One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘As a thank you for taking care of Wellington.’

  ‘Annie would love to get lunch with you,’ Brian replied on my behalf. ‘And she’d love to bring me a sandwich back with her so I can stay here and finish my work.’

  ‘I’d like to,’ I said, searching for an excuse. ‘But I’m so busy, I don’t think I have the time to go out today.’

  That much was true. One minute I was matching quirky historical facts to Beyoncé gifs, the next I was coming up with a social media strategy for a CGI unicorn and his four best human friends. Life was confusing, my workload was overwhelming and I needed to get Sam out of my head.

  ‘Annie, please get out of the office for five minutes,’ Brian ordered. Miranda didn’t say a word. ‘You’re starting to go grey.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I muttered, checking a strand of my hair just in case. ‘And there’s too much work to do.’

  ‘Nat and Zadie have it covered,’ Brian said, glancing over at the two girls lurking silently behind their laptops. Two pairs of eyes peered back at me, still tapping away at their keyboards. They literally never spoke out loud unless you made them but were constantly snorting and giggling under their breath as they exchanged iMessages all the live long day. Admittedly, they were very good and incredibly helpful but sometimes, they were beyond creepy.

  ‘She’ll meet you outside at one.’

  ‘Annie?’ Sam replied, looking to me for confirmation. I opened my mouth to protest but nothing came out.

  You don’t have to go, I told myself. You could just text him and tell him you’re too busy. No one else is the boss of you and you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.

  ‘One it is,’ I said. ‘See you then.’

  I was waiting outside the building at one on the dot. It was sunny but not as warm as it had been, bright enough for sunglasses but too cold for bare legs. Sam appeared in the doorway and I felt all the things I didn’t want to feel. I was hot, I was sweaty, my mouth felt dry and all my words escaped me. Thankfully, it didn’t seem as though Sam was much in the mood for talking either. We strolled down the street in silence as I fought with myself, trying to get back to the moment before I saw his face lit up by the tiny orange light in the airing cupboard. I wanted our easy banter back, this was too hard.

  ‘How’s the book?’ I asked, digging my hands into the pockets of Miranda’s pink satin bomber jacket and producing a pair of neon orange sunglasses. I was starting to wonder what she was getting up to at night, so much neon for one human being. ‘Almost done?’

  Sam nodded as he walked. I followed, no idea of where we were headed, slipping the shades over my eyes.

  ‘And how are things at your brother’s? Are you having fun?’

  ‘No,’ Sam replied. His shoulders began pinching up around his ears, the unreadable expression crossing over his face.

  ‘And how are you getting on with your lecture?’

  ‘Not very well.’

  ‘Right.’

  That was it. I’d exhausted every avenue of safe conversation in three seconds.

  ‘OK, I’m just going to say it,’ Sam said. My heart pounded against my ribs. Say what? Say what?

  ‘I feel terrible about what happened on Tuesday and I’m very sorry for putting you in such an uncomfortable position.’

  ‘Uncomfortable?’ I replied in a tight, high voice. ‘Why would I feel uncomfortable? Because we slept in the same bed? I sleep in the same bed as other people all the time. Men, women, cats as well these days. It’s not even a thing. Who’s uncomfortable? Not me.’

  He slowed at the edge of the road, waiting for a Prius to pass.

  ‘I meant the Elaine situation,’ he said.

  Right. That did make a lot more sense.

  I flapped a hand in the air to wave away his concerns and promptly knocked Miranda’s sunglasses off my face.

  ‘Haven’t given it a second thought,’ I said, picking up the shades and checking for scratches. ‘Perfectly average Tuesday evening for me.’

  Sam’s brow creased together underneath his curly hair. ‘There’s an excellent sandwich shop around the corner,’ he said. ‘Have you tried it? They do a very good coronation chicken.’

  ‘All right, Grandad,’ I replied, breathing out as I tucked the glasses back in Mir’s jacket pocket. ‘Do they have Horlicks to go with it?’

  Sam smiled. Then I smiled. The tightness in my chest melted a little and I noticed the clear blue sky above me as we slipped back into a more comfortable routine. Gentle bullying was a safe space. It felt right.

