This is a Love Story (39 page)

An instant message popped up and jolted me from my spiral of self-loathing. It was from Tom.

‘COME ON, MOPEY HEAD. DON’T BE SAD
’

I sighed and smiled. He was such an idiot, but I liked him. ‘I’ll be fine, Tom, chill. Let’s go for a beer later. What do you reckon?’

‘YES. YES AND YES. IN FACT, LET’S GO FOR SEVEN BEERS AND SLEEP IN A BIN SOMEWHERE. SOUND GOOD?’

‘My perfect night out.’

‘SPEAK LATER, BALL HEAD.’

I couldn’t help but smile when I thought about the people around me and how brilliant they were. Not brilliant in terms of changing the world, or even changing their underwear, but I was glad to have them in my life. I was lucky to know them. Even if they did throw things at me and call me testicle-related names.

I picked up my phone and texted Ross:

‘Ross. Tom and I are going drinking in Balham tonight. From 6 p.m. in the Sheep’s Head. Can you come? Text the boys. Nick.’

The boys. I wondered for a moment why I called them that. I think we’re still boys at heart, passing thirty hadn’t changed that. Even when we’re all wearing puffy shoes with special soles and Velcro fastenings and trying not to fall over on the bus, we’ll always be ‘the boys’. Some day, though, this boy was going to have to grow up . . .

It was 4 p.m., just another hour before I could leave the office and have some fun. My phone rang; it was an internal call. I suddenly feared it could be Chloe. Oh shit. I picked up the receiver with trepidation but it was Ant, thank God. I never thought I would be happy to hear his voice.

‘Nick, can you come to my office for a sec?’ he asked.

Oh dear. I was probably in trouble, I thought, as I put the phone down. I was going to have to walk across the office floor now. Past my ex who would probably try and staple my lips together or punch some extra holes in my nose. Head high, Nick. Head high. I felt a sharp pang of regret and foolishness for ignoring the no dating your colleagues rule.

I opened my door and walked across the office, my heart thumping in my chest. I could see her in the corner of my eye but I didn’t look. I wasn’t going to entertain any of her bullshit. After what seemed like an age I finally reached the foot of his stairs. I took a deep breath of relief, but couldn’t help but wonder what was coming.

‘Come on, Nick – hurry up, will you!’ he shouted jokingly from the management tree house, ruining my attempt at being low-key. Anyone who hadn’t noticed me skulk past would certainly know I was there now.

I dashed up the stairs, realising how unfit I was when I reached the top and struggled to catch my breath. He was wearing a dark navy shirt with horizontal stripes, which did his growing stomach no favours at all.

‘Sit down, Nick,’ he said with a wide grin, which seemed to consume his whole face. He certainly meant it when he smiled, that was for sure, even if it didn’t happen too often.

‘What’s up, boss?’ I asked, stretching my legs out and placing my hands over my torso.

‘Two things, really. The first is why are you such a miserable bastard?’ He pushed a tray of chocolates and biscuits towards me and I had an awful feeling I was in for some kind of management counselling session. But his man-to-man chats always involved ridicule.

‘Me, miserable? Really?’ I asked, feigning ignorance.

‘Yes, you. Look at the state of your face – there’s too much hedge going on. And you aren’t ironing your clothes any more.’

He had a point. Chloe always used to iron.

‘Come on. I heard about you and Chloe,’ he said, pushing some chocolate buttons into his mouth with a knowing look.

I wasn’t going to be able to escape this, was I? ‘I’ll be fine. It’s been a few days now, anyway . . .’

‘Weeks, Nick. A few weeks. And you look like you haven’t washed since then,’ he said bluntly, crossing his arms.

I
had
washed . . . and it hadn’t been
that
long, had it?

‘Well, I have great news for you. She’s leaving.’

Oh, thank God, I thought. I wanted to shriek with joy. This was brilliant.

I kept my feelings hidden. ‘Oh, gosh. That’s a shame. Where’s she going?’

