‘Well, clearly I haven’t met anyone I like then.’
I wait for him to return the line of questioning, but he doesn’t, and I get the feeling he’s not overly keen on the topic in general. I’ve seen a few boys since breaking up with Ram, but it’s always fizzled out after a couple of weeks. I don’t know why. I just haven’t met anyone who’s held my interest.
‘I haven’t met anyone either, by the way,’ I say. ‘You know, in case you were wondering.’
‘OK,’ he says, shrugging.
‘That’s not a hint by the way,’ I add quickly. ‘I’m not suggesting we get back together or anything like that.’
‘Noted.’
‘OK, good.’
We sit in silence for a few moments.
‘Do you regret it?’ I ask.
‘Regret what?’
‘Asking me out in the first place.’
‘No. Why?’
‘Just curious.’
‘Do you regret saying yes?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘Why did you ask me out?’
‘Do you really want to get into this, Frankie?’
I shrug.
Ram sighs. ‘If you must know, I asked you out because of your laugh.’
‘My laugh?’
‘Yeah. You’re the only person I’ve ever met who laughs with their entire body.’
‘I do?’
‘You do.’
‘And you liked that?’
‘I liked that.’
It’s true we laughed a lot in the first few weeks of our relationship. One time I made Ram laugh so much he thought he was going to throw up. It’s kind of hard to imagine now. It feels like a lifetime ago.
‘What went wrong?’ I ask. It comes out in an unintentional whisper.
Ram looks pained. ‘I thought we’d gone over all this.’
‘That was ages ago, though.’
Ram and I broke up last October. We were in the hallway at my house (Mum, Dad and Luca were all out) and we were arguing. I have no idea how we ended up in the hallway or even how the argument started, only that it quickly evolved into the sort where you say the kind of things that you can’t take back, and before I knew it we were breaking up.
Although I was the one who voiced it first, it was a mutual decision; a joint acknowledgement that we’d be happier apart, which makes it sound like it was easy and pleasant. It was neither of these things. We both shouted, even Ram who rarely raises his voice. I cried. I like to think Ram cried on his way home, but I guess I’ll never know.
‘We were just a wrong fit,’ Ram says now, his voice gentle. ‘It was no one’s fault.’
‘Yeah,’ I murmur. ‘I know.’
Because we went to different schools, I at least didn’t have to endure the torture of seeing him in the corridors every day, but Ram still invaded my thoughts almost constantly. Although I knew we were better off apart, his sudden absence in my life left a massive hole. I missed him. I missed his arms around me, and his smell, and his grey Uniqlo hoodie, and the way he looked at me when I was being funny or cute or charming. I missed his mum and sisters, and their cosy little house, and even his annoying best friend, Maxwell. I missed him making me cups of tea and rubbing my feet and helping me with my maths homework.
But there were things I didn’t miss too. The arguing, freezing my arse off standing on the sidelines at his football matches, his choice of Netflix films, wobbling about on the ice while groups of girls gave me daggers, the sneaking suspicion that I was massively intellectually inferior to him and he was just too polite to say so.
Gradually, though, the hole after our break-up filled, largely thanks to Jojo who was downright heroic in those early days, always on hand with sage advice and a giant bar of Dairy Milk, and by the New Year, I was back on form – single and very much ready to mingle once more. I’d got my first big relationship out of the way and I’d emerged more or less unscathed. It was a necessary rite of passage, and I’d made it out the other side. I felt wise, worldly, womanly.
At least, I did then. Right now, I feel none of these things. I don’t get it. It’s not like I want him back or anything like that. Ram is right. We’re the wrong fit, we always were. There’s just something about being in such close proximity with him that’s stirring up all those old feelings, making me doubt myself and wonder if I could have done something differently, if I could have tried harder, or just been better …
‘You OK?’ Ram asks.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Mind if I change the station? I fancy a change of mood.’
‘Go for it.’
I lean forward and begin scrolling through the stations. I want something comforting and familiar.
‘Magic OK?’ I ask.
My parents listen to Magic. I like to take the mick out of them about it, but secretly I love the cheesy music selections.
‘Magic’s fine,’ Ram replies.
‘I’m Still Standing’ by Elton John is playing. I murmur along with the lyrics and start to feel a bit better. I was being silly before, letting nostalgia and doubt get the better of me.
The next song is ‘Superman’ by Black Lace. ‘Oh my God, blast from the past!’ I say, laughing.
‘Can you turn this off?’ Ram says abruptly.
‘Oh, come on, my singing isn’t that bad.’
‘It’s not that. I’ve just changed my mind about Magic. Can you stick Classic FM on instead?’
‘Classic FM? Are you serious?’
‘Or anything else. Just not this.’
‘Fine,’ I say, tutting and changing the station.
I can’t bring myself to put Classic FM on so I compromise with Radio 2.
‘This better, Your Highness?’ I ask.
‘Yes,’ Ram says, his gaze straight ahead. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter 11
‘I need to fill up,’ Ram announces.
They’re the first words he’s spoken since he got all pissy about my choice in music about half an hour ago.