  ‘How are you getting on with the bet?’ Sam asked in a lighter voice. ‘Have we won yet?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want to know about it?’ I reminded him.

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to know, I said I didn’t care,’ he corrected. ‘But I know it matters to you. So, I suppose, it also matters to me.’

  Stupid, thoughtful man.

  ‘It could be better,’ I admitted. ‘We’re a bit behind where we should be, given we only have a week left. But I haven’t given up yet.’

  ‘If you need my help with anything, just say the word,’ Sam offered. ‘There are a million more fascinating historical facts where the others came from. Did you know, in 1911, the London Underground introduced escalators but people were too afraid to use them so they had a one-legged man ride up and down to convince people they were safe.’

  ‘I don’t think I’d find that especially reassuring,’ I said with a frown.

  ‘Well, did you know the nursery rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb” was based on a true story?’

  ‘Shut up,’ I replied. ‘Really?’

  ‘I will not shut up,’ he said, indignant. ‘It’s disputed, but yes. Mary Sawyer, an eleven-year-old girl from Boston, was followed to school by a lamb in 1817.’

  ‘Bugger me!’ I took out my phone to make a note. That was a pretty good one. ‘I can’t believe no one ever wrote a song about what happened whenever a dog got into school.’

  We walked on in silence until Sam stopped in the middle of the street and stood in front of me.

  ‘Annie,’ he said.

  ‘Sam?’ I replied, very happy to be hiding half my face behind Mir’s giant specs.

  He set his shoulders, lifted his chin and looked me right in the eye.

  ‘A colleague of mine is having a birthday party on Friday night,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow night. And I told him I would go.’

  ‘OK,’ I said slowly. ‘That is what most people do on their friend’s birthday.’

  ‘I definitely said colleague but I suppose he is my friend as well. I thought perhaps you might like to come with me,’ he said, tall and straight and determined. ‘To the party.’

  Dr Johnson would almost certainly not approve of this.

  ‘You want me to come to the party?’ I repeated, twisting a piece of paper in the bottom of the jacket pocket between my fingers until it began to fall apart. I hoped it wasn’t anything Mir actually needed.

  ‘Yes,’ Sam nodded. ‘It won’t be quite on the scale of your father’s celebrations, but it should be fun.’

  He was asking me out. He was asking me out on a date. Sam was asking me out on a date and I wanted to say yes but I couldn’t say yes but if I said no there might not be another potential date but oh god, I should have said something by now.

  ‘I know you’re very busy and I wouldn’t ask,’ he added as he tried to stick his hands in his pockets, only to find they were still sewn up. It really had been a long time since he’d had new clothes. ‘And I’m fairly certain Elaine will be there as well.’

  Ding ding ding, of course he wasn’t asking me out, he was asking me to be a human shield. No, I reminded myself, thinking of my call with Becks, don’t be so selfish. He needs a friend. You’re his friend.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine once it all gets going but the thought of walking in by myself when everyone knows she and I aren’t on entirely the best of terms,’ he went on, trying to work his li
ttle finger into the gap in the stitching of his faux pockets. ‘And it’s in one of those ridiculous places that pretends to be a post office so you have to buy a stamp to get a pint or some such thing. I can’t abide them. It’s at six, tomorrow. Do you think you’ll be able to come?’

  I bit my lip before I could agree to it. It was a terrible idea, I said to myself, hopping from foot to foot in the street. A terrible, stupid, asking-for-trouble idea. Walking into a party with Sam, spending time with Sam. Meeting his friends, laughing, joking, touching his arm one too many times, making eye contact across the room, having one too many, sharing a cab home, ending up at mine, in bed, not sleeping.

  ‘The thing is, I just said I’d go to Charlie’s party,’ I said, fighting with myself and the image of the two of us curled up together, giving Wellington a post-coital cuddle. ‘Or of course I would.’

  ‘Ah. I see.’

  What? What did he see?

  ‘You’d rather go to a party with Charlie.’

  ‘Not with Charlie, to Charlie’s party,’ I corrected, already flustered again. ‘Why don’t you come to that one instead? I’m sure it’ll be more fun than hanging out with your ex-girlfriend and someone you aren’t even sure is your friend.’

