by Sandie Jones
Seb has seen me through at least four career changes, and has been nothing short of overwhelmingly enthusiastic with each and every one, assuring me that I was ‘made for it’. Yet, as each phase came and went, and I’d be lamenting on the sofa at how useless I was, he’d convince me that I was never really cut out for it in the first place. But now, I’ve finally found my calling. It came a little later in life than I’d planned, but selling people is my thing. I know what I’m doing, and I’m good at it.
‘So, he’s an IT analytical analyst?’ Seb reiterated suspiciously, as we sat in Soho Square, sharing a sandwich and a salad bowl from M&S the following day. ‘Whatever that may mean.’
I nodded enthusiastically, but inside, I was asking myself the same question. I placed real people in real jobs: retail assistants in shops, secretaries in offices, dental assistants in surgeries. The IT sector is a whole new ball game, a monster of an industry, and one that we at Faulkner’s leave to the experts.
‘Well, he sounds a right laugh-a-minute,’ Seb said, desperately trying to keep a straight face. ‘What did he do? Enthral you with his megabytes?’
I laughed. ‘He doesn’t look like you’d expect.’
‘So, he doesn’t wear glasses and have a centre parting?’
I shook my head, smiling.
‘And his name isn’t Eugene?’
‘No,’ I mumbled, through a mouthful of bread and roast beef. ‘He’s tall and dark, with really good teeth.’
‘Oh, your mum will be pleased.’
I swiped his shoulder with my hand. ‘And he’s got a really sexy voice. All deep and mysterious. Like Matthew McConaughey, but without the Texan bit.’
Seb raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Which would make him nothing like McConaughey.’
I persisted. ‘You know what I mean. And big hands . . . really big hands, and nicely manicured nails.’
‘What the hell were you doing looking at his hands?’ asked Seb, spluttering out his still lemonade. ‘You were only with him for fifteen minutes, and you’ve already managed to check his cuticles out?’
I shrugged my shoulders petulantly. ‘I’m just saying that he obviously takes care of himself, and I like that in a man. It’s important.’
Seb tutted. ‘This all sounds very well, but on a scale of one to ten, how likely is it that you’re going to see him again?’
‘Honestly? A one or two. Firstly, he looked like the type to have a girlfriend, and secondly, I think he had his beer goggles on.’
‘Was he drunk or just merry?’
‘Hard to tell. It was someone’s leaving do, and I think he said something about coming from a pub in the City, so they’d obviously been going for a while. Adam looked okay, a bit dishevelled maybe, but then I don’t know what he normally looks like. One or two of his mates were definitely well on their way, though – they could barely stand up.’
‘Oh, I bet the Grosvenor loved having them there,’ Seb said, laughing.
‘I think they were asked to leave at the same time as I came away,’ I said, grimacing. ‘The well-heeled guests were starting to arrive, and the bar looked more like something on the Magaluf strip than Park Lane.’
‘It’s not looking good, kid,’ said Seb.
I wrinkled my nose. ‘No. I think the likelihood of hearing from him again is pretty slim.’
‘Did you give him the look?’ he asked.
‘What look?’
‘You know the one. Your take-me-to-bed-or-lose-me-forever face?’ He fluttered his eyelashes and licked his lips in the most unsexy way, like a dog after a chocolate-drop treat. He’d once been told by a potential suitor of mine that I had ‘bedroom eyes’ and ‘engorged lips’, and I’d not heard the last of it. ‘Well, did you?’
‘Oh, shut up!’
‘What were you wearing?’ he asked.
I screwed my face up. ‘My black pencil skirt with a white blouse. Why?’
‘He’ll call you.’ He smiled. ‘If you’d been wearing that tent of a dress that you bought in the Whistles sale then I’d say you’ve got no chance, but in the pencil skirt? Moderate to high.’
I laughed and threw a limp lettuce leaf at him. Every woman should have a Seb. He gives brutally honest advice, which on some days can send me off kilter and have me reassessing my whole life, but today I’m able to take it, happy to have him evaluate the situation because he’s always darn well right.
