This is a Love Story (29 page)

word. I took it to be a good sign.

I pictured him as he spoke. He probably had his face on his lap and his hands clasped around his head. It’s a funny Nickism. I

wished him happy birthday.

‘You didn’t have to do this. It must have taken you ages. It’s, well, it’s incredible, Si,’ he said.

Something washed over me. I knew I had to say that I adored him, and say it in privacy, so I rushed into the toilets, hoping they

were empty.

It just came out. OK, it wasn’t a love declaration. You can ‘adore’ a friend. But he needed to know that much. I got the closest I’d

ever been to telling him that I was wildly in love with him. I realised then that I still was. That I’d never stopped being in love with

him.

My words were: ‘I adore you, Nick Redland. You’ve got me through everything. I would be lost without you. So really, it’s the

least I could do. Thank you for being around.’ I said it because I meant it. Putting some scrapbook together was the least I could do

for him. ‘We’ll see each other soon, I promise. Look, I have to go. Have yourself a wonderful thirtieth birthday, Nick, and be proud

of everything that you are,’ I added.

I heard the sudden click of a heel from a far cubicle. Shit. It was Chloe. I could stay here or disappear. Stay here or disappear.

Too late. She came out of the cubicle with a suspicious smile on her face. ‘What was that all about? You adore someone? Who is

that?’ she demanded as she tried to casually wash her hands, her irritation unmaskable.

I went red again and pushed my phone into my pocket as if to hide the whole conversation, but she had clearly heard it all. She

knew exactly who I had been talking to. ‘Erm, I was just wishing Nick a happy birthday,’ I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as

possible.

‘Did you get him a present?’ she asked me flatly as she moved over to the hand dryer.

I had to be honest about this. ‘No, I didn’t buy anything, I made him a book – just with a few photos in it and crappy old tickets

and stuff. I’m skint, so . . .’ I replied, trying to play it down, but having to shout a little above the roar of the dryer, which didn’t help.

When it stopped, she turned to face me, a look of fury painted across her features.

‘I see,’ she said, turning on her heel and storming out of the toilet.

Nick

‘Nick, I have a question.’

It was Tom and he was standing in the doorway to my office holding his laptop, a look of concern on his face. He was wearing a

blue checked shirt and the buttons weren’t done up in the right order, leaving a corner of material hanging over the top of his jeans. I

decided not to point it out.

‘Yes, mate, come in.’ I moved a pile of magazines from the spare chair.

Tom shut the door behind him. This was likely to be serious. Probably woman-related.

He angled his torso towards me and pushed the computer in my direction, looking very worried now. ‘Well, it’s my laptop,

really.’

God, what was this? I wondered. Still, this was what senior responsibility was all about. I was learning this stuff since I’d been

made studio manager, Ant’s second in charge. It sounds like it was something I should have celebrated and shouted from the

treetops, but in reality I hadn’t even been given a pay rise. The company was trying to cut costs as much as possible, and this had

been a last-ditch attempt to keep me on the payroll as it was pretty clear I was getting itchy feet. Still, it was great experience and

blah blah blah . . . But it also meant people kept coming into my office with strange questions and accusations. Important stuff – you

know, Terry’s hidden my favourite mug and so forth.

‘What’s the problem?’

He cleared his throat. His voice was quiet now. ‘Well, it’s got heavier. I really mean it. It’s getting tough to carry it to work.’

I was perplexed. Bemused. Discombobulated.

Then he dropped the bombshell. ‘Do you think it’s all the files I’ve put on there? You know, all the stuff I’ve been saving and

downloading?’

I spat my drink all over my lap. ‘Are you joking, Tom?’ I shrieked, raising my eyebrows and collapsing into fits of laughter. I

looked deep into his eyes, hoping this was one of his pranks.

He sat up in surprise. Genuine surprise.

‘And how much exactly does a word document weigh?’ I shouted through my hysteria.

