The First Last Kiss (23 page)

Only twenty-five.

I grasp her arm and start weaving through the streets purposefully. I’m not 100 per cent confident that I know where I’m going, but part of the adventure is the journey, not the getting there. Ryan’s always felt like a final destination for me, the point at which I rest. He was the first place I came to so I didn’t travel far to find him. Since then we’ve accelerated round the Monopoly board of life, passing Go, missing the chance cards and settling with a house on the very first square we landed on.

And I’m trying to ignore my teen self, but recently, her voice is getting louder and more persistent, asking me if what I’ve got is enough. I’m not asking for the life equivalent of a hotel on Park Lane, but I can’t help but wonder if I settled too early, that I got the Old Kent Road when I could have had Regent Street. I push this terrible, disloyal thought out of my head. Everything’s OK really, I just need to have a little bit of fun.

‘We’re here!’ I exclaim as we arrive at a small door.

Casey looks around, clearly confused. ‘Um, where’s here?’ she asks doubtfully.

‘Here is . . . the edge of the world!’ I say obliquely, but dramatically throw my arms out wide, fuelled by a wave of excitement. ‘Come on,’ I say, grasping her hand.

‘Molly, what the hell are you talking about?’ Casey grumbles as she follows me inside. ‘I thought we were going shopping, or drinking.’

‘We
are
going drinking,’ I reply, ‘around the world!’ I gesture up at the sign and smile brightly at her, suddenly doubting my decision. ‘Welcome to . . . Vinopolis!’ I say the last bit weakly.

Wine tasting? Is this really being wild and crazy and spontaneous?

I continue regardless, desperate to prove my idea is a good one as I’m beginning to have doubts myself. ‘You come here, buy a ticket and travel around the world tasting wine!’ I explain. Casey doesn’t answer. ‘I-I just thought it’d be a fun and informative way to spend the afternoon! I’ve always wanted to come here but Ry doesn’t like wine, so . . .’

‘You brought me knowing that I do?’ Casey laughs good-naturedly. ‘Not that I care where it’s from,’ she adds, ‘I’ll drink whatever booze you put in front of me!’

‘Well, prepare to be educated, Case,’ I smile. ‘You never know, you may leave this place a proper connoisseur.’

She looks at me, a blank expression on her beautiful face. ‘babes, have you seen the way I drink wine?’ And I laugh as she mimes glugging it down her neck.

We’re in France, trying a selection of Burgundys, going against the well-known wine-tasting advice to spit out what we taste.

‘Mmm,’ Casey says, rolling a large gulp of wine around her mouth in a supposedly professional and refined manner. She swallows and looks up, as if searching for the perfect analogy. ‘It tastes like . . . I’m getting a little hint of . . . a definite soupçon of, yes hang on, yep, I’ve got it . . . GRAPE!’

We’re practically rolling around Spain when I feel somebody tap me on my shoulder.

‘Fancy seeing you here, Rookie!’

I frown at Casey, who raises an eyebrow at me, and I turn around quickly. Seb is standing with two of his mates, grinning widely at Casey and me. They are all wearing almost identikit matching ensembles of indigo jeans, designer trainers and V-neck monogrammed jumpers. With their messy media hair and stubble they look like triplets.

‘Hi Seb,’ I smile, actually feeling pleased to see someone I know. At least Casey will see that I have got a social life, too. ‘What are you guys doing here?’

‘Ahh, you know, just taking in some culture. We like to do something a bit different at the weekends, so we have this Saturday lunch club,’ Seb explains. ‘We each choose something different to do every week, something none of us have ever done before. This was my choice. I love a bit of wine tasting, don’t you?’

‘I’ve never done it before, actually,’ I reply, in equal parts embarrassed by my admission and impressed by this group of guys’ inspiring approach to weekend living. You wouldn’t get Ryan and his mates doing the same.

Casey clears her throat next to me and I glance at her, suddenly her tan is too fake, her dress too short, her boots too high for a Saturday afternoon. I feel embarrassed.

‘This is my . . . b-b- old friend, Casey,’ I say. The word ‘best’ stuck in my throat at the very first consonant. Casey doesn’t notice and raises an eyebrow and a hand in Seb’s direction and gives him a long, sexy smile.

‘Please to meetcha,’ she purrs. ‘And who are your mates?’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Seb says, waving his hands. ‘Molly, Casey, meet Nick and Matt.’

‘Hey,’ they chorus coolly, and give us easy smiles.