‘So, how are you going to play it when he calls?’ he asked, retrieving the stray leaf from his beard and tossing it onto the grass.
‘If he calls,’ I stressed, ‘I’ll play it like I always do. Coy and demure.’
Seb laughed and fell onto his back, tickling his ribs for added effect. ‘You are to coy and demure, what I am to machismo.’
I was tempted to empty the rest of the salad bowl onto his head as he lay writhing on the ground, but I knew it was likely to end up in a full-on food fight. I had a packed diary that afternoon, and wanted to spare my silk shirt the onslaught of a balsamic-dressing attack. So I gave him a playful nudge with the tip of my patent court shoe instead.
‘Call yourself a friend?’ I said haughtily, as I stood up to leave.
‘Call me when he calls,’ Seb shouted out after me. He was still cackling as I walked away.
‘I’ll call you if he calls,’ I shouted back, as I reached the gates to the square.
I was in the middle of an appointment later that afternoon, when my mobile rang. My client, a Chinese businessman who, with the help of a translator, was looking for staff for his expanding company, signalled to me to take it. I smiled politely and shook my head, but the ‘No Caller ID’ displayed across the screen had piqued my interest. When it rang three more times, he looked at me imploringly, almost begging me to answer it.
‘Excuse me,’ I said, before backing out of the room. It had better be important.
‘Emily Havistock,’ I stated, as I swiped my iPhone.
‘Havistock?’ a voice repeated.
‘Yes, can I help you?’
‘No wonder they didn’t put your surname on your badge.’ He laughed.
A redness crept up my neck, its fingers flickering at my cheeks. ‘I’m afraid I’m in a meeting at the moment. May I call you back?’
‘I don’t remember you sounding this posh either. Or is this your phone voice?’
I remained silent, but smiled.
‘Okay, call me back,’ he said. ‘It’s Adam, by the way. Adam Banks.’
How many men did he think I gave my number to?
‘I’ll text you,’ he said. ‘Just in case my number doesn’t come up.’
‘Thank you, I’ll revert to you shortly,’ I said, terminating the call, but not before I heard him chuckle.
I couldn’t concentrate for the rest of the appointment, and found myself trying to wrap it up prematurely. But then, I didn’t want to appear over-keen by calling him back too quickly, so when the translator said my client would like to show me around the new office space, a few floors above, I gratefully accepted.
Over dinner, a week later, I had to explain to Adam why it had taken me three hours to call him back.
‘You honestly expect me to believe that?’ he asked incredulously.
‘I swear to you. I’m not one for holding out just to appear cool. Making you sweat for an hour, perhaps. But three? That’s just rude.’ I laughed.
His eyes wrinkled up as he tried to suppress a smile. ‘And you were seriously stuck in a lift for all that time?’
‘Yes, for three really long hours, with a man who hardly spoke English, and two super-smart phones, neither of which were smart enough to be able to ring for help, it seems.’
He choked on his Sauvignon Blanc and spluttered, ‘That’s Chinese technology for you.’
By the time I introduced Adam to Seb, a month later, we’d seen each other eighteen times.
‘Are you serious?’ Seb had moaned, when I’d told him for the third consecutive night that I couldn’t see him. ‘Wh
en do you think you might be able to fit me in?’
‘Ah, don’t go getting all jealous,’ I’d teased. ‘Maybe tomorrow night?’
‘If he doesn’t ask to see you again then, I suppose?’
‘I promise, tomorrow night is yours and yours alone.’ Though, even as I was saying it, I felt a tad resentful.
‘Okay, what do you want to do?’ he asked, sulkily. ‘That film’s out – of the book that we both loved.’
‘The Fault in Our Stars?’ I said, without thinking. ‘Adam and I are going to see that tonight.’
‘Oh.’ I could feel his disappointment, and I instantly wanted to slap myself.
‘But that’s okay,’ I said cheerily. ‘I’ll go again tomorrow night. The book was amazing, so the film will be too, right? We’ve got to see it together.’