  ‘Really, Annie?’ A tight smile took over his face. ‘You think I would have fun at a party at The Ginnel?’

  ‘You never know,’ I told him, trying to imagine Sam bro-ing down with Martin and Charlie. In spite of my vivid imagination, it was a struggle. ‘You might enjoy yourself. Stranger things have happened.’

  ‘Never mind,’ he said, setting off for the sandwich shop with renewed intent. ‘I realize I’ve already asked quite enough of you as it is. I’ll go alone.’

  ‘You managed without me for a long time,’ I reassured him. ‘You’ll manage without me again.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, that unreadable expression on his face again as he stopped and gave me a strange kind of smile. ‘I do believe I’ve forgotten how.’

  ‘You’ve got to go to this party with Sam,’ Brian said through a mouthful of my abandoned coronation chicken sandwich. ‘This is perfect. You show up looking hot AF, impress all his friends, show up the ex and then hit that thing. Boom, he’s yours.’

  ‘While he’s still reeling from the break-up?’ Mir countered. ‘While he’s emotionally vulnerable?’

  ‘Especially while he’s emotionally vulnerable,’ he replied. ‘How many men do you know who broke up with a long-term girlfriend and ended up getting married a year later?’

  ‘Actually quite a few,’ I said, going through my mental rolodex. ‘Matthew, for example.’

  ‘If he’s done, he’s done, and he’s looking for the next thing,’ Brian stated as though it was a known fact. ‘Men who like to be in relationships don’t stay single. If you wait too long, you’ll miss your shot, Annie.’

  ‘Disagree,’ Miranda said, just as certain of herself. ‘You’re making massive, sweeping generalizations.’

  ‘I was actually talking about myself,’ Bri replied. ‘But whatever.’

  ‘I think Mir’s probably right,’ I said. It was too soon. Wasn’t it? Probably? ‘I don’t want to be a rebound.’

  ‘Straight men don’t have rebounds. The only classifications straight men have are …’ Brian paused for effect, holding out a highlighter-stained hand to count off his points. He’d been painting his nails with the Stabilo Boss pens again. ‘Women they don’t sleep with, women they sleep with once and women they sleep with more than once. You’re the ones who love to go round slapping labels on things. How many times have we all watched He’s Just Not That Into You? It’s like you never learn.’

  ‘You’re like a gay, male Oprah and I hate you,’ I muttered.

  ‘If he likes you, he likes you,’ he shrugged. It was so simple when you weren’t part of the equation. ‘Take your shot. If he doesn’t, you’re not going to change his mind by hanging around for long enough.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mir’s mouth slowly disappearing, cat’s arse style, into the centre of her face.

  ‘I disagree. Timing is everything in relationships. Don’t go, Annie. Come to the summer party instead.’

  ‘The timing is perfect!’ Brian insisted. ‘He’s hurting for a girlfriend and you could be that girlfriend. The fact you want to be said girlfriend is another conversation altogether and should probably take place with you in a padded cell, but we’ll deal with that another time. If you want that hot historian, you go get him.’

  ‘You know I am forever Team Annie,’ Mir said, covering my hand with hers. ‘And if that means being Team Annuel, I’ll ship it, but I feel like you’re setting yourself up to get hurt and I don’t want that.’

  ‘I’m not sure about Annuel,’ Bri said, rolling the portmanteau around on his tongue. ‘But you can’t be Team Sannie, can you? Sounds like a bad tampon commercial.’

  I looked at my two best friends, willing one of them to say something insightful and profound.

  Instead, Brian reached over and flicked my forehead.

  ‘Hey,’ I wailed, slapping his hand away. ‘Pack it in.’

  ‘Since when did you ever second-guess yourself?’ he asked. ‘What does your gut say?’

  ‘It is uncharacte‌ristically silent,’ I replied, twisting my pendant on its chain. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘That you should come to the Wilder party with us,’ Mir said. ‘I know Charlie would be happy to see you.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ I said, rubbing my face with my hands. ‘Another way to make this even more confusing.’

