by Jane Green
“I’m throwing you in at the deep end a bit.” Linda handed Maggie a stuffed file with a laugh. “It’s sink or swim here, I’m afraid. We’ve just announced a partnership with Swerdling, the pharmaceutical company. They’ve developed a revolutionary skin cream that actually stimulates the collagen in your own skin to not just make you look younger but actually reverse the aging process. We’ve been working on a new campaign to launch this, so I want you to familiarize yourself with it. Once you’ve read it, you can type up your own ideas to add to the campaign.” She paused, seeing Maggie freeze. “Don’t worry,” she said. “No pressure. Just if you think of anything we haven’t already covered. Let me have your notes by the end of the day.”
By lunchtime, Maggie’s head felt ready to explode. She had read through half the notes, keeping a notebook by her side, constantly stopping to scribble down ideas. The revolutionary ingredient was derived from fish, and it was scented with French lavender. There was a historic hotel just outside of Grasse, near Maggie’s parents’ home in the South of France, that had fields of lavender that were harvested for the perfumers in Grasse. Maggie had already phoned them and, in her immaculate French, negotiated a heavily discounted rate for the press trip she was going to propose to Linda.
She had written down Evvie as the face of the product, delighted that she had an inside track, hoping it might score her brownie points on her first day. And, thanks to her corporate PR background, she realized that scientific journals were the one item nobody had thought about. She had researched the journals, including those published in America, Australia, and throughout the major markets in Europe, proposing profiles on the scientists who had developed the ingredient.
At around one, a girl called Kelly came over to her desk. “We’re all going to drop in to the launch of our new lipstick color,” she said. “It’s at the roof gardens in Kensington. I’m really sorry, because normally we’d ask you to come, but the receptionist is off sick and we need someone to stay and man the phones. Would you mind terribly staying just this once?”
“That’s fine,” said Maggie, who was relieved. The last thing she wanted to be doing was milling around with a group of strangers at a launch she knew nothing about.
“Do you know where the cafeteria is?” Kelly continued. “If you want to run down and grab something, we’ll be here for another fifteen minutes. Also, we’ve all been invited to a film premiere Tuesday next week. Make sure you can come.”
“Great.” Maggie got up, realizing that Kelly felt guilty, picked up her purse, and, promising not to be long, headed downstairs to grab a sandwich to eat at her desk.
She was standing in the checkout line when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning, she took a sharp intake of breath as she found herself looking into the eyes of Evil Ben.
“Maggie?” he said as she tried to compose herself, amazed not only that he remembered her name, but that she still felt exactly the same lurch looking at him as she felt all those years ago.
“Oh my God. Ben! What are you doing here? Do you work here?”
“No. My company is developing something for Les Jolies, and we have a big meeting here today.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t work for Swerdling, do you?”
“I do! How did you know?”
“I just started in the PR department of Les Jolies today. I’ve spent the morning reading about the ingredients in Radiance and, naturally, all about Swerdling.”
He gave a wry smile. “What a small world. It’s been years since I’ve seen you. Wasn’t it just before you graduated?”
“It was.”
“You look good,” he said, eyeing her suit. “You’ve become . . . trendy.”
“You mean I wasn’t trendy before?” she teased.
“You were a bit jolly hockey sticks.” He shrugged. “Not that that’s a bad thing. I’ve always liked posh girls. Now you look very Les Jolies.”
“Thank God.” She wasn’t sure what to make of his comment about liking posh girls. “My transformation last week worked.” She paused. “You might be able to help me with some ideas I have for some features around Swerdling. Is there any chance we could chat sometime? Maybe you could tell me a bit more about the company.”
“I’d like that.” Ben looked at his watch. “I have to run now, but . . . how about Friday night? We could go for a drink. I have a four p.m. meeting here that should be done by six. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great.” Maggie attempted to wipe the grin off her face, with little success. “I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
“Done. It’s so good to see you. Really.” He reached out and squeezed her arm, and in an instant she was swept back to the time they had run into him while hiking, and he had rubbed her back, or touched her back, just before he left. She had the same feeling just now as she had had that day—it was a sense of safety, of being taken care of, and she liked it just as much as she had back then. And then he was gone, leaving Maggie’s heart racing as she headed back upstairs and immediately flicked through her Filofax until she found the number she was looking for.
Maggie hadn’t spoken to Evvie in ages. She had tried to stay in touch, but Evvie had become so successful, was traveling all the time, that the messages Maggie left on her answering machine were never returned. Maggie sent Christmas cards, and very occasionally, Evvie would phone, but it was always while Maggie was at work. It felt more and more like they were ships that passed in the night, the close friendship they once had—more like sisters than friends—a distant memory.
But who else would understand the thrill of what just happened? Who else could share in the excitement? Maggie’s roommate, Lola, was lovely, and they were close friends, but she knew nothing of Evil Ben. Her other friends wouldn’t have understood. She picked up the phone and punched in Evvie’s number, astonished when there was a click, and there was Evvie’s voice, saying hello.
“Evvie! It’s me!” She paused, expecting Evvie to know exactly which “me,” but when she heard nothing in response, she clarified. “Maggie.”