He peered over my shoulder in some strange attempt to check she wasn’t looking, then he leaned in close and whispered, ‘Don’t tell anyone this, Nick – and it’s going to come as a shock. She’s moving away, to live with her old boyfriend – some guy she met at uni or something. I think it’s safe to say “negotiations” were taking place when you two were still together . . .’

Holy shit. Cheated on. Again. So that’s why she was acting like that. I didn’t quite know how to take it. My mind flashed back to the first time we’d had lunch in the pub and she’d talked about love, about how she’d had it once.

I was furious. A raging, blood-boiling fury was washing over me and all I could do was sit in front of my boss and be ‘professional’. How dare she accuse me of cheating when she was having it off with another bloke behind my back all along?

‘I’m sorry, mate. It shouldn’t be me telling you this, but I’m fed up of looking at you in this state and I think you need a kick up the bum to get over it, yeah?’

I nodded my head, but really I wanted to run down the stairs and confront her. She’d tried to make out it was all my fault that she was leaving – she’d almost had me believing it. I didn’t know any more. I felt like I didn’t know anyone . . .

‘And the second thing . . .’ Ant interrupted my thoughts just at the right time. Before I imploded with anger and spontaneously combusted all over his office. A foot hanging from the desk lamp and unidentified bits of me all over his face.

‘Yes, Ant, what’s that?’

‘Sarah, the editor of
SparkNotes
, is leaving. She’s going travelling.’

A flashback to the Christmas party, and how Chloe had known about this a long time ago. Urgh, Chloe. But what did this have to do with me?

‘I’m looking for a new editor. It’s a big job. And I have someone in mind for it, but I need you to convince me.’ He smiled again.

I was starting to think he wasn’t that bad at all. A rush of warmth came over me – he must be talking about Sienna. I wanted to jump on my chair and preach to him about how wonderful she was. How hard she worked. About how she deserved it more than anyone in this office. OK, it wasn’t the editorship of a big national, but it was bloody amazing for a twenty-five-year-old girl who thought there was nothing ahead of her but prescription tablets and making walls out of cushions.

The possibilities started to whizz through my mind. How she would look in her own office, how she could breathe new life into the magazine, how she would have more money so that she and her father could live a better life. Suddenly I wanted this for her more than anything.

He looked at me expectantly. ‘Well, come on then, Nick, you’ve seen her work more than I have. What do you think? Is she ready?’

‘Oh God, Ant, she’s ready. She’s more than ready. She’s a superstar, she’s talented, she’s, she’s incredible . . .’ I paused, almost out of breath.

He raised a suspicious eyebrow. ‘All right, mate, steady on.’

I turned crimson. I could actually feel my face burning.

‘Go on, get out of here,’ he chuckled.

‘You are going to give it to her, aren’t you? You are, please tell me you are,’ I begged over the desk, knocking a pile of papers onto the floor.

‘I’m not totally sure yet, Nick, but when I know I’ll tell you, OK? I’ll probably deal with it tomorrow.’

‘All right. You’d better,’ I said.

All of a sudden I felt light and airy as I walked out of the door and down the stairs. I immediately saw Sienna in front of her desk, typing away like a maniac. I was so excited. Chloe wasn’t there, thank goodness – she’d obviously gone to make a drink – so I walked over to Sienna and whispered in her ear. It felt strange because I hadn’t done that in such a long time.

‘Hello, superstar!’

She jumped a little, then looked around her nervously as if I shouldn’t be near her at work. ‘Nick. What are you talking about?’ she giggled shyly.

I winked at her and walked away, ducking into my office. She looked confused for a moment and then continued typing. I was so happy for her. I had to avoid her because I just knew I would tell her if I spent any time with her.

Five o’clock came and went. I slowly opened my blinds to see 90 per cent of the desks were empty, including hers. The office was quiet. The strip lighting was flickering in that headache-inducing way it does. I looked over to the lift and daydreamed about the moment I’d stepped out of it and she became a part of my life.