‘So have you been to many countries yet then?’ Seb asks, folding his arms.

‘Only Ibiza,’ Casey replies before I can stop her. ‘And I’m half-Italian and half-Greek, although I’m not telling you which bits,’ she winks. ‘Have you guys been there yet? Italy or Greece, I mean, not my bits . . . ’ I glance at her in horror but they’re all laughing at her joke so I join in.

‘
Aaaaghhh
!’ I squeal. I am sitting on the back of an Italian Vespa, zipping through the streets of Rome with my hands around Seb’s waist. I’m, if not drunk, then very,
very
, merry. We have been in Italy for ages. In fact, we only left it once, to go to South Africa and Portugal and then decided we liked it so much we wanted to come back to drink more Chianti and have another go on the scooter.

‘It’s just like
Roman Holiday
!’ Seb calls over his shoulder.

‘Is it?’

‘You, know,
Roman Holiday
? Gregory Peck, Audrey Hepburn . . . you must have seen it?’

‘Nope,’ I call back. ‘I’ve always wanted to though.’

This is true. It was on my list of Films to Watch before I met Ryan, but then we started dating and despite getting him to watch some films I like, he point-blank refuses to watch any that were in black-and-white.

Seb swivels round on the scooter so we are facing each other. I shift back on the seat and gulp, suddenly aware of our close proximity. I look around for Casey, but then remember she said she was going to take the guys to Greece.

‘Hey!’ I exclaim as I point at the video screen that is still showing us zipping round the cobbled roads of Rome, despite the fact that Seb the driver is facing me. ‘Dangerous driving!’

‘Sod that,’ he grins, folding his arms and staring at me intently. ‘I want to know how a mag girl, a
picture
editor of a magazine no less, has never seen
Roman Holiday
? It’s a style classic! A beautifully shot piece of cinematic photography!’

I shrug, feeling incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden. ‘I don’t know,’ I reply, looking down. ‘I guess that one just passed me by.’

‘You’ve been to Rome, though right?’ Seb asks curiously.

I shake my head, feeling more foolish and culturally inept than ever, not wanting to go into the detail of my childhood spent trawling the UK’s seaside towns, going from one bleak B&B to another. Or my holidays with Ryan’s family in Portugal. Suddenly it all seems so parochial. Seb’s stubbly jaw drops open, his greeny-grey eyes barely containing their disbelief. ‘You love photography, though, right?’ he asks. I nod. ‘Then you absobloodylutely
have
to go to Rome to photograph St Peter’s Square, the Sistine Chapel, the sights and sounds of the city, the flamboyant Italians drinking espressos in the marketplace, the lovers kissing in front of the Trevi Fountain . . . ’

I stare at Seb who is talking with such passion about this beautiful city and I am overwhelmed by this feeling of longing. Not for Seb, I’m longing to see more of the world, more of
life
.

Seb clearly notices that I have gone quiet. The glass I’m holding that contained a delicious Montepulciano is empty and he takes it, dismounts the scooter and puts it on the table in the middle of the room. Then he grabs my hand, lifts me off the Vespa and carries me into the next room.

‘Come on, Rookie,’ he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. ‘I’m going to show you the rest of the world!’

Seb leads me into California and grabs me a glass of Zinfandel. ‘You’ve no idea what you’ve been missing,’ he says. He raises his glass to mine and downs it, shaking his head and laughing, exuding an air of danger and excitement.

And with a jolt and a pang of regret I realize that Seb’s got it wrong, the problem is that I know
exactly
what I’ve been missing. And now I’ve seen it, I’m not sure I can go back to the ignorant bliss I’ve been living in.

‘What’s going on?’ Casey whispers across at me, from where we’re sitting in Century, the private bar on Shaftesbury Avenue that Seb is a member of. We’re sitting in a corner, with Nick and Matt, having one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.

‘What do you mean?’ I ask innocently, smiling woozily at Seb as he brings over a bottle of champagne and then returns to the bar.

We glance across at Nick and Matt opposite us. Seb is chatting to another friend at the bar.

‘We’re going up to the roof garden for a min, boys!’ Casey chirps. ‘Don’t miss us too much!’ She grabs my hand and marches me into the lift and upstairs where she sits me down and stares at me. ‘Seriously, babes, what’s going on? You seem really . . . different. Is everything OK with you?’

‘Mmmhmm.’ I nod unconvincingly and look away.

