write.’ I groaned as the realisation swam over me again. I’d forgotten it for ten minutes while we were chatting.
‘You get on with that book then. I have to go set up the dining room for dinner service.’
‘Okay, sweet cheeks. Let’s do this again soon.’
‘Definitely.’
We blew kisses to each other and disconnected the call. My apartment was quiet apart from the conspicuous humming of my refrigerator as it struggled to keep my food cool.
I knew what I needed to do. I had to go fetch my notebook and open my edit letter file and my outlining file and start thinking.
But when I did all that, the thoughts, they did not come. I drummed my fingers on the edge of my keyboard, then rifled through my drawers for my sticky notes. Maybe if I broke the problems down and dealt with them one by one…
An hour later, I had helped Daisy with an English assignment, played Animal Crossing with Sam and Daisy, agreed to meet Alfie and Teddy for tacos this evening, and I had three pink Post-it Notes on my wall, which were the big issues my editor had flagged up. The bones of the book. All the issues she had with characters and consistency would depend on these main elements being fixed:
1) Up the stakes in the plot – make it more personal
2) Setting needs to be more integral to plot
3) More emotional investment in the love story
And then I had my own mirroring set of Post-its in blue, which showed the only flimsy ideas I’d had to fix things:
A) Love triangle
B) Bring James back and make sure readers realise why he is such a bastard & a bad idea
C) Move Charmaine home – make it more personal / linked to backstory
So, two of those were basically the same. And they’d been Kaylee’s idea. When did I start sucking at this?
I walked away from my desk and sprawled on
my face on the couch, burying my head in a cushion. It was one of those sequin-flip designs, so it was like nuzzling a serpent. The Vietnamese restaurant beneath my apartment was prepping to open for lunch. I could go there to have dumplings. I had worked enough for today hadn’t I? It was early enough that I wouldn’t spoil my tacos.
No. I turned my face and took a deep breath, eyeing the Post-its on the wall again. I had to rediscover my love for this book. I had poured myself into this series of novels for the better part of a decade. Maybe it was that pressure that was getting to me. Maybe I needed to do what Beth had when she was getting all neurotic on the phone – focus on the bit that mattered. For her, it was whether she and Nick still felt good when they were together and for me…it was about finding the excitement in writing again.
Beth had been right about me lighting up at the idea of a mystery to solve. I did love that. I always had done. Growing up with my dad as a detective, he’d talk to me about cases – highly censored until I was older – and ask me what I’d do. So, I’d always put figuring things out and making up stories together. I’d been approaching my books just as a writer recently, getting into a pattern, maybe it was time to break the routine and rediscover my inner private eye.
I pushed myself up to sitting as a little nugget of inspiration formed in my mind. It was a crazy idea and he’d probably say no, but maybe I could offer to help Stephen on his missing persons hunt? A real-life actual mystery – but without the danger and criminals (hopefully).
And if he did say yes…then I’d definitely get the opportunity of having the last word. I just needed to bide my time.
I woke later than usual the following morning. Between the unsuccessful attempt to find my father and the endurance test that was drinks at a ridiculous height on Fifth Avenue in the evening, I was sluggish.
And then there was bumping into Noelle.
I’d known it was possible. New York City had a population of around eight and a half million, but I understood the Laws of Sod thoroughly. She lived here, I was going to be living here for the summer, she’d made a fool of me, it was inevitable I would run into her at some point.
