One in a Million

by Lindsey Kelk

  I sniffed and shook out my shoulders, twisting the bottle around and around in my hand.

  ‘I still have seven days,’ I replied, wiping the condensation from the bottle on the backside of my jeans.

  Charlie laughed and took a deep drink.

  ‘It’s going that badly? Oh, Higgins, I’m almost disappointed in you.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I replied with a sweet smile. ‘Seven days is a long time in my world. A lot can happen in seven days.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Charlie replied, finishing his beer and resting the bottle on the ledge behind him. ‘But I think the Wilder summer party would be a cracking place for you to graciously concede.’

  Staring him dead in the eye, I picked up my beer and steadily drank until it was done.

  ‘Oh no, I finished it,’ I said with mock surprise, waving the bottle at him. ‘Think I’ll go get another.’

  ‘Let me,’ Charlie said, tipping back his own bottle and downing it in one. He took my bottle before lightly resting his hand on the bare skin of my forearm. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

  Ooh. Goosebumps.

  Over on the sofa, I could see Miranda and Martin, already cosying up together. One of the girls from the Coffee Shop was trying to capture the perfect shot of Brian doing a star jump and everyone else was either starting on their second drink or saying their goodbyes. The end of the working week, the beginning of the weekend. Home to their families or off on adventures.

  My phone vibrated in my hand. I had a new Facebook friend request.

  Truth be told, I wasn’t much of a Facebook user. Lurker, absolutely, but poster? Only on occasion. It took either an incredible gif or a generation shattering political event to drive me to tell Mark Zuckerberg how I felt and, generally speaking, I regretted it almost immediately after posting. The Facebook echo chamber was exhausting; give me Instagram’s never-ending parade of highlight reels any day. Also, I found I was far less likely to have my day ruined by a beloved family member’s casual racism on Insta.

  It was a friend request from Dr Samuel Page.

  His profile photo was one of the ones I had taken at Lily’s party, complete with palm tree in the background. Lives in London, his profile said. In a relationship, his profile said. Decline, my heart said.

  ‘Glad to see you’re feeling better,’ Brian said, appearing at my side. I shoved my phone in my pocket and tried to convince myself I hadn’t seen it. ‘Am I going to have to hold your hair back again tonight? Because if I am, I’m going to need a pay rise.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately,’ I replied, my hand on his arm, my voice super sincere. ‘I’m concerned there could be a conflict of interests, you know, employing one of my best mates. So maybe you could pack up your things and fuck off? Thanks.’

  ‘I’m one of your best mates?’ he pulled a sour face. ‘I thought we were bar friends at best. Barely acquaintances.’

  ‘That’s why I had to tell your mum you had food poisoning that time you puked on the bonnet of her Fiesta when we were seventeen, is it?’ I asked. ‘I suppose, technically, you were poisoned and technically, Long Island Iced Tea slushies are food …’

  ‘We all made mistakes when we were young,’ he volleyed back. ‘And it looks like you’re getting ready to make one any second now. What’s occurring here?’ He gestured back to where Charlie was making the universal ‘bottle opener?’ gesture of disorganised parties.

  ‘Nothing in the slightest,’ I said, accepting his offer of lip balm and immediately outing myself as a liar. ‘He’s just a flirt, he can’t help himself.’

  ‘Man-wich,’ Brian whispered as he slipped the balm back in his pocket. ‘He’s the perfect palate cleanser.’

  Maybe he was, I thought, watching as Charlie pawed through a bucket of beers, laughing with a co-worker. He made everything look easy, he was the complete opposite of Sam, who made everything difficult, every decision and action tied to the outcome of a million possibilities, all of them running through his head at the same time. Yet the thought of him being back with Elaine ate me up. I felt hollowed out, I felt bereft. And the only person who would truly appreciate my appropriate use of the world bereft was bloody Sam.

  ‘My lady,’ Charlie said, handing me my drink and a packet of Hula Hoops. ‘My ears are burning, were you two talking about me?’

  ‘Annie was telling me how great it is to have another dedicated, ambitious entrepreneur in the building,’ Brian lied smoothly. ‘And also how your thighs are like, really, really nice.’