“Maggie! I haven’t spoken to you in so long! What a great surprise! How are you doing?”
“You’re never going to believe this. I had to phone you because you and Topher are the only two people who understand how momentous this is, but I just started a new job at Les Jolies, and you will never believe who I bumped into in the cafeteria.”
There was a pause. “Evil Ben?” ventured Evvie.
“How did you know!”
“A good guess. How does he look?”
“Exactly the same except even more handsome, if that’s possible. Not that he’s really handsome, but cute.”
“You still fancy him then?”
“I know. It’s crazy. All these years later and I swear, my heart lurched in exactly the same way. And guess what? We’re going out for a drink on Friday night! Wouldn’t it be so bizarre if something happened? I mean, can you imagine if now he and I actually got together for real?”
There was a long silence.
“Evvie? Are you still there?”
“Yes. I just had a premonition. You’re going to marry him.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no way in hell that’s going to happen. It’s just a drink. Or maybe a bit more. I haven’t even snogged anyone in ages, and Evil Ben remains the best kiss I’ve ever had, so yes, I’m definitely up for some snogging.”
“It’s going to be more than snogging,” said Evvie. “Listen, I really want to stay and chat but I have to leave for a magazine shoot. It’s really good to hear from you and let’s try and speak more regularly, okay?”
“Definitely.” Maggie was a little taken aback by the brevity of the conversation. “Shall I call you after . . .” But suddenly there was the dial tone, and Evvie had gone.
* * *
• • •
Ben was on his
third pint, Maggie on her second gin and tonic, all the formality that had marked their initial conversation now dulled by the alcohol, and perhaps their mutual excitement at being together. At least, that’s what Maggie hoped. She had never been good at realizing when people liked her, but she could feel the chemistry, and the giveaway sign was that neither of them had stopped smiling since the moment they met.
Evil Ben had clearly matured, relinquishing the scowl that defined her memories of him. Either that, or he liked her. He truly liked her.
She was telling him about her roommate, Lola, and her parents’ menagerie of dogs, cats, and chickens in Kent, much like, she laughed, her own parents’ home in Sussex.
“A group of us are going to stay at Lola’s next weekend while her parents are away. I love living in London, but every now and then the noise gets too much for me and I need my dose of the country.”
“I feel the same. I miss the West Country all the time.”
“Me too. Those were the happiest days of my life. Would you ever move back?”
“That’s the plan,” he said. “When I have enough money, that’s where I’d go. Fresh air and lots of hikes. What could be better? Speaking of hiking, how are your parents?”
Maggie laughed. “I can’t believe you even remember my parents. They’re great. I don’t see them very much right now but I speak to them every week. My brothers are scattered all over the place. One’s in Australia, one’s in America, and the youngest, who you met, is in Glasgow.”
“Glasgow? And the others are in America and Australia? Poor sod! How did he draw the short end of the stick?”
“It isn’t!” Maggie laughed. “He loves it.”
“Do you still hike?”
“Not in London. Unless a shopping trip along Westbourne Grove counts.”
“Depends on how big a backpack you needed.”
“Big. Let me tell you, I had to completely reinvent myself for this job. I have to pretend I’m trendy.” She sighed. “It’s hell. I have to keep a stack of magazines in my bedroom for inspiration. I’ve got no idea what I should be wearing. This is when I wish Evvie still lived with me.”
Ben’s face grew serious. “Are you still in touch with your old friends? Do they come to London ever?”
“Sadly not really. I do speak to them occasionally, but I haven’t seen them in ages. I miss them.” She lost herself for a few seconds, thinking of Topher and Evvie, before shaking her head with a smile to bring herself back to the present. “What about you, Ben? Do you still hike?”
“Not as often as I’d like to. Hey! We should go hiking sometime. I’ve never found anyone to come with me, and much as I like hiking alone, I suspect it would be much more fun with you.”
“I’d love that!” He wants to see me again! she thought.
“What about next weekend?”
Her face fell. “I can’t. That’s the weekend I’m going to Lola’s in Sussex.” An idea dawned. “There’s a big group of us going. If you wanted to come, I’m sure there’d be room.”
“I’m not good with people I don’t know. But thank you. A group of strangers, even with you, is never my idea of a good time. But let’s make a plan to hike. Can I get you another drink?”
“I’m fine. I’m already getting a bit light-headed. I probably shouldn’t have used the straw.”
“Beginner’s mistake.” Ben grinned. “What about something nonalcoholic? I’m going to get myself another beer.”
“A Diet Coke would be lovely.”
* * *
• • •
An hour later, Ben insisted on seeing Maggie home in a cab. He left his car—an MG Midget, which, Maggie pointed out, was a decent upgrade from the Spitfire—as Maggie wouldn’t let him drive. He had had too much to drink, and when she hailed a cab, he told her a gentleman would insist on seeing her to the door.
Two hours later, Ben was sprawled on the sofa in Maggie’s living room, watching Eurotrash on Channel 4, while Maggie, unable to stop smiling, cracked eggs into a bowl for one of her omelets, hoping the food would soak up some of the alcohol. She wanted to keep pinching herself—Evil Ben was in her living room! Evil Ben was here!