‘If you’re sure . . .’ Seb said, his voice lifting. ‘Try not to enjoy it too much with your boyfriend.’
Chance would have been a fine thing. I was too conscious of Adam fidgeting in his seat, looking at his phone. ‘Well, that was a happy little tale,’ he said, as we came out of the cinema a couple of hours later.
‘It’s all right for you,’ I said, sniffing and surreptitiously wiping my nose on a tissue. ‘I’ve got to go through it all again tomorrow.’
He stopped in the street and turned to look at me. ‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because I’ve promised Seb I’ll go and see it with him.’
Adam raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘We both loved the book and always vowed that when they made the film, we’d see it together.’
‘But you’ve seen it now,’ he said. ‘Job done.’
‘I know, but it’s something we both wanted to do.’
‘I need to meet this Seb who’s taking you away from me,’ he said, pulling me in towards him and breathing in my hair.
‘If he was straight, you’d have a problem on your hands,’ I said, laughing. ‘But you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘All the same. Let’s get together one night next week, so that we can all discuss the merits and flaws of the silly film we’ve just seen.’
I playfully punched him on the arm, and he kissed me on the head. It felt like we’d been together forever, yet the excitement of just being around him fizzed through me, setting every nerve alight. I didn’t ever want that feeling to go away.
It was way too early to tell, but there was a growing part of me, the part that no one saw, that hoped this was something. I wasn’t brave enough, or stupid enough perhaps, to be singing from the rooftops that Adam was ‘the one’, but I liked how it felt. It felt different, and I had all my fingers and toes crossed that my hunch was right.
We were comfortable with each other, not to the point where I’d leave the bathroom door open, but I wasn’t obsessing about whether my nail colour matched my lip shade either, and not many guys had been around long enough to see them clashing.
‘Are you sure it’s not too early for the Seb-o-meter?’ Seb asked, wiping his eyes as we walked out of the same cinema twenty-four hours later. ‘I mean, it’s not even been a month yet, has it?’
‘Well, thanks for your vote of confidence,’ I said. I was snivelling again too, but as I was with Seb, it didn’t matter. I put my arm through his, uniting us in our sadness at how the film had ended.
‘I don’t mean to sound negative, but it’s all a bit full-on to last, don’t you think? You’re seeing him almost every night. Are you sure it won’t just fizzle out as quickly as it started? Don’t forget, I know what you’re like.’
I smiled, despite feeling a little hurt at the insinuation that what Adam and I had could be just a fling. ‘I’ve never felt like this, Seb. I need you to meet him because I think this might be going somewhere. And it’s important to me that you like him.’
‘But you know you’re going to get a very honest appraisal,’ he went on. ‘Are you ready for that?’
‘I think you’re going to like him,’ I said. ‘And if you don’t, just pretend you do.’
He laughed. ‘Is there any topic that’s off-limits? Like the time you asked me to marry you, or when you threw your knickers at Take That?’
I laughed. ‘No, it’s all good. You can say whatever you want. There’s nothing I wouldn’t want him to know.’
‘Hang on,’ said Seb, as he bent forward and made a retching sound. ‘There. That’s better. Where were we?’
‘D’you know that you’re a right royal pain in the arse when you want to be?’ I laughed.
‘You wouldn’t want me any other way.’
‘Seriously, he’s pretty laid-back, so I don’t think you’ll be able to faze him that easily.’
That was the only thing with Adam: if he was any more laid-back he’d be horizontal. In his world, everything is calm and under control, like a sea without waves. He doesn’t get exasperated when we’re stuck behind a painfully slow driver. He doesn’t call Southeastern trains every name under the sun when leaves on the track cause delays, and he doesn’t blame social media for everything that is wrong with the world. ‘If you don’t like what it represents, why do you go on it?’ he’d asked, when I moaned about old school friends posting every burp, fart and word their child offered.
