It Had To Be You: An absolutely laugh-out-loud romance novel Page 10

  I stare at him. ‘I really, really don’t.’

  He shakes his head. ‘I think you’re lying, but OK.’

  I keep grinning at him. I wish I’d seen him dancing with his toast.

  ‘What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve never told anyone?’ Henry asks me.

  I bite at the bit of loose skin next to my thumbnail. ‘I tell myself stories before I go to sleep.’

  He shakes his head. ‘Everyone does that!’

  ‘No, I don’t mean like stuff that’s happened during the day.’ Which is what I assume other people do. ‘I mean, I make up scenarios. Like I’m working in the shop, alone, and Harry Styles comes in. And he asks me to help him look for a book and…’

  ‘No,’ Henry says, his eyes crinkling with laughter. ‘I do exactly this. But not with Harry Styles, obviously.’

  ‘Obviously,’ I agree, although my cheeks heat with the suggestion.

  ‘But, say…’ He screws his face up while he thinks. ‘Gillian Anderson. She’s in London doing a play. And she’s looking for a book to buy for the director. So it has to be perfect, right? And she comes in the shop. I’m alone – you’ve gone off in a strop ’cos someone’s used the last of the milk.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘So she comes in and she asks me to help her find this perfect book. So obviously, we look at the books together. And as we’re looking, we move closer and her arm brushes against mine…’

  His cheeks have gone pink.

  ‘With sexy results!’ I say, delighted. ‘Oh my god. All this time I thought I was the only perv.’

  ‘God, no,’ he says. ‘Total perv here.’ He grins. ‘And there’s no way you thought you were the only perv. You’ve got the internet.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. ‘I mean, the only perv in this very specific way. And it turns out that not only is the daydreaming thing not that unusual, you’ve been having the very same exact fantasy!’

  We both go pink at that.

  ‘I think it’s something a lot of people do,’ Henry says. ‘When I was a kid, I used to dream I could go into video games and be the character. Like I’d be Mario rescuing Princess Daisy or whatever. And then Buffy was very… inspiring.’

  ‘I bet,’ I say, without admitting that Xander, Spike, even Giles have appeared in more than one of my own daydreams.

  ‘So I think we’ve both agreed – not that embarrassing,’ Henry says. ‘So you need to come up with something else.’

  I shake my head. ‘There just isn’t anything. I haven’t really done anything. All the embarrassing stuff is in my head.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ he says. ‘You must’ve done something wild. Even only once.’

  ‘Nope. Nothing.’

  ‘Never flashed anyone?’

  ‘God!’ I say. ‘Of course not!’

  ‘You could do it now,’ he says.

  ‘I’m not flashing you. Absolutely not.’

  ‘I didn’t mean me!’ He’s gone bright red, so I know he’s telling the truth.

  ‘Who then?’

  He gestures at the cafe. There’s a guy sitting at the far end, reading a newspaper. A woman with her back to us. A couple who are deep in conversation, with only eyes for each other. ‘I’ll close my eyes.’

  I laugh. ‘I’m not doing that. No way.’

  And of course I’m not. I’ve never done anything like that. I never would do anything like that. So why do I feel so disappointed in myself?

  ‘I’m totally mooning through the window once we leave,’ Henry says.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We’re thinking about ordering more coffee when Celine finally arrives. Usually we don’t stay this long. Even when it’s the five of us. But I don’t usually have this much fun. And I think Henry might be enjoying it more too. I don’t want to leave. I could happily stay here chatting with him all day. Huh.

  Celine drops into a seat and stares straight ahead, through the window, without speaking. She’s wearing a hoodie that I recognise as Adam’s, not least because it’s got an egg stain down the front. She’s not wearing any make-up and while she doesn’t usually wear her full face on a Sunday, she draws her eyebrows on at the very least. She’s also wearing her glasses, not her contacts, and the flip-flops she wears around the house instead of slippers. I’ve not sure I’ve ever seen her looking this rough inside the house, never mind outside it.

  I look at Henry and he pulls a face that I think means ‘How should I know?’

  I say, ‘Hey. Everything OK?’

  She nods. Too much. ‘Fine. Everything’s fine. Sorry I’m late. Have you eaten? I’m starving. Oh no, wait. I’m going to be sick.’

  She gets up and half-runs through the cafe to the loo.

  ‘Hungover then,’ Henry says. ‘Bet Adam’s still in bed.’