‘What I mean by that is everything OK with you and Ryan?’ She taps me on the shoulder and as I turn to look at her I know that she can see, just from looking at me, all the frustration and the doubt I’m suddenly feeling about my relationship.

‘Blimey,’ Casey says, shaking her head. ‘I thought you two were unshakable. The perfect couple.’

‘Nobody’s perfect, Case . . . ’ I say sadly.

‘Do you still want to be with him?’

And I find I can’t answer her. All I can think is, what happened to that young couple head over heels in love? We got stuck, that’s what. Stuck in jobs, stuck with commitments and responsibilities, stuck with a mortgage in our mid-twenties when we should have been having fun. And now I can’t help but think that if I’m still on the Monopoly board then perhaps it’s time I played my Get Out of Jail Free card.

The Kiss My Dignity Goodbye Kiss

Why is it that we’re meant to know what we want to be and the type of person we want to be with, before we’ve even worked out exactly who we are? I turned my back on so many opportunities, experiences and life routes. I spent most of my life trying to look like I knew what I was doing, act ‘mature’, be the grown-up. I wish I’d spent more time being free, seeking adventure, doing things wrong instead of trying to control everything so much. I wish I hadn’t tried to live my life by ticking things off a to-do list and just focused on
to-
da
y
instead. Maybe then I would have been more ready for the grown-up stuff when it came along so much sooner than I expected. I know you’re not meant to have regrets, but that’s mine.

<

‘I can’t believe we’re
here
! Ibiz
aaaaaa
!’ Casey exclaims, saying that particular word exactly as she says ‘Tequilaaaa’ and in the same fake Mexican accent. She abandons her suitcase by the door and launches herself on one of the twin beds in the sparsely decorated hotel room. She rolls over and locks her hands behind her head, her dark hair fanning out over the white sheet, belly-button ring glinting against her already tanned skin. In her bikini top and white denim hipster skirt Casey looks like she got dressed to go clubbing, not get on a plane. Mia is channelling her inner Liz Hurley, wearing expensive, white boot-cut jeans, cork wedges and a sheer, floral chiffon top with a white camisole underneath. I’m looking the most laid-back of the lot of us in my cut-off denim shorts and footless tights (I’m not about to get my pasty legs out), a Topshop vest and my favourite bright-green polka-dot sunglasses.

‘This is going to be an am-azing holiday girls!’ Casey squeals. ‘Sunbathing by day, clubbing by night, meeting guys, drinking cocktails, no college work to worry about for you, no waitressing at the restaurant for me, just fun fun fun! Oooh, I can’t wait to go to Eden! I’ve heard so much about it and then there’s the foam parties and El Divino.’

‘Yeah well, I think Molly and me are more Café del Mar/Pacha kind of girls, rather than Ibiza Uncovered, you know,’ Mia says, somewhat coolly.

Casey pulls a face at her and then smiles at me. ‘Come on, Moll!’ Casey scrambles up and drags my other suitcase over to the bed next to hers. ‘Are you going to start unpacking or what? It’s time to par-
tay
!!’

I laugh, buoyed by her excitement, and allow her to drag me over to the other bed.

Mia hovers by the door eyeing up the small, uncomfortable-looking sofa by the wall next to the balcony.

‘Oh, so sorry Mia,’ says Casey, following her gaze but not sounding sorry at all. ‘We’ve hogged the best beds, haven’t we? We can always swap halfway through the week.’

Mia smiles stiffly, like she knows this will never actually happen, and then walks in and sets about unpacking her suitcase neatly into the wardrobe. As well as being classy, clever and composed, Mia is also a neat freak. She literally couldn’t be more different to Casey. The atmosphere is strained and I can’t help but wonder if this has been a terrible idea of mine. I’d hoped that a girlie holiday would bring my two best friends together. Mia and I have just graduated, for God’s sake – this is supposed to be
fun
. And it definitely won’t be if I have to spend the next week playing piggy in the middle. I know Casey was a bit put out when I suggested that Mia came along, but I thought I’d convinced her that three young, single girls together could have lots more fun than two.

I reckon we can all teach each other a thing or two about being single, as we come at it from different angles. Mia’s single
completely
out of choice, I’m single due to my high expectations and Casey doesn’t have a problem getting the guys; it’s keeping them that’s the problem. This holiday isn’t just about celebrating mine and Mia’s graduation, it’s about celebrating our
freedom
. No. Men. Required.