  He clinked the neck of his beer bottle against mine and walked away, whistling as he went.

  ‘Wow,’ Charlie replied, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt so objectified.’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ I said quickly, flustered, trying not to look at his thighs. ‘I didn’t. The thigh part, I mean.’

  He considered my response for a moment.

  ‘But you did say the other part?’

  I shook my head. ‘Sorry. I suppose it is true though.’

  ‘The thigh part or the dedicated and ambitious bit?’ Charlie asked, launching into a series of squats. ‘Come on, Annie, you can tell me the truth.’

  ‘Stop it,’ I laughed. ‘People are looking.’

  ‘It’s my thighs,’ he insisted as he squatted even lower. ‘They can’t help themselves.’

  I turned away, covering my eyes with my hands, still laughing. I actually felt a bit better.

  ‘Calm down, I’ve stopped,’ Charlie said, pulling my hand away from my face and ever so casually keeping it in his. ‘If I carry on they won’t be able to control themselves anyway and I can’t expect you to fight off every woman in the building.’

  ‘You’re so kind,’ I flicked my eyes down to my hand in his. It was nice. I let it go.

  ‘So, Annie Higgins. What’s your secret?’

  I pushed all thoughts of Sam out of my mind and focused on other, more immediate concerns. Like whether or not I should tell Charlie his fly was coming down and just how much I smelled of pie.

  ‘Secret to what?’ I asked, arranging myself to look as nonchalant as humanly possible.

  ‘Modest as well,’ he laughed, making sure I noticed his bicep as he brushed his hand through his hair. Charlie’s hair was a lot lighter than Sam’s. Not as curly. Not that I was thinking things like that. ‘Owns her own company, nominated for a very important award, clever, ambitious, gorgeous.’

  On any other day, I would have rolled my eyes and walked away. On any other day.

  ‘Nominated for three awards, actually,’ I said before taking a sip of my beer. ‘Since you’re so interested.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, a small smile playing on his lips. ‘I’m interested.’

  He was flirting with me. If only I’d kept all those back issues of Mizz magazine, I’d know what to do now. Somewhere in the dark recesses of my brain, alongside Spice Girls lyrics and the application instructions for Sun-In, a voice told me to move towards him, to stroke my hair and touch his arm.

  I cocked my head to one side and gave him the old once-over. He was tall. Not as tall as Sam, who was an actual human beanpole, but definitely over six foot. Richard Madeley tall for sure. And he really did have very nice thighs.

  ‘So, no big plans for the weekend?’ Charlie asked as he moved ever so slightly closer. Maybe he’d grown up reading Just Seventeen too. ‘Doing anything later tonight?’

  I shook my head and sipped my beer slowly.

  Don’t tell him you have to go home and wash cat pee out of your mattress.

  ‘Nope,’ I whispered. ‘No plans.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, flashing the full force Charlie Wilder grin. ‘You can stay and talk to me.’

  ‘So you can try to talk me out of the bet?’ I asked, returning his smile.

  ‘I would never,’ he replied. ‘Because, when I win, you’re going to have to hang out with me all the time.’

  Licking my lips, I rearranged myself, copying his body language and lau
ghed. Sugar magazine definitely said you were supposed to laugh.

  ‘You could just ask me, if you wanted to hang out,’ I said, tossing my hair out of my face only to tweak a muscle in my neck. My spine was a mess. Too many hours spent hunched over a computer. I was this close to giving up and moving to Notre Dame.

  ‘You always look so busy.’ Charlie sipped his beer as I dug my forefingers into the sharp pain and tried to make it look seductive. ‘And I used to get the feeling you didn’t like me very much.’

  Annie Higgins, putting men off without even trying since forever. I shrugged, faux nonchalant, biting on my lip as I tried to straighten my neck.

  ‘Glad to hear that isn’t the case.’ Charlie rested his bottle on the low wall and smiled at me. A real smile. A clear, clean, all-signals-are-go grin.

  I gazed into his brown eyes and couldn’t think of a single reason not to kiss him. Better to be with someone than no one, I thought. And, I realized, taking a step towards him and grabbing the collar of his shirt, I was just drunk enough to give this a go.

