How to Get Hitched in Ten Days (7 page)

‘I remember. It’s one of the few movies we both adore. I’d had a long day at work, with staff off sick, and Jazz had just got over a bad cold. You were spending the night at your mum’s because she’d just got out of hospital.’ I shrugged. ‘So why didn’t you tell Jazz you weren’t happy?’

‘I didn’t want her to think me clingy – we’d not been going out long. Plus most of my focus was on Mum. And because I didn’t make a fuss, after that it was hard to say anything when it happened again.’ He bit his lip. ‘She even told you about New York before me.’

‘Yeah, but I don’t think she’d thought about the job offer seriously until…’ My cheeks flushed.

‘Until my disastrous proposal…’ He sighed. ‘How can she even compare me to her father? Did you know he used to beat her mum? Jasmine would sit on the stairs listening to them argue.’

‘Jazz doesn’t talk to me much about it – all I really know is that he had a drink problem.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Which kind of proves my point – you’re the one she confides in about the really deep stuff, not me.’

Dave shot me an intense stare. ‘And you don’t mind?’

I thought for a moment. ‘Nope. We’re just friends. Yes, I’m a listening ear if she wants, but…’ I shrugged. ‘It is what it is. There are lots of different kinds of “close”.’

Dave nodded.

‘So, you and me… are we okay? Talk to Jasmine about our sleepovers. And they aren’t all good – I spent last night sleeping on a bed of popcorn crumbs.’ I raised an eyebrow, hoping for some sort of smile in return. Guess that was asking for a lot.

‘Guess we’re okay,’ said Dave eventually, in a monotone voice.

‘Uh uh – that isn’t going to cut it. Come on. Throw it all at me. I can tell there is something else.’

‘Nope.’

‘Dave.’ I put on the safety belt. ‘I’m not leaving your car until you fess up.’

Dave dropped his head into his hands for a moment and then looked up. ‘Fine. This unrequited love of yours… you say that from your point of view the sleepovers are innocent, but are they really? Is the secret object of your affection Jazz? Have you become… or were you always… bisexual?’ he blurted out.

Well, hats off to Dave. Never, in my life, has anyone left me at such a loss for words. I stared at him, overcome with a sudden desire to laugh. But the pain in his eyes held me back.

‘What makes you think that?’ I said gently. ‘I thought we’d just been through all this. Jazz and me are just friends.’

‘But she’s asked you time and time again about your crush and you won’t give her the slightest detail. Yet when I first started going out with Jazz, I remember you telling her that you fancied Michael Fassbender, so you’ve confided in her before about this kind of stuff – why not now?’

‘That was a celebrity crush!’ I stared at those chestnut eyes. ‘And there you have it, Dave – more proof that Jazz and I are nothing but mates. You might whisper your darkest and dirtiest secrets to a lover, in the passion of the moment, but the really gut-wrenching private stuff that would slice through your heart to talk about – no. I think most of us keep that to ourselves.’

‘So, it’s definitely not her?’

I reached across the car and squeezed his arm. For once he didn’t flinch. ‘Curves, breasts, child-bearing hips… none of those things do it for me – never have. Whereas solid chests, long limbs, short sexy haircuts–’

‘Okay. I get the picture,’ mumbled Dave.

For the first time ever, I removed my hand from his arm, without it being shaken off.

He glanced sideway at me. ‘Perhaps I owe you an apology.’

My heart squeezed. ‘The third wheel thing – I can see how that might upset you. But honestly, Dave – just think of me as one of her girlfriends.’ I cleared my throat. ‘Are we still on for dancing tomorrow night?’

He nodded.

‘Theo reckoned he could teach you some basic moves in a couple of sessions – are you free Friday night as well? That way you could take Jazz dancing Saturday night.’

‘Yep. Sounds like a plan.’

‘And to make up for the mistake about the scented candle…. for everything else, here’s a tip. You know the market in the street next to where Jazz works?’

‘Bladen Place? Sure, she goes there every Thursday.’

‘Yeah. In other words tomorrow. She’s taking a long lunch to pick up some bits for her trip.’

‘But she asked me to keep my distance,’ he said.

‘Dave. Normally Jazz’s word is law but she leaves for New York exactly one week today.’

‘You’re right. What’s the worst that can happen? Nothing. The worst already has.’ He held out his hand. I slipped mine into his and squeezed.