He was drinking the coffee and the big bottle of water she had set on the coffee table. She kept moving to the doorway to look at him, marveling at how comfortable he seemed, his shoes off, his legs up on the sofa; marveling at how right this scene felt.
She melted a large knob of butter in the pan and whisked the eggs, adding seasoning and chives she snipped from the pot on the windowsill. When the butter was sizzling hot, just about to brown, she tipped the eggs into the pan and quickly, quickly, using the back of the fork tines, scrambled the eggs before turning the heat down to low and setting the omelet back on the gentle flame to cook through, making sure the top stayed perfectly creamy. Folding the omelet onto a plate, she added a toasted brioche, before bringing it into the living room, to Ben.
“That looks delicious.” Ben sat up, reaching for the knife and fork. He ate quickly, and quietly, other than constantly looking at Maggie and proclaiming this the best omelet he had ever eaten in his life.
It’s what I do, thought Maggie. Food cooked with love. I show the people I care about that I love them by feeding them. Then she rebuked herself for thinking that when it came to Ben. She didn’t love Ben; she hardly knew him.
“Is there room for me?” she said, when he had finished.
“There will always be room for you.” He smiled before patting the seat next to him as Maggie curled up. She didn’t resist when he took her legs and pulled them onto his lap, resting his hands absentmindedly on her shins, with no idea of the effect it was having on Maggie, who could hardly breathe. They sat together for a while, appearing to be perfectly comfortable, even though Maggie was feeling ever so slightly nauseated, the butterflies in her stomach taking great leaps every time he moved. He had had plenty of alcohol, but rather than seeming drunk, he seemed softer, sweeter, his defenses down. This was the Ben who rubbed her back, who squeezed her arm, who would, she thought, take care of her.
On-screen, the host, Jean Paul Gaultier, visited something called the Tickle Factory.
“Oh God,” said Maggie. “That sounds like hell to me.”
“Which bit?”
“Tickling. I hate being tickled.”
“Oh, Maggie.” Ben turned his head from the television and looked at her, a twinkle in his eye.
“What?”
“Oh, Maggie, Maggie, Maggie.”
“What?”
“You should never have told me that.” He raised his hands as Maggie yelped, pulling her legs off his lap and inching away from him on the sofa, but it was too late. Suddenly his hands were everywhere, tickling her as she laughed hysterically, while begging him to stop.
He did stop, both of them breathing heavily, Ben suddenly on top of her, his face inches from hers. They were both smiling, until the smiles slid off each of their faces as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
“Are you drunk?” Maggie whispered, remembering once upon a time when she found herself in a very similar situation, not wanting to ever have that happen again.
“I’m very definitely sober,” he whispered back, tipping his head forward until his lips were on hers, and Maggie’s whole body shuddered with an electrical current she didn’t know it was possible to feel.
nineteen
- 1995 -
Too scrawny,” her mother kept saying, sucking her teeth and shaking her head every time she looked at Evvie over the past two days.
“You want me to stop modeling?” Evvie would ask, and they would both start laughing, for Evvie’s mother couldn’t have been more proud of her daughter. Everywhere she went she got Evvie’s picture out of her wallet, and everyone told her Evvie had clearly got her good looks from her mother.
“I wish you’d come and visi
t more often,” said her mother, walking Evvie to the fancy car that had pulled up outside the house in Stockwell.
“I wish you’d come and visit me! I’ve got a fabulous apartment downtown and there’s more than enough room for you.”
“New York was another life,” said her mother. “I like it here, and the only place I like traveling to at my age is Jamaica.”
“Your age. You’re still young, and vibrant. You’ve been living with Granny too long.”
“You’re telling me.” Evvie’s mother patted her stomach and laughed. “My stomach is testament to that.”
“And now you see why I don’t come and stay more often,” Evvie teased.
“Nothing wrong with that,” said her mother, allowing Evvie to put her arms around her and give her a tight hug before waving her off, standing outside her house until the car was long gone.
* * *
• • •
Evvie’s life was going even better than she expected in every area except romantically. At twenty-seven years old, she was one of the world’s best-known models. She was not merely a model, but a supermodel who rubbed shoulders with the rich and famous and who was, in fact, rich and famous herself.
She was supposed to have it all, but when Maggie phoned her last year to tell her that Evvie would never believe who she had run into in the cafeteria at her new job, who she was having drinks with later that week, Evvie had felt her heart plummet. She knew she was going to say Evil Ben. And as soon as Maggie did, Evvie felt sick, knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Maggie would end up marrying him.
Evvie had had plenty of relationships, but she picked horribly. She used to joke that if you put a thousand nice guys in a room with one fuckup, she’d find herself leaving with the fuckup, except it wasn’t that funny because it was true. From time to time she had thought about Ben, wondering what-if, wondering if things might have been different with him. All these years later, there was still no one with whom she had had the same chemistry, no one who had turned her on in the same way, and there were times, late at night, when she would lie in bed and wonder whether anyone might ever make her feel that way again.
