This is a Love Story (41 page)

disappointment had melted into anger, bitter as coffee. Anger because he’d told me he loved me and then deserted me. He couldn’t

really have loved me, could he? You don’t leave people you love. That’s why I’d figured my mum hadn’t loved me. She could

never have packed her bags if she had.

‘Not any more. I still think about him, but it’s all over, isn’t it? No point in dwelling on it.’

He sighed again. The way he ran his fingers through my hair was making me sleepy. I was so relaxed I could feel every part of

my body almost sinking into him and the sofa as though they were grains of sand.

The clock struck midnight. ‘I should go,’ he said, really quietly now.

The thought of him leaving hurt even more. I didn’t know why. Then three little words just came out of my mouth. I didn’t plan

them. ‘Please don’t go.’

I couldn’t believe I’d said it. I swiftly started backpedalling. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Of course you should go . . .’ I trailed

off, blushing into his soft T-shirt before peeling myself away from him.

He lay there for a few moments, just looking at me. He was so handsome it hurt. He still made my heart race like the very first day

I’d met him on the train, when I instantly labelled him the most gorgeous man in the carriage, if not the world. It was quite an

assumption to make for a twenty-year-old girl who had only ever been as far as Paris on a school trip. Ridiculous, really, wasn’t it?

I could see the thoughts racing through his mind before he started to get up. ‘I’m sorry, Si. Thanks for the offer, but I’m really

tired now. I think I need to go home and take stock of this mess.’

I felt embarrassed. I had done it again. For God’s sake. Just like that time I thought it would be a great idea to climb into bed with

him and cuddle him.

‘Don’t worry. I don’t know why I said it, really!’

He pulled me in for one more cuddle before walking out quietly, his head still bowed like a sad man.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Not well at all.

Nick

Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

Oh, here we go again, I thought, as I sat at my desk, photoshopping a pair of breasts for a cosmetic surgery feature. What a sad

bastard I am. A sad, sad bastard. Anxiety was nibbling away at me. Where’s your wife, Nick? Oh no, you don’t have one. Kids?

Course not. Running that art studio you always wished for? Dream on.

The door to my office was shut and the blinds were drawn. I was working away like an angry, disfigured creature that had spent

so much time in the dark it would turn into ash if it so much as set foot outside.

I didn’t want to see Chloe sashaying around the office and looking at me like I’d just been ejected from a pigeon’s bottom. This

was why I had made that promise to myself about relationships with colleagues. I expected that my next tea would be riddled with

arsenic . . . She had skipped work for a few days after we’d broken up and I’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t come back, but she did.

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?