‘Actually, that was my way of asking for my keys,’ he said gruffly. But his eyes twinkled at this early stage of… perhaps a new friendship.

I climbed out the car with renewed energy at the turn of events. Dave and me had just shared our first ever meaningful conversation. And even though I didn’t know Theo well, for some extraordinary reason he was the person I wanted to ring up and tell.

Chapter Six – Jasmine

‘So who’s Theo?’ I said to Mikey, over scrambled eggs, just the way I liked them (milky with a pinch of nutmeg. Blame my fine-dining aunt who was the one stable relative from my childhood). We sat at the breakfast bar. Just before, I’d pulled the blinds, to let sun stream in, lighting up the flat. Friends of mine always said how manly it looked, as if they expected it to be strewn with fluorescent leg warmers and feather boas because I lived with a gay guy.

Mikey blushed. He blushed!

‘Huh?’ he said and rubbed the back of his neck.

‘Well, let’s see…’ I looked at my watch. ‘It’s half-past seven. We’ve both been up one hour and you’ve already mentioned him three times.’ I raised my eyebrows. This secret unrequited crush – could it finally be coming out into the open? Could the object of Mikey’s affection be this Theo, whom I’d never heard him talk of before? Is this man reciprocating my dear flatmate’s feelings at last?

He tutted and pointed to the headline in the paper. ‘Unemployment has risen again.’

‘Mikey!’

He looked up. ‘What?’

‘Theo!’

‘Oh, he’s just a friend of Sanjay’s…we bumped into each other at the gym yesterday.’

‘Was it him you were on the phone to last night for over one hour? What were you talking about? I could have sworn I heard you mention Dave. Were you telling him about the Hollandaise sauce incident? You laughed enough and–’

‘Had a glass to my bedroom wall did you?’

‘No! You left the door open and–’

Mikey knocked back his orange juice. ‘Right, better go. It’s the monthly Butterfields nursing home fifties lunch.’ He kissed me on the forehead. ‘See you tonight, sweetheart, and when you go to Bladen Place market today, could you pick me up a bag of that German apple pie spice? It’s the only place I can buy it and John’s running short.’

Taking the hint not to quiz him further, I stuck out my tongue, but warmth radiated through my veins. How good it was to hear Mikey chat about a potential love interest (I’d decided that’s what this Theo was) because… my eyes pricked… whilst I couldn’t wait for New York, part of me ached at leaving my single flatmate behind. Whereas if he were in a new relationship, it would be less of a wrench to say good bye.

Mikey so deserved to be happy – take this dementia care lunch. He made no profit from it, as he closed the rest of the diner for a couple of hours and the old folk didn’t fill all the seats, but knew how much the residents enjoyed being whisked back in time, to an era they could remember with confidence. I’d assisted him once and helped one elderly lady eat her hotdog. She remembered all the old bands, The Drifters being particular favourites. I smiled. She’d ordered a chocolate milkshake with two straws, because she and her husband could only afford to share one, when courting. Mikey had been brill at explaining away his death, saying he’d be along later and then charmed her into getting up and gently dancing with him.

I drained my teacup and two hours later was quaffing coffee in the office, whilst ploughing through job applications. Some people had no idea. Under “Interests” one woman had put “Gaming until one in the morning.” I wanted interests that shouted “I’m a team player” or “pick me, a well-organised person”.

Mikey always said I was ruthless when it came to business. But I had to be – get emotionally involved, and I’d never be able to reject someone for a job, let alone sack them. Dave’s lopsided smile crept into my mind. Was I ruthless in my personal life as well? He hadn’t texted me since last night and – between us – I actually read half that Fifty Shades book before going to bed. Well, certain bits, anyway! I could see why it had sold so well. But text him back? I wasn’t my mother – wasn’t going to go overboard to please someone who’d hurt my feelings.

In fact, as I stood in Bladen Place market, by my favourite second-hand bookstall, I was amazed by the plethora of erotic books. I ran my hand over a pile of crime novels, tempted to stop and browse. I shivered. Despite the February sun it was cold. And I only had two hours to pick up a few accessories that would help me look remotely stylish when I landed in the Big Apple.

You see, really – smart work clothes aside – I was just a T-shirt and jeans kind of girl, which is why me and casual Dave always fitted well. Mikey despaired.

‘Jazz! You’ve got a great figure. For God’s sake show off your waist and pins with the occasional dress or high shoes.’