At 5.30 p.m. I got up and left the office. I had a little while before I would meet the boys so I figured I would sit in my car for a while and call Mum. It had been a long time since I had caught up with her properly. The sun was still out, but it was dimming now, rich streaks of pink slashed across the sky. I had been miserable this afternoon and now I was feeling happier.

‘Er, excuse me.’ A deep, gruff voice pierced my moment. It was definitely a London accent, but one that had a tinge of well-spoken grace to it, too. Like the person behind it had evolved somewhat. I looked around me as I stood by my car. Who on earth . . .?

Suddenly a scruffy bloke rose slowly from the other side of the vehicle. He was scary-looking, but I recognised him . . . I just couldn’t put my finger on it . . . It was bugging me. In one hand he was clutching a can of Coke, in the other was a sack full of heavy-looking stuff. Books, maybe? He looked angry. Oh no. What was he going to do to me?

‘Are you Nick?’ he asked, gesturing in my direction with the Coke can. A great slop of brown liquid landed on the roof of my car and fizzed away at the paintwork. Oh shit. Was he drunk?

‘Er, yes. Why?’

‘I need to get in your car,’ he said ominously.

I don’t think so, mate. He looked homeless. There was no way I was letting some homeless nutter into my car. No bloody way. Did I look like a crime number waiting to happen?

I am quite stupid, though, and I pressed the wrong button on my key fob, automatically unlocking all the doors. I panicked, staring at the fob, slowing down my reaction time considerably. Before I even had the chance to press lock, the stranger had opened the passenger door and climbed in. Oh fuck.

He sat in the seat, staring straight ahead, and I bobbed around for a moment, shifting my weight from one foot to the other before running around to the other side of the vehicle. I tried to pull him out, grabbing hold of his thin arm and using all my might to prise his body out of my car. My top lip was starting to sweat. Welcome to London. Full of danger at any given moment. I quietly cursed myself for not being more vigilant.

I kept pulling, but he seemed rooted to the seat, one foot rammed into the footwell, firmly anchoring him in. My hands were getting sweaty and kept slipping off the skin of his arms. I was useless. There was lots of grunting, but I wasn’t sure if it was his or mine.

‘For God’s sake, get out!’ I shouted, hoping someone would hear me and help.

‘No. Listen,’ he said, but I just started pulling at him again. He was gripping on to the roof of the car now and it was impossible to drag him out. The car was rocking slightly under the weight of the scuffle. I even put my leg up on the side of the door to get more leverage, but he was clinging on for dear life and doing a very good job of it. I gave up and breathlessly slapped my hands on my knees, wondering what on earth I was going to do next. Maybe I could punch him? I’m not a violent man, but this was self-defence, surely? I gripped my fist tight and prepared myself.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I yelled, my voice echoing around the car park back to me. I sounded like a girl.

‘Mate, will you chill out! I’m Pete. You know who I am.’

I still didn’t have a clue who he was. Pete. Pete. Now who was he? I studied him. His face had that wrinkled look you get when you spend a lot of time outside; there were lines around his eyes that aged him beyond his years. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans with holes all over them. Then realisation washed over me.

It was Sienna’s Pete. The homeless man she spoke to all the time. The guy I thought she wasted her time on. But he looked so much better than he had before – plumper, clean-shaven. Though still not
sorted
. . . I was totally confused.

‘Oh bloody hell, I’m sorry.’ I reached towards him, but he pulled away angrily.

‘So you should be, you silly sod,’ he huffed, shuffling his shoulders so his T-shirt fell back into place. ‘Now will you let me sit and talk?’

‘Why?’ I asked, my feathers still a little ruffled by the run-in. I still didn’t know what he wanted from me.

‘Because I have something to tell you.’

Coldness washed over my body. Why did he want to talk to me? What was going on?

‘Oh, all right then, go on,’ I conceded, slinging myself into the driver’s seat.

He immediately fiddled with the controls and pushed his seat back until he was almost lying down. Oh, go on then, make yourself at home. Then he put his feet up, a pair of dirty trainers all over my clean dashboard. For fuck’s sake . . . I cringed. I’d only cleaned the car the other day.