None of the trivial stuff that had me spitting tacks almost every minute of my day seemed to touch him. Maybe he was sitting back, carefully navigating his way around my own waves and currents before revealing his own, but I wanted him to give me more. I needed to know that blood coursed through his veins and that he’d bleed if he cut himself.
I’d tried to provoke a reaction from him several times, even if just to check he had a pulse, but I wasn’t going to get a rise out of him. He seemed happy just ambling along, with no real need or desire to offer anything more. Maybe I’m being unfair, maybe that’s just the way he is, but every now and again I like to be challenged, even if it’s only a debate over an article in the Daily Mail. It wouldn’t matter what it was, just anything that would give me an insight into his world. But no matter how hard I tried, we always ended up talking about me, even when I was the one asking the questions. There was no denying that, at times, it was a refreshing change, as the last guy I’d gone out with had prattled on about his video-game obsession all night. But Adam’s constant deflection left me wondering: what did I really know about him?
That’s why I needed Seb. He’s the type of person who can get right in there, burrow his way through the complex layers of people’s characters, and into their souls, which they are often baring within minutes of meeting him. He’d once asked my mother if my dad was the only man she’d ever been with. I’d immediately put my hands over my ears and la-la-la-ed, but she confessed to having had a wonderful affair with an American she met, just before her and Dad got together. ‘Well, it wasn’t the type of affair that you youngsters talk about nowadays,’ she said. ‘We didn’t have clandestine meetings and illicit sex, and neither of us were married, so it wasn’t an affair in the sense that you know. It was just a beautiful meeting of two people who were utterly in tune with each other.’
My mouth had dropped open. Aside from the shock that my mother had obviously had sex more than twice, from which she’d conceived me and my brother, it had been with someone other than my father? As a daughter, you so rarely get to discover these golden gems of times gone by, and before we know it, it’s too late to ask. But when you’re with someone like Seb, every little nugget is teased out, without you even realizing.
The following weekend, Adam, Seb and I arranged to meet in a bar in Covent Garden. I didn’t like to suggest dinner, just in case it felt a little forced and awkward, but I was hoping that’s how the evening would end up, organically. We’d not even finished our first drink before Seb asked Adam where he grew up.
‘Just outside Reading,’ he replied. ‘We moved down to Sevenoaks when I was nine. What about you?’
There it is again.
But Seb wasn’t going to be thwarted. ‘I was born in
Lewisham hospital, and have stayed there ever since. Not in the hospital, obviously, but literally just two roads down, off the High Street. I went to Sevenoaks a couple of years ago, a guy I was seeing had a design consultancy down there. Very pretty. What made you move there from Reading?’
Adam shifted uncomfortably. ‘Erm, my dad died. Mum had friends in Sevenoaks and needed a bit of help with me and my younger brother. There was nothing to stay in Reading for. Dad had worked for Microsoft for years, but with him gone . . .’ he trailed off.
‘Yeah, I lost my dad too,’ offered Seb. ‘Crap, eh?’
Adam gave a sad nod.
‘So, is your mum still on her own, or did she meet someone else?’ asked Seb, before guiltily adding, ‘Sorry, I assume your mum’s still around?’
Adam nodded. ‘Yes, thank God. She’s still in Sevenoaks and still on her own.’
‘It’s difficult when they’re on their own, isn’t it?’ asked Seb. ‘You feel a lot more responsible for them, even when you’re the child and they’re supposed to be the grown-up.’
Adam raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. I couldn’t add to this conversation as thankfully both my parents are still alive, so I offered to get a round in instead.
‘No, I’ll get them,’ said Adam, no doubt relieved to extract himself from Seb’s searching questions. ‘Same again?’
Seb and I nodded.
‘So . . . ?’ I asked, as soon as Adam’s back was turned.
‘Very nice,’ Seb said. ‘Very nice.’
‘But?’ I sensed one coming.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, as my heart sank. ‘There’s something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.’
That night, after we’d made love and were lying side by side, tracing our fingers over each other’s torsos, I raised the subject of his parents again.