I smiled again to myself and stopped at an Indian stall. Those silk scarves were amazing – something my flatmate would definitely approve of. And one wouldn’t add much weight to my luggage, plus would up-style the plainest of tops. Breathing in the exotic aroma of musky joss sticks, I reached up for a ginger and tangerine one, bearing an intricate floral pattern.

‘Nice,’ said a deep voice, next to me.

I didn’t need to turn around. Warmth spread across my chest. His voice did things to me that no other sound did. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked brightly and continued to handle the scarf, despite my pulse racing at an Olympic speed.

‘Looking for a present for someone.’

Okay. I give in. My ice queen act didn’t last very long. Dave met my gaze with a sheepish expression and nodded at the scarf. ‘Great colours. Would go with your brown suede jacket.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that. Guess I’d better buy it, then.’ I handed over a tenner and the stallholder put the scarf in a bag.

‘How come you’re here?’ said Dave in a bright voice. ‘I’d have thought you’d be too busy getting ready to move next week.’

‘I need a few essentials for my trip.’ Oh God. Just the thought of my mouth on his sent funny feelings to places deep within me.

‘What – a neck pillow for the journey and some comfy slippers to wear once in the air?’

I couldn’t help grinning. Dave knew me well. Creature comforts normally came before fashion.

‘Actually, I’m hoping to buy a few items that will make me feel a little more glam.’

Dave stopped. ‘Are you serious? You’ve got a natural glamour that won’t fail to impress.’

Those dark eyes didn’t flicker with humour. That was one of the things that first attracted me to him – he didn’t do bullshit.

‘Fancy a quick bite to eat?’ he said and jerked his head towards a stall selling sweet and savoury pancakes. Behind it were a couple of tables, with chairs.

I bit my lip. ‘I told you – I wanted to cool off.’

Dave rubbed his arms. ‘Yes and damn cold it is too!’

I rolled my eyes. Dave always thought his jokes were so good.

He held his hands in the air. ‘Honest. No inquisition. I won’t question you about next week or talk about last Sunday night.’ He sniffed. ‘Hmm. I smell mozzarella and pesto – perhaps followed by a peanut butter one for dessert.’

‘You knew you’d have me at peanut butter.’ We exchanged smiles and I followed him over to the stall. A man my age, in a hurry, banged into me and I dropped my bag. I flinched as I stood up. Habit – even after all these years. If anyone did that to my mum, Dad would have grabbed his collar and threatened all sorts, seeing the accidental bump as some kind of slight against him personally – he didn’t care about his wife. Dave picked up my bag and rolled his eyes.

‘You okay, Jasmine? Honestly, everyone is in such a hurry these days. At least he had the manners to mutter sorry.’

See, a voice said in my head, he’d never be anything like your dad.

‘So, what’ll it be?’ he said.

Stomach grumbling now, I gazed at the menu. ‘Hot chocolate to drink and just a peanut butter pancake please – with chocolate drizzled on top. Here…’ I opened my wallet. Without a job, Mum depended on Dad for everything. As a child, I swore I’d never find myself in that jail of domesticity. Good old Dave had never let his pride get in the way of understanding that and just took the money.

‘I’ll bring the food over if you bagsie a table,’ he said.

I found us two seats and watched as Dave chatted to the pancake-maker. In a way his proposal really had been bad timing, because lately, with New York looming, I’d thought more than usual about my parents.

‘Penny for them?’ said Dave as he sat down and passed me my pancake and drink.

I sipped the hot chocolate, instantly perked up by its creamy richness.

‘How much Mum loved the Hollywood movies.’ Pure escapism from her own life, no doubt. ‘Especially musicals. She harboured a life-long dream to visit New York. A particular favourite film set there was On The Town, starring Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly. Of course, married to Dad, there was no chance of foreign travel. Any spare cash got spent on whiskey.’

‘She always sounds like the most tolerant, brave woman in the world,’ he said gently.

‘Or stupid,’ I muttered. ‘I used to try to hate her, for not having the guts to stand up to him. My aunt got mad too. You should have heard her language when she discovered that Mum had forgiven him once again, falling for the same old promises.’

‘Why did she?’

I shrugged. ‘Goodness knows, I’ve thought about it enough over the years. I think she believed she could change him – turn him back into the man she married. Perhaps wrongly blamed herself for how he’d altered.’ I shook my head. A sick sensation rose up the back of my throat – a common feeling, caused by the conflict of love and resentment for my mother.