He still didn’t get it and I was really taking the mick now. It almost felt cruel. ‘Get out of my office, Tom, please, before I piss

myself!’ I stood up and handed him the computer, mock dropping it to the floor because of the sheer ‘weight’ of it.

Then realisation dawned and he must have figured the ridiculousness of his query. He went beetroot. ‘Oh shit, Nick. I’m such a

div.’ He collapsed with laughter.

‘I told you, get out of my space before I send out a memo to the whole company,’ I laughed, physically pushing him out of my

door with both hands on his back. I slumped back into my chair and started laughing again. It was all too much. My ribs were

hurting now. I felt kind of sorry for Tom. He was so technically challenged despite being so young. We were talking here about a

guy who once got up from his desk and physically closed one of the windows near his desk after misreading an instruction from IT

support over the phone.

How did he not know this stuff? He was an anomaly. He’d obviously bunked off IT classes at school. But although I felt sorry for

his ignorance, I had to make the most of this. It was an opportunity too good to miss, so I leaped up and opened my door again,

swinging my body into the open-plan office.

‘Tom?’ I called with a smile on my face.

‘Yes,’ he answered quietly, his red face rising above the screen of his computer.

‘How much does an MP3 weigh? Because I was going to get a couple of albums at the weekend and I was wondering whether or

not I would need the car. Or maybe home delivery might be an option?’

‘Sod off!’ he shouted, laughing too.

Everyone looked perplexed. ‘Don’t worry, guys, Tom just lost his mind for a second. He’ll tell you,’ I yelled, pointing towards

him with a smile.

Suddenly the lift opened and everyone looked towards it, their attention shifting from my mocking of Tom as a massive bunch of

flowers with legs appeared under the strip lighting. Holy cow. Now that was a romantic declaration. There were red flowers, pink

flowers and white flowers, all tied up in a giant ribbon and secured in the middle with a beautiful bow.

I looked around the office. Who could they be for? I certainly hadn’t ordered them for Chloe – I gave her a look before she got

her hopes up, then instantly felt like a rubbish boyfriend.

Rhoda has been married to the same miserable git for years, so that was extremely unlikely.

Diane was bitter and angry, and not worthy of such a beautiful explosion of colour.

Lydia had only just started seeing someone. Surely that would be a bit terrifying?

There were a few other girls here, but they were pretty quiet so I didn’t know much about them.

Eventually it transpired that the legs actually belonged to the skinny chap delivering them. He seemed to be buckling under their

weight. He held a little card close to his face as if he was struggling to read it, great folds of wrinkly skin around his eyes.

‘I think you might have got the wrong floor, mate,’ I said, walking towards him with my hands clasped together. I was genuinely

trying to help.

People’s heads were poking above their workstations like they were excitable meerkats.

‘No. No. It definitely says the third floor.’ He was slightly cross-eyed. He peered at the card again. ‘Er, it says Sienna here. Yeah.

Sienna Walker?’ he called out, stepping back in his steel-toecap boots. His delivery was less than romantic.

My heart sank. Shit. They were from that Ben bloke. And all respect to him, he had really pulled it out of the hat. They must have

cost a bomb . . . Still, he does run a cripplingly expensive torture chamber of a gym.

I saw her flinch as soon as her name was mentioned and within seconds every female in the room was running over to her and

shrieking like it was the rehearsals for the Cats’ Chorus annual summer concert. She went almost as red as Tom had earlier and tried

to hide behind her screen.

Why had I never thought of doing something like that for a woman? Or even for her, maybe? Back in the days before I lost my

nerve . . .

The delivery man fought through the throng of cooing women and laid the flowers in her arms. ‘Sign here, please,’ he demanded

abruptly, plonking a card and a biro in her hand.

She tried her best to scribble her name but the flowers were impeding her ability to do anything. Sienna hates stuff like this. I

know that. She despises being the centre of attention and that’s certainly what she was now. It was as if the room had gone into slow

motion and I was just watching from a distance. Watching some other guy romance the girl I loved. I mean used to love. Shit.

Chloe looked over at me and grinned hopefully. I smiled back. This was going to cost me . . .