  ‘Just so you know,’ I whispered, breathless, as he took me in his arms. ‘I just ate a Fray Bentos pie.’

  ‘Marry me,’ Charlie replied before pulling me in for a kiss.

  Only it wasn’t so much as a kiss as a headbutt with lips.

  ‘Sorry,’ I murmured, pulling away and rubbing my forehead. ‘Let’s try that again.’

  ‘Yes, please.’ He brushed my hair behind my ear and touched his lips to mine but once again, we couldn’t quite get it right.

  ‘Ow,’ I winced, pulling away as the crown of his watch got stuck in the fine hair at my temple. ‘Ow ow ow, that really hurts.’

  ‘Hold still, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.’ He pulled back, unfastening his watch, turning it this way and that, trying not to scalp me. ‘There we go.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, watching him rebuckle the strap. I smiled, Charlie smiled, I laughed and looked away. What an adorable story we’d have to tell our couple friends over all the couples’ brunches we’d be invited to.

  ‘Third time lucky,’ Charlie said, cupping my cheek gently in his hand and guiding my face toward him. We both closed our eyes and our mouths met, soft and warm and full.

  And I didn’t feel a thing.

  I pulled away, breaking the kiss and leaving a breath between us.

  ‘Is it me,’ Charlie said quietly. ‘Or is this really weird?’

  ‘It’s weird,’ I confirmed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘Sorry. That was awful.’

  ‘Maybe we should try again,’ he said with admirable determination. ‘Just relax.’

  Was there anything less relaxing than someone telling you to relax?

  ‘Nope,’ I said, pinching his face between my thumb and forefinger and craning my neck away from his fish lips. ‘For the first time in history, this really is an “it’s not you, it’s me” situation.’

  ‘Huh,’ Charlie shuffled backwards half a step and stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘I don’t think this has ever happened to me before.’

  ‘First time for everything,’ I told him, clucking my tongue while I searched for something to say. The teen mags had not prepared me for this situation. Another feature that needed writing; what to do when the office hottie plants one on you and it feels like you’re kissing your second cousin.

  ‘No hard feelings,’ Charlie said, finally accepting defeat. ‘Wasn’t in the stars for us, was it? Probably best we keep it professional anyway. For when you lose the bet.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, leaning in to plant a peck on his cheek and taking a deep breath. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘For what?’ he called as I walked away.

  ‘For reminding me who I am,’ I shouted as I jogged across the rooftop, in search of my friends. ‘For a second there I forgot.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Saturday, 28 July: Six Days to Go

  Some people were perfectly capable of dealing with a hangover. They woke up in their own homes, they took an ibuprofen, maybe scarfed down a bacon butty and then they were fine. But not me. That would be too easy.

  ‘Morning, princess.’

  I rolled over to discover I had at least made it to my own bed.

  But I was not alone.

  Brian beamed back at me, pulling down the duvet to reveal his outfit. To be fair, my black satin pyjamas did look good on him.

  ‘You brought me home?’ I said, rubbing my head as though I could stop the throbbing from the outside.

  ‘I did,’ he confirmed. ‘Me and Mir tossed a coin for the privilege.’

  ‘She left with Martin,’ I began putting the pieces of the evening together.

  ‘She did,’ he confirmed. ‘Do you remember sticking your tongue down Charlie Wilder’s throat?’

  ‘I remember giving him a chaste peck and it feeling like I was getting off with my nan,’ I corrected. ‘Super weird.’

  ‘Maybe he’s gay,’ Brian speculated with bright eyes. ‘Or maybe you’re definitely in love with a certain Ginnel-based historian who shall remain nameless.’

  I rolled my eyes and rested my head back on the pillow.

  ‘Don’t be so vague,’ I groaned. ‘However am I supposed to work out who you’re talking about?’

  I fumbled on my nightstand, reaching out for my phone but it wasn’t there.

  ‘Do you remember where I put my phone last night?’ I asked, rolling out of bed. If Brian was wearing my pyjamas, what was I wearing? I looked down to see the same white camisole I’d been wearing the night before and, for some reason, my swimming costume over the top.