I glance at the dashboard. The red light is illuminated. It feels like we’ve been in the car for ever, but according to Google maps we’re not even two thirds of the way there yet.
‘OK,’ I say. ‘I wouldn’t mind a wee actually.’
We agree to stop at the next services. When we arrive, the service station is eerily quiet. The few concessions that are still open are manned by kids barely older than us, with pallid complexions and zombie-like gazes.
Large TV screens mounted on either side of the food court are showing the news. The photo of Olivia flashes up. I grab Ram’s arm and point up at the closest screen. There’s no sound, but the scrolling banners suggest the police have no new leads, at least none they’re willing to share with the general public. It appears we’re one step ahead of them. For the time being anyway.
I glance across at Ram. He gives me one of his ‘I’m still not buying this for one second’ looks and gently removes my hand from his arm.
‘I’m going to the loo,’ he says. ‘I’ll meet you back at the car.’
The lighting in the toilets is bright and harsh. I attempt to touch up my make-up, but it’s a lost cause. In the end I just make do with blotting my sweaty face with a tissue and redoing my bun. It’s not like I’ve got anyone to impress, right?
Before returning to the car, I go to WHSmith and stock up on bottles of Coke, a jumbo packet of Haribo, a grab bag of pickled onion Monster Munch and a couple of chunky Kit Kats in the hope it’ll distract Ram from the fact I’m probably not going to be able to make much of a contribution to the petrol costs.
I pay for my items and head for the exit.
Ram is just outside the double doors with his back to me. He’s on the phone.
‘Stop right there, Mum,’ he’s saying. ‘I mean it. There is no way Frankie and I are getting back together, no way at all.’
At the sound of my name, I freeze.
‘I’m just helping her out with something,’ Ram adds. He sighs and rubs the
back of his neck. ‘I know you do. But you need to understand that it’s not going to happen. We tried it and it didn’t work. It more than didn’t work. It was a disaster.’
I blink. I know we had our ups and downs but ‘disaster’ seems a bit strong. What happened to us just being a ‘wrong fit’?
‘No,’ he continues. ‘It’s nothing to do with what happened at New Year. I told you, that was a non-starter. Look, I’ve got to go … Of course I’ll drive safely … Love you too. Bye.’
As he hangs up I dash back through the automatic doors. I watch through the glass as he slides his phone into the back pocket of his shorts and walks towards the car.
I count to twenty before following him.
‘Provisions,’ I say, shoving the bag of drinks and snacks into his lap.
He takes a brief look inside before handing it back. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d been over to my house?’ he says.
Ah.
‘It didn’t come up. And I had no choice but to go over there. I didn’t have your number.’
‘Why not?’
‘I just didn’t. Look, is it really such a big deal?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because. You’ve got them all riled up.’
‘Riled up?’
‘Yeah. It’ll be Frankie this and Frankie that for weeks now.’
‘It’s not my fault we got on so well. Or would you rather I’d just been a complete cow to them?’
He sighs. ‘Of course not. I just …’ His voice trails off. ‘They just get attached,’ he says after a pause.
‘Well, I was attached too,’ I shoot back.
‘I know.’
There’s another pause.
I dive into the bag and rip open the packet of Haribo. I’m a bit too rough with it and half of them end up on the floor. Ram winces.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter, bending down to pick them up.
‘Don’t put those ones back in the bag,’ he says.
‘As if I would,’ I mutter.
I sit back in my seat, the sweets I picked up off the floor already going soft and squishy in my warm fist.
‘Are the Cokes cold?’ Ram asks.
I nod.
‘Can I have one, please?’
I wrap the dirty sweets in a tissue then pass Ram one of the bottles. He thanks me and takes a long swig.
‘We should get going,’ he says, screwing the lid back on and sticking the bottle in the cup holder.
‘OK,’ I reply.
Ram doesn’t speak again until we’re back on the motorway. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asks.
‘Plan?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘For when we arrive.’
‘Oh God, I don’t know. I was just going to improvise.’
He shakes his head. ‘Of course you were.’
‘Well, excuse me, but I don’t think I have a whole lot of choice. I mean, Jojo’s clearly lost her mind. Who knows how she’s going to react.’
‘You honestly think she’s got Olivia, don’t you?’
‘How many times have I got to tell you this? Yes!’
‘Even though it’s totally out of character.’
‘Yes.’
Ram pauses. ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Let’s just say you’re right and Jojo has got her, what’s your goal here?’
‘My goal?’
‘Yeah. What are you going to do when we arrive?’
‘I told you, I’m going to improvise depending on what we discover.’
‘Yeah, but you must have some sort of outcome in mind.’
‘Well,’ I say slowly. ‘I suppose I’m going to start by talking to Jojo and persuading her she’s made a massive mistake. Then we’ll all go back to Newfield and return Olivia to her parents.’
‘And how are we going to do that without getting the police involved?’
‘We’ll do it anonymously.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know,’ I say, prickling with irritation. ‘I haven’t ironed out the details in my head yet.’
‘No shit.’
‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘You come up with a plan then.’
‘Why should I? I’m not the one who thinks Jojo has kidnapped a baby. I’m just the chauffeur.’