‘What does it say?’ screamed Lydia, who can be very loud at times. She tripped over her own shoe, took the phone with her and

just about steadied herself on the desk.

‘Girls, girls. Please. I’m really embarrassed. Hold on a minute.’ Sienna fished the card out of the grip of a particularly strong

Delilah. She sneezed sweetly and then read the card. A beautiful look spread across her face which made me feel warm all over. I

was happy for her. Really. Genuinely. Kind of . . .

Lydia could take it no more; she snatched the pink piece of paper from Sienna’s fingers and started to read out loud:

‘ “To Sienna. I know it’s not your birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas or anything in particular. I just wanted to send these to

you because you are beautiful and I am the luckiest man alive. Love Ben. Kiss kiss kiss.” There’s three there, Si, he definitely loves

you,’ she declared, folding her arms and looking at my best friend with a look of sisterhood. Pride, even.

I hadn’t met this bloke yet, but I thought it was about time. He was obviously a good guy. Either that or he was hideously creepy.

Whichever it was, I had to grill him. I mean, meet him.

I closed my office door on the scene and sat in the quiet. Thinking.

Contemplating. Wishing.

Nine

‘I want you to meet my parents.’

Sienna

I really am sublimely happy at the moment. So happy that I wish I could play the piano and sing at the same time, just like Alicia

Keys. Then somehow I would be able to express this giddy joy rather than laughing to myself on the train like a nutter. It would help

if I hadn’t rowed with my piano teacher about where middle C was.

Yes, it all went wrong when I was seven years old. Dad organised lessons for me but was deeply humiliated when Mr Davis told

him he could no longer teach me as we were having ‘artistic differences’. That’s a polite way of putting it when you’ve got a cocky

little seven-year-old telling you that you’re wrong about a fact. Something that isn’t negotiable.

You see, at the time I didn’t realise that middle C was one of those set things, like times tables and the periodic table of elements.

It really isn’t open to interpretation. And I regret it now that all I want to do is stick on a really sexy dress and play the piano for my

gorgeously handsome boyfriend in the basement of some posh hotel. Bugger.

Ben is everything I’d hoped he would be and more. He is mature, spontaneous, romantic and very good in the sack.

And we were in that sack on Sunday morning at his place, enjoying a love-in, which has become an almost weekly highlight of

our relationship.

I literally worship his body. I get lost in his eyes. He is gorgeous.

He is also amazing in bed. The neighbours could probably vouch for this, since more than once they’ve started banging against

the wall, shouting for us to shut up. OK, he does make me feel like a bit of a heifer, but that’s always a risk when you’re dating a

gym man. They generally have bodies to die for.

Despite all this joy, he did shock me a little when he said the three-word sentence.

The one with the words ‘you’, ‘I’ and ‘love’ in it, which it doesn’t take a genius to scramble round.

‘Sienna, there’s something I need to say to you,’ he whispered into my ear, a handful of my hair in one hand and my bottom in the

other. We had literally just had sex. It was too soon, I was still unable to breathe properly. So much of our skin was touching. We

were too naked for this kind of intimacy, and it scared me.

I’d had a feeling this was coming so I panicked and tried to distract him by diving under the covers and blowing a raspberry on his

stomach. Possibly the worst way to end an hour of early-morning passion. It was also quite difficult because his torso is hard and

muscular with the texture of a spice rack, and has no give in terms of good face to skin reverberation.

He pulled me back up to eye level and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Ben, I’ve had an idea,’ I said swiftly, cutting in before he could say anything. Shit, I had to actually follow this up with

something. ‘Let’s play Monopoly!’

‘No, Si, it’s long and arduous and reminds me of how crap I am with money. Anyway, I was going to say—’

‘Ben, I need the loo,’ I yelled, diving out of bed and covering my bottom with my hands before frantically putting on my knickers

and darting into the bathroom, knocking over a cup of tea in the process.

I ran the taps to hide the fact that I’d been lying and splashed my face with the cold jet of water. I had run and run like a startled