  ‘You said you wanted to wear something waterproof in case you wet yourself,’ Brian explained. ‘Seemed pointless to argue with logic like that.’

  Summoning all my energy, I peeled the straps down over my shoulders and shucked off the swimming cossie. It didn’t really make any sense for me to still have my knickers on underneath but I was grateful nonetheless.

  ‘I remember having it in the bathroom,’ I said to myself, retracing my steps. It wasn’t hard in a flat this size.

  ‘Probably texting on the toilet, you filthy mare,’ Brian shouted. ‘Can you make me a coffee please?’

  ‘I don’t think I was texting.’ I stood in the middle of the bathroom, looking for something to jog my memory. Toothpaste on the sink, used face-wipes on the floor. Shoes, jeans, cardigan in a pile by the bath while my bra was draped over the glass shower screen. But where was my phone?

  ‘I was working,’ I realized. ‘I came up with something really good for the Hip Historian but I can’t remember what it was.’

  ‘That old chestnut,’ Bri replied, standing in the doorway. ‘Did the dog eat your homework as well?’

  ‘No, I came up with something really great,’ I said, moving from the bathroom to the living room. My bag had been upended in the middle of the floor and my notebook sat open on the loveseat. ‘I was looking at my phone and I was getting really upset about Sam.’

  ‘You were complaining that she only wants him now he’s hot,’ Brian said. He filled the kettle and began rifling through the fridge. ‘And if he was happy with that then sod him.’

  ‘I am prepared to bet you any money I didn’t say “sod him”,’ I replied as I leafed through my notes.

  He turned to me, a prim expression on his face, a packet of ginger nuts in his hand.

  ‘You did not,’ he said. ‘But my delicate ears can’t stand to hear that torrent of filth again this early in the morning. Are these seriously the only biscuits you’ve got?’

  ‘Check the freezer,’ I said. ‘I have to put the chocolate Hobnobs in there to stop me eating them all.’

  Wait, the freezer!

  I scampered to my feet, pushing Brian out the way and delving right into the back of my freezer compartment. There it was, wrapped up in a freezer bag between the potato waffles and the fish fingers.

  ‘You put your phone in the freezer?’

  ‘It’s
an old tech trick,’ I told him, opening the bag and taking out my precious, precious phone. ‘People do it to reset the operating system.’

  ‘Does it work?’

  ‘No. But it does stop you from texting people you shouldn’t when you’re drunk and angry.’

  Now I remembered.

  I’d been looking at Elaine’s Insta feed again after I got home, when she posted a new photo. The basic bitch pièce de résistance, a fake sleeping pic. Sam might have been properly asleep but Elaine’s faux snooze was completely given away by the shadow of her own arm falling across her face in the picture and you know, the fact someone had to be taking the actual photo. I opened Instagram and there it was, still her most recent picture and it was racking up the likes. I wondered how Sam would feel when he saw it. If he ever saw it.

  My notebook was covered in angry looking scribbles that began to make sense. But could I do it? Did we have the time? Would it make Sam incredibly, incredibly angry?

  He didn’t care about my feelings, why should I care about his? I was just a shallow, social-media-obsessed airhead after all.

  Wellington poked his head out from underneath my armchair, stretching out his front paws and pushing his butt up into the air with a shudder.

  ‘Brian, I think I’ve worked out how to win the bet,’ I called from the living room floor.

  ‘Does that mean I can stop looking for a new job?’ he asked.

  ‘It means we’ll be able to pay you at the end of the month,’ I said. ‘But you should keep looking anyway, you’re very annoying.’

  ‘I think I’ll stick around,’ he replied, heaping instant coffee into two mugs. ‘Annoying you is fun.’

  ‘If this doesn’t do it, nothing will,’ I said to Wellington, taking one last painful look at the photo of Sam’s sleeping face. The cat purred, looking up at me with almond eyes. I was almost certain I could see a smile on his face.

  ‘Please don’t wee on my bed again,’ I whispered.

  He agreed to nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Monday, 30 July: Four Days to Go

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