  ‘Just saying it would make my life more convenient if you went out with Charlie and I was going out with Martin and then we could all go out together.’

  ‘Brilliant thinking, Miranda,’ Brian commented. ‘And maybe after playtime, we can all sit together in assembly and hold hands on the way home from school.’

  ‘Piss off,’ she replied, throwing a penguin-shaped eraser at his head. ‘I’m trying to help.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re trying to make your fantasy weekend away in the Cotswolds more convenient. Annie, if you like Sam, tell Sam.’

  I sighed and leaned back in my chair, staring out of the window while Miranda and Brian waited impatiently for me to make a decision. And I couldn’t even put it to a Twitter poll.

  ‘Annie,’ Miranda said in her most serious voice, even as she hurled the rest of her novelty rubber collection at Brian. ‘You know what you want to do. You’re just waiting for one of us to tell you to do it, so you can blame us if it goes wrong.’

  ‘And?’ I replied blankly. ‘Isn’t that what friends are for?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Brian confidently. ‘Go to Sam’s party and tell him how you feel.’

  ‘Or come to our party and give Charlie a chance,’ Mir argued. ‘What’s it going to be?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Friday, 27 July: Seven Days to Go

  Even as I shuffled through the mass of bodies in the bar on Friday night, I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing. All I knew was, if I’d gone to Charlie’s party, I’d be wishing I was here, with Sam.

  Not that I was technically with Sam. It was as though we’d gone back in time, I had spent half the day hammering on his office door and sending texts that never reached their destination to let him know I’d changed my mind, that I was coming to the party. I’d even pushed a note under his door to say I’d meet him here at six but I had no idea if he’d received any of my messages. Whether he had or hadn’t, I didn’t know that he would have replied. Sam was not one for unnecessary communications and if you didn’t ask a direct question, you rarely received a response.

  One thing I did know was that I looked as good as it was possible to look after a long week in the office. Miranda had done my hair and makeup, meaning I didn’t look like I’d daubed myself in poster paints, always a good start. My jeans were tight in a good way and I’d replaced my work shirt with a cropped soft cardigan over a little
white camisole. Sam was an academic, Sam’s friends were academics and academics loved cardigans. All the way over, I’d been practising positive visualization, as suggested by the latest episode of Live Life Love and I could already see the smile on his face when I walked in the room. Now, if only I could stop sweating quite so much, everything would be perfect.

  I stuck my head through a narrow wooden door at the back of the main bar, only to find another room, an exact replica of a 1980s village post office.

  ‘Sorry, this is a private party,’ a nice-enough-looking man in a nice-enough-looking shirt said, nicely.

  ‘I’m meeting Sam?’ I said, looking past him for a familiar face. ‘Samuel Page, I mean.’

  ‘Are you now? You’ve beat him here,’ he replied, pumping my hand in welcome. I pulled my cardigan closed and smiled. My bra was not up to so much enthusiasm. ‘Come on in, I’m Aggy.’

  ‘Oh, happy birthday!’ I said, following him to the bar. Or rather, to the woman waiting behind a little square window. ‘I thought Sam might be here already.’

  ‘Ever the man of mystery, Dr Page,’ Aggy replied. ‘I think the best thing we can do is get a drink, what do you reckon?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said, looking at the menu and asking for a Postal Order. Or as it was more commonly known, a vodka soda. Here I was, not even two minutes in and already best friends with his best friends. I was amazing. I was a goddess. I was already a bit tipsy. Me and Miranda had sunk a sharpener in the office before I headed out. ‘You’re twenty-one again, I assume?’

  So far, I couldn’t tell an awful lot of difference between Sam’s friends and my friends. There wasn’t a single tweed blazer with leather elbow patches to be seen and no one was smoking a pipe. It was almost disappointing.

  ‘How do you know Samuel?’ Aggy asked, guiding me over to a table while I scanned the room for Elaine. Unless she was hiding under a table, which she bloody well should have been, I couldn’t see her either. ‘How did you meet?’

  ‘We work in the same building,’ I said, flashing a friendly smile at a small group of people already seated. ‘I couldn’t really miss him, could I? He’s practically a giant.’