‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘That’s why she was so disappointed with me.’
If only she could see me now. Dad did sound pleased when I rang him about coming to the ceremony. Especially when I told him it was a national honour, and that it’ll be in London. He’s disappointed that the Queen won’t give it to me, though.
‘What’s your family like?’ I ask, mainly to stop thinking about my own. ‘Your mother is Greek, right? Did you ever live there?’
‘No, but I spent school holidays in Crete with my grandparents. It feels like a second home.’
That sounds very romantic. I imagine wizened old villagers bobbing around the sea in their blue-painted fishing boats while their wives – wearing headscarves and peasant dresses – mend nets in the hot sun and trade feta recipes.
Crete’s not like that at all, Nick says. Plus, it’s the twenty-first century. His grandfather is a retired insurance broker and doesn’t even like fish. His grandmother worked at the archaeological museum and only wears peasant skirts when H&M stocks them. But it is sunny and hot in summer, and as a child Nick couldn’t wait to get there to be with all his cousins. His mum was the only one in the family who left. ‘She couldn’t wait to get off the island when she finished school,’ he tells me. ‘Though I swear the longer she lives here, the more Greek she gets. Her accent is stronger than any of her sisters’. Dad always thought it was cute. Maybe that’s why she kept it.’
‘You mean your real dad or your stepdad?’
‘My stepdad was my real dad,’ he says with an unusual sharpness. ‘My biological father left mum when I was three.’
‘I take it you’re not very close?’ Clearly I’ve hit a nerve.
‘He was around a lot till he remarried and his wife had a baby. We’re okay now, but I know exactly what it feels like to want more from a parent.’
Then he tells me about the birthday parties and the sports days when he waited for his biological father while his mum made up excuses. The time he promised to take Nick camping during half-term, then cancelled an hour beforehand while Nick sat on the front step with his little backpack. ‘He always blamed work, but he just didn’t have time for me with his new family,’ he says matter-of-factly. ‘If it wasn’t for my stepmum I probably wouldn’t have any relationship with him at all. She used to ring Mum, see, when important stuff was coming up, and between them, sometimes they’d get him there.’ He smiles. ‘She’s not the typical step-monster. I feel sorry for her sometimes. She’s got a lot to deal with.’
‘We’re similar,’ I tell him, ‘though I didn’t get the step-parent to make everything okay.’
His fingers brush mine as he says, ‘It can’t be any easier now that your mum is gone.’
When I realise he’s saying exactly what I’ve been thinking all these months, I weave our fingers together. His hand is so warm. It fits mine perfectly.
‘Remember the last time we did this?’ he asks, glancing at our hands on the table. ‘I’m not really sure what happened that night, but, Phoebe, I’m just happy that things seem to be… back on track?’ His voice goes up about two octaves by the end of his question.
‘So am I.’
Without taking my hand from his, he moves around the table, then pulls me to my feet. I breathe in his citrusy scent. If I touch my tongue to the soft skin on his neck, will he taste of limoncello too? It takes all my willpower to keep my tongue to myself.
When his lips press to mine, they’re as perfect as I’ve always dreamed. It’s not turn-the-firehose-on-them snogging, but still a wonderful hint of things to come. ‘That’s nice,’ I murmur.
He pulls back. ‘I was going for a lot better than nice.’
‘You’ll get us thrown out of the pub.’
‘Maybe we should try again somewhere more private?’
As he leads me from the pub, my tummy begins to flip with excitement.
Chapter 20
Nick’s flat is sparsely furnished, with a weight bench in one corner of the living room that actually looks like it gets used. There’s no laundry hanging from it.
But there is a bloke slouched on the sofa watching TV. ‘Ben, this is Phoebe. Phoebe, my flatmate, Ben.’
Ben sits up enough to shake my hand. ‘Do you want me to?’ he asks Nick, pointing to what must be his bedroom down the hallway.
‘No, no, that’s okay. We can go into the kitchen.’ He turns to me. ‘Is that okay?’