  ‘I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like a hangover to me. Usually she would just stay in bed.’

  ‘I’ve never seen Celine dressed quite like that,’ Henry says.

  ‘No,’ I agree. ‘That is definitely… new.’

  ‘She’s puking though,’ Henry says. ‘So… They were out last night, right?’

  He lifts his arm and looks at the cuff of his shirt – he’s wearing a blue and white striped shirt that’s probably a bit more pyjama-ish than he realises. The cuff has ketchup on it and Henry sucks it into his mouth before looking at me and saying, ‘What?’

  ‘That’s nice,’ I say. ‘And you’re probably right about Celine. Either that or—’

  ‘I have black coffee for Angry Girl,’ Mrs C interrupts, putting the coffee down on the table in front of where Celine was sitting. ‘She sick, yes? Tell her I know good cure.’

  ‘She’ll probably just have a fry-up,’ Henry tells her. ‘Best hangover cure.’

  Mrs C shakes her head, waggling her finger at him and says something that actually sounds like ‘pshaw’ – ‘You tell her I have good cure, yes?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Henry says.

  When Celine comes back she looks pale and damp and exhausted. Some tendrils of hair are stuck to the side of her face and neck. And I think there’s a bit of sick in her hair, but I’m not going to tell her. She smells horrendous.

  ‘Big night?’ Henry asks her.

  She shakes her head and, to my astonishment, her eyes fill with tears. I’ve never seen Celine cry. Not when Bowie died. Or Prince. Or George Michael. Not when we all went to the cinema to watch Lion and I cried so much I burst a blood vessel in my eye. Not even when her mum phoned to tell her the family cat had been run over. Celine just isn’t a crier.

  ‘Celine!’ I say, leaning over to grab her arm. ‘What’s happened?’

  She takes a shuddering breath. ‘Me and Adam. Are over.’

  God. I thought someone had died.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘You don’t sound shocked,’ she says. ‘Why aren’t you shocked?’

  ‘You… fight a lot,’ I tell her.

  She shakes her head. ‘I love him so much. I just can’t—’

  Mrs C appears again. ‘You tell her?’ she asks Henry.

  ‘Sorry, no—’

  She tuts and puts one hand on Celine’s shoulder. ‘I have good cure for this.’

  Celine looks up at her, her eyes bright and hopeful.

  ‘Patsas is Greek soup of lamb with head and insides—’

  Celine jumps up, knocking her chair back and scarpers to the loos again.

  ‘I will make,’ Mrs C says, and heads back to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s tripe soup,’ Henry says, turning his phone to show me. ‘I Googled. It’s tripe soup. Why would she think anyone would want to eat that?’

  ‘Some people must want to eat it,’ I say. ‘I bet Celine isn’t one of them though.’

  ‘It sounds bloody awful. “One large lamb head,’’’ he reads. ‘“Use the whole skull.”’

  ‘It does not say that!’ I reach for his phone and he hands it to me. It really does say that. God.

  * * *

&n
bsp; When Celine comes back she looks, unsurprisingly, even worse than before.

  ‘So…’ I ask, as she sips tentatively at her black coffee. ‘What happened?’

  She shakes her head. ‘We want different things.’

  ‘What…’ I don’t know what to ask. I look at Henry and he’s no help. I wish Freya was here. She’d just ask all the full-on nosy questions and not even care.

  ‘What do you want?’ I try.

  Celine groans. ‘I want to do my job. And come home to someone who loves me. And have great sex. That’s it.’

  ‘That sounds… Adam doesn’t want that?’

  ‘Adam wants to move to Southend and buy a house and have babies.’ She shakes her head, winces, and closes her eyes.

  Southend is where Adam is from and he has enormous extended family there that he’s still really close to. Celine’s not really close to her family at all.

  ‘And you don’t want that?’ I say. Even though it’s clear that she doesn’t.

  ‘I do!’ she says, wiping her face. ‘I think. But not now! Not for years. I’ve got a fucking ten year plan.’

  This is why I find Celine intimidating. I don’t even have a ten day plan. Sometimes it’s all I can do to plan for the next ten minutes.

  ‘And it’s in your ten year plan?’ I ask. ‘Marriage and babies and… Southend? With Adam?’ I realise too late that I’m talking sort of carefully and gently to her, as if I’m a therapist.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, draining her black coffee. ‘Can you get more?’ she asks Henry. ‘I’m worried if I turn round I’ll puke again.’