There’s a pause.
‘Why are you even here?’ I say.
Ram blinks. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If you’re so convinced I’m just some silly drama queen who’s imagined this all from nothing, why did you even agree to come?’
‘I told you earlier.’
‘So tell me again.’
‘Because you asked me to. No, you begged me to.’
‘And since when did what I want make the slightest bit of difference?’
Ram sighs. ‘Please don’t do this, Frankie.’
‘Do what?’
‘Turn this into another argument.’
‘I’m not!’
‘Yes you are. You literally can’t help yourself.’
‘So, what, you’re calling me a liar now?’
‘What? No. That’s not what I said.’
‘Well, that’s what it sounded like.’
‘Well, that wasn’t my intention.’
‘Well, that’s how it came across, so maybe you should think before you start spouting off in future.’
No one says anything for about thirty seconds. Ram is the one who breaks the silence.
‘Look, I don’t think you’re a liar, Frankie,’ he says softly.
I don’t say anything.
‘I’m just tired. I’m not used to driving long distances.’
‘OK.’
‘I don’t want to fight,’ he adds.
‘Me neither,’ I say.
There’s another long pause.
‘I’m sorry I had a go at you,’ I say.
‘And I’m sorry I had a go back. Truce?’
I hesitate before answering. Despite Ram’s apology, I still feel a bit upset. Not that I’m going to let on. It’ll only prove his point if I do.
‘Truce.’
Chapter 12
The hotel car park is for residents only so we’re forced to park on a side road.
We walk to the hotel in silence. Now that we’re finally here, just moments away from Jojo and the baby, the nerves are kicking in.
The hotel foyer is stuffy and painfully bright. The receptionist, a skinny man with massive sweat patches under his arms and a badge informing us his name is ‘Reece’ pinned to his sky-blue shirt, eyes us wearily as we approach the desk.
‘Can I help you?’ he asks, not even bothering to disguise the yawn that breaks his question in half.
‘Hopefully,’ I say. ‘A friend of ours checked in earlier. I wonder if you could just tell us what room she’s in?’
‘What’s the name?’ he asks.
‘Jojo Bright.’
He taps away at his keyboard. ‘No, sorry.’
‘Joanna Bright, then?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive.’
I look to Ram. He shakes his head.
Then it comes to me. ‘OK, how about Amelia Wylde?’ I say.
When we were about thirteen, Jojo and I spent an entire afternoon coming up with stage names in case ours were already taken by the time we joined Equity, the acting union. After much deliberation, I went with Kristin Winters, while Jojo plumped for Amelia Wylde.
‘Winters and Wylde,’ we used to chorus as we practised our signatures in preparation for all the autographs we’d one day sign.
This time Reece doesn’t bother to look at his screen. ‘Oh yeah, her,’ he says. ‘The girl with the baby. Checked in about three.’
‘I’m sorry, what did you just say?’ Ram asks.
‘That she checked in around three.’
‘No before that. Something about a baby?’
‘Oh yeah. She had a littl’un with her.’
; ‘Told you!’ I exclaim.
‘Are you absolutely sure about that?’ Ram asks Reece, his voice trembling.
Reece frowns. ‘Yeah. I had to sort her out with a cot for it.’
‘Can you tell us what room she’s in, please?’ I ask, gripping the edge of the reception desk.
‘Ah, sorry, no can do.’
‘What? Why not?’
‘It’s against the rules, innit?’
‘What rules?’
‘Hotel rules. We can’t go round giving out our guests’ room numbers willy-nilly.’
I glance at Ram, who has sunk onto the fake leather sofa next to the vending machine, his eyes wide with shock at the realization that I was right all along. I turn back to Reece.
‘But she’s my best friend,’ I say.
‘Makes no difference, I’m afraid.’
‘But I can prove it. Look!’
I get my phone out.
‘See!’ I yelp. ‘She’s my wallpaper.’
I hold it up so he can see. It’s a picture of Jojo and me in our A Midsummer Night’s Dream costumes, our arms around each other’s shoulders.
‘Sorry, I can’t,’ Reece says. ‘I’d get it in the neck if she complained.’
‘But she won’t!’
‘Can’t risk it.’
I look over at Ram for help but he’s staring at the floor, his head in his hands.
I’m on my own.
Time to channel my not-so-inner drama queen.
‘What if it’s an emergency?’ I say.
Reece narrows his eyes. ‘What kind of emergency?’
‘It’s the baby,’ I say. ‘The baby needs regular medication. And the thing is, Jojo, I mean, Amelia left home without it and we need to get it to her as a matter of urgency. We’ve driven all the way from Nottingham.’
‘What kind of medication?’ Reece asks, narrowing his bloodshot eyes. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘It’s a genetic condition. Very rare.’
‘And what happens to the kid if they don’t take it?’
‘They’ll get really sick. They’ll probably have to go to hospital.’
Reece hesitates.
‘Please, Reece. It’s important.’
He sighs and starts tapping at his keyboard. ‘Room four-two-six,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Fourth floor. Lift’s over there.’
‘Thank you, Reece. You’re a star.’
First Day of My Life Page 7