‘Sure, fine,’ I say. Maybe I’ve misread things. This doesn’t feel like the seduction I was hoping for.
The kitchen is small but there’s room for a table up against the wall, with two chairs on the long side and one on each end. The flat isn’t too grubby for two blokes. ‘Who takes his coffee so seriously?’ I point at the fancy coffee pod machine that gleams on the worktop.
‘Oh, my father gave it to me for my birthday. Not my dad, my father. It’s over the top, but it has won me over to the dark side. I admit I love that cup first thing.’
‘I thought you were a morning tea drinker.’
‘I am. With you.’
We let that hang in the air for a moment.
‘Now that I know what you really like, I’ll have to up my game.’
Nick smiles. ‘Your game is just fine. Besides, I don’t get home-made biscuits here.’ He pulls a bottle of red wine from under the sink. ‘Our impressive wine cellar.’
When he pours me a glass I say, ‘I’m getting a hint of Dettol on the nose.’
‘We’re saving the bleachy Malbec for a special occasion.’ He clinks my glass and our banter ambles on like this while we sip our wine. There are no lulls in the conversation. There might be a few spaces, but they’re comfortable, with no need to rush to fill them. It feels a bit like being at work, in that there’s no awkwardness between us. But there is a tinge of something else, something in the way Nick and I are watching each other. I hope that kiss in the pub was an amuse bouche, because it definitely piqued my appetite.
Our chairs have crept closer as we’ve been talking. Now our knees are nearly touching. ‘This has been a really nice night,’ he says. When his palm brushes my knee, a delightful jolt shoots up my leg. The warmth of his hand radiates through my jeans. 'I usually get nervous on dates,’ he says, ‘but I’m not now. Thanks for that.’
‘But I haven’t done anything,’ I answer. ‘It helps that we’re friends.’
His hand is still on my knee. ‘Could we be more, do you think?’
He doesn’t wait for an answer. When his lips meet mine, they’re so warm and soft that I want to stay that way all night.
Nick guides me closer and cups my face in his hands. ‘I’ve wanted to do this for such a long time,’ he says.
‘Me too.’
When his lips find the space where my neck meets my shoulder, a delicious shiver runs through me. My face is inches from his neck. I give an exploratory lick.
Definitely not limoncello.
‘I wouldn’t want to embarrass Ben, if he came in here,’ Nick murmurs. ‘Shall we?’
I nod and he leads me to his bedroom.
I’ve imagined sleeping with Nick, of course. In my head it has always been full of fiery, acrobatic passion – what with him being so sporty – and me trying to keep up. But the reality is different. We take our time. That doesn’t make it any less passionate. But amongst the gasping joy of feeling completely free with this man, there’s also a lot of gentle exploration and easy laughter. You’d never think it was the first time we’ve been together. There’s no I’m-so-sorry fumbling. It’s not that we instinctively know what the other wants, only that we’re not afraid to ask. I’ve been with blokes for months who couldn’t find a clitoris with a satnav, but never said anything. It’s different with Nick.
I’m not often thrilled to be naked with the lights on, either. The bonus of Nick being able to see my wobbly bits is that I get to see him in all his weight-benched glory. It’s even better than I imagined. He’s slender without being slim, and has a six-pack that
I could probably grate cheese on.
If there are any whispers of doubt about this, it’s only that I wish we weren’t so uneven. Even if Nick likes me – and I’m sure he’s being honest when he says he does – I’ve been in love with him for months. It’s going to be hard for us to draw even when I’ve had such a head start. I’ve already thought about our whole relationship when he probably hasn’t thought any further than breakfast.
I can feel myself smiling when I drift off to sleep with Nick’s arms around me and my head on his chest. I’ll pay for it in the morning with a cricked neck, but it’s so worth it right now.
All I want to do at work the next day is stay loved-up in some secluded corner with Nick. But he’s in no position to be loved-up with me. He’s been down at the greenhouse with Terence and the other men all morning. Tamsyn has been his shadow. As if she cares about compost.
He’s building a long potting table to go alongside the greenhouse, while the others haul the contents out on to the lawn. Terence is shouting orders and deciding what’s still useful and what they should toss.
I wouldn’t normally make deliveries – except for Maggie’s meals, and you know how I much I love doing that – but since the mountain can’t come to Mohammed, I’ve brought tea to the mountain.
‘Not the pots, for God’s sake!’ Terence shouts at Mr Campbell, who’s just thrown them into the rubbish pile.
‘But they’re all broken,’ he says.
‘Exactly, so why would you throw them away?! Put them in one of those bags. Hopeless.’
Nick glances my way with a complicit smile, and the world shrinks to just the two of us. The feeling goes way beyond my usual skipping heart or skittery tummy when we’ve shared a joke, because this isn’t only the hope of things to come. It’s the knowledge that this is real. It’s happening. Nick and I are really happening. In amongst the excitement, there’s a calm certainty about it all.
He gently explains to Mr Campbell that they’ll use the broken pots for soil drainage. That seems to be part of Nick’s job description now too: smoothing over Terence’s spikes so they don’t catch on the other residents.
‘What should we do with these?’ Nick asks, aiming his question at Terence. He must know the answer, given that he’s holding up a stack of mouldy gardening magazines with stuck-together pages. They’re good for nothing but the bin. He’s just cosying up as usual, though seeing it doesn’t make me as annoyed as it did before last night. Ha. One little orgasm and suddenly the man can do no wrong.
I can’t stop smiling. That is, until Tamsyn opens her mouth. She’s standing uselessly beside Nick with her face tipped to the sun, while he nails together the table frame out of the old scaffolding boards we found piled behind the greenhouse.
If she’s going to be underfoot like that, she could at least help him instead of sunning herself. I’d much rather that she just trot along so that I can have Nick to myself. I might be sure about him now, but I still don’t want Tamsyn around.
‘Nicky,’ she says eventually. ‘How much longer? I’m bored.’
As if we’re all here to entertain her.
She tosses her hair, which gives me envy because it does shine coppery in the sun. ‘You can go set the tables for lunch if you like,’ I say. I shouldn’t have made it sound like a choice, though, because she ignores me. Instead of the pay cheque she gets at the end of every work week, Max should just hand her the allowance from his wallet. Then at least she wouldn’t be underfoot to annoy those of us who have to work around her.
‘Why is she here?’ Terence snaps. ‘You’re a waste of space.’
Sometimes I do love his cranky honesty.
‘To keep you company, Grandad!’ She honestly seems to believe this. ‘We should spend as much time together as we can and now that I’m working here–’
Working here, ha! Hardly.
‘–we can spend all day together. That’ll be nice.’
‘Nice as piles,’ he grumbles. ‘Same pain in the arse.’
But Tamsyn just laughs. Nothing’s going to put her off when there’s his inheritance to play for. Because that’s what this is, and she’s ruthless enough to cut her own father out if she can. Then she’ll probably sell the whole place off to developers for flats.
It’s nearly lunchtime before Nick and I can get any time alone. ‘I’ve been dying to do this all morning!’ he says, sweeping me up into his arms as soon as the kitchen door closes.
‘Me too!’ Between kisses I get a whiff of mould and fertiliser. I never thought I’d find that so sexy.
‘Am I boring you?’ he jokes when he catches me stifle a yawn.
‘Not at all! I just didn’t sleep that well. I’m not used to your pillows.’
‘Would it help to stay at your flat next time? If there’s a next time…? I hope that’s not being too presumptuous.’
There’s a next time! ‘Definitely. I mean definitely that there’s a next time, not that you’re being presumptuous.’ As much as I want to suggest tonight (and every night for the rest of our lives), June pops into my head. I’d never cold-shoulder Nick the way she did Callum, but it’s probably best to let him suggest the next date. ‘I’m just so glad this is happening!’ I tell him. ‘What with Callum dropping June like that, I was starting to lose faith in l— in relationships.’
‘She’s getting over that now, though, isn’t she?’ he asks. His arms are still around my waist, his hands clasped together behind me.
I sigh. ‘It’s still killing her. Did he seem weird to you at dinner? June says she didn’t notice anything, but then he didn’t go on with us after, and he’s not the type to put work before fun.’
Nick shakes his head. ‘So, can we see each other tonight? We could have a drink when you’ve finished with the dinner service.’
‘Yes, please, I’d love that!’
I’m floating through the rest of the day, so happy that even Tamsyn can’t bring me down.
Chapter 21
June now calls us her dirty little HR secret. Not that we’re in a real company where Nick and I could pass sensitive information to each other or collude in fraud. What are we going to do – get Nick’s favourite dessert on the lunch menu a bit more often?
We’re not technically a secret, either. We just haven’t come around to making any big announcements yet. Plus, this is our workplace. It’s important to stay professional.
If only everyone had as much decorum as we’re managing. I’m talking about Terence, who roams around the home leading the new residents like schoolboys in the playground.
We never know what they’ll get up to next, only that it’s guaranteed to annoy the women.
‘What happens in DIY club stays in DIY club,’ he stubbornly tells June. His geriatric posse is standing behind him.
‘Will you stop saying that?’ she retorts. ‘It doesn’t even make sense.’
‘It makes perfect sense to us, because we’re in DIY club.’
‘Look, Terence,’ I say. ‘All June needs to know is whether you’re planning anything that could disrupt the other residents.’ I came into work the other day to find drop cloths covering the front hall’s floor, the men in painter’s dungarees and a white base coat already drying on the walls. Dot said they were crashing around down there from 4 a.m. Terence claims they only wanted to make an early start to avoid disruption. We all know he did it before June got in.
‘Or anything that needs planning permission,’ she adds. ‘Or that’s going to cost us money to fix. That little stunt with your bedroom was expensive, you know.’
The builders had to reinstate the wall that Terence knocked through. Luckily, he didn’t get to any of the structural beams before we heard the commotion, or the whole upper floor might have come down. ‘I know you own the property, Terence. You remind us about it every chance you get.’
‘That’s right,’ says Terence. ‘If I want to spend my money on it, I will.’
June’s voice is barely above a whisper when she answer
s. ‘But I run this home, so don’t start making changes without clearing them through me. End of discussion.’
I bite down a smile. June is formidable if you try crossing her. Even Terence will have to think twice about that. ‘Tea break?’ I ask her once Terence leads the men back out to the greenhouse. They’ve turned it into their clubhouse, though they’ll have to come back inside soon. There’s no electricity out there, and the little camp stove they use to brew their tea won’t keep them warm once the weather really turns.
‘You mean can we go back to the kitchen so you can fall all over Nick,’ she says as we go.
He’ll have just finished up his occupational therapy in the dining room and put the coffee pot on. ‘Am I that obvious?’
‘Totally. But I also want some of your biscuits,’ she says as she opens the kitchen door. ‘Oh, look, here’s Nick.’ She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘What a surprise.’
‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’ I push past her to flip on the kettle for us. ‘Hi,’ I say to Nick.
‘Hi.’
‘Look at the two of you,’ she says. ‘Will you please stop undressing each other with your eyes?’
‘Sorry,’ we both say. Try as we might not to do anything that could compromise June at work, it’s harder to control our thoughts.
She waves the apology away. ‘Oh, don’t mind me, old misery guts. I’m only jealous that you’re actually talking to each other. Though I might have come up with a plan about Callum.’ She throws the teabags into our mugs as the kettle finishes boiling. ‘What do you think of this? If I ring his work, I know he’ll answer, and then I can explain everything. If I tell him how I feel, and apologise for whatever’s put him off, he’ll have to at least hear me out, right? He might… I don’t know, change his mind?’
I’m nodding like a mad thing. Wasn’t I talking about doing the very same thing myself not long ago?
She heaves a big sigh. ‘It gives us a chance, at least. I’ve got nothing to lose. It’s not like I’ve got any pride left anyway.’
The Not So Perfect Plan to Save Friendship House: An uplifting romantic comedy Page 19