  Henry waves at Mrs C and Celine says, ‘Wait, no. Fuck. Get me a mint tea.’

  ‘So you do want it,’ I repeat. ‘But not yet.’

  It makes sense to me, but I’m not really sure why she’s quite so upset. Maybe Adam would be willing to wait five years and Celine could bring it forward and they could meet in the middle? It doesn’t seem to me like something you’d split up over. But what do I know?

  ‘Yes,’ Celine says. ‘But now it’s all fucked up.’

  ‘Why is it?’ I ask, as Mrs C approaches to take Henry’s order.

  ‘Because I’m motherfucking pregnant,’ Celine says.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I’m in the park and there’s music playing. I can see a bandstand in the distance. That’s never been there before. I look at the bench and Dan’s not there, so I head for the bandstand. I’m rolling my shoulders and swinging my hips, dancing to the music as I walk. The sun’s shining and the lawn is dotted with blue and white striped deckchairs. I look for Dan in case he’s sitting in one of them instead, but there’s no sign of him. As I get closer to the bandstand, I see Henry heading towards me. He’s dance-walking too. I laugh and start running to him.

  And then I wake up.

  * * *

  Henry was in my Dan Dream. What was Henry doing in my Dan Dream? I’m sure it’s just because I spent so much time with him yesterday and so he was on my mind. But still. It’s odd how much the dream is changing. It’s unsettling.

  I check my phone and find a text from Dan from last night:

  Free for dinner tonight?

  My stomach flutters and I smile at my screen. I’ll reply later, in case he’s still asleep. I stretch my toes to the end of the bad, feeling my back click satisfyingly. I swing my legs to one side and out of the bed, then let my head hang down. I could really just lie back down and go straight back to sleep. I check the clock to see if I’ve got time for even a catnap, but no. I need to get up and go to work. Balls.

  I expect Henry to be in the kitchen, but it’s empty, so I make myself a tea and take it up to the lounge – I might manage a five minute snooze in front of BBC Breakfast while my tea cools. I’m almost at the sofa when I notice someone’s beaten me to it. There’s a long shape under a duvet, man feet sticking out of the end.

  ‘Henry?’

  There’s a long low groaning sound and I take a step back. Not Henry. Adam’s eyes appear over the other end of the duvet, squinting and blinking in my general direction.

  ‘Adam? You OK?’

  He yawns widely and loudly. ‘Sorry. Celine kicked me out.’

  ‘Right,’ I say. I’m not sure whether to sit on one of the other chairs or take my tea downstairs. ‘Sorry for waking you. I thought you were Henry.’

  ‘S’all right.’ He pushes himself to sitting, still with his eyes mostly closed, and as he does, the duvet falls down to his waist. He’s shirtless.

  The thing about Adam is… he’s hot. Like, stupid hot. Stupid and hot, Freya would say. I would never say that. But he is definitely hot. He runs most mornings and goes to the gym every day after work. Last year he did a triathlon and we all went along to cheer him on and the next day my legs were aching and all I’d done was stand there. So anyway, his chest is like a statue. Or Zac Efron. Pecs and a six pack and everything. And these incredibly defined shoulders. Delts? Is that delts? I think I’ve heard him talk about his delts before. Shit. I’m staring. Luckily he’s still got his eyes closed.

  He drops back down on the sofa, banging his head lightly on the arm.

  ‘Bea, can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Um. Yeah?’ I take a gulp of my tea. Too hot.

  ‘What do you think about me and Celine? As a couple?’

  ‘Oh god,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘God. Sorry.’ I walk around the sofa and sit on the armchair. ‘Um. I’m really not the right person to ask. I don’t know much about relationships.’

  Adam sits up again and rubs both hands over his face. I stare at the hair around his nipples and then down into my mug.

  ‘That’s good, I think,’ he says. ‘You won’t be bringing your own shit to it.’

  No. I won’t. I don’t really have any shit to bring. I glance up. He’s looking over at me expectantly.

  ‘Um,’ I say again. I have no idea whether he knows that I know Celine is pregnant. Actually I don’t even know if he knows she’s pregnant. ‘What is it you’re… concerned about? Specifically.’

  ‘I love her,’ he says, swinging his legs round so he’s sitting on the sofa now.

  I wonder if he’s naked under there. I’m pretty sure he usually sleeps naked. I don’t know whether I’ve just imagined that or if Celine’s mentioned it. Not that I’ve been imagining Adam naked. Much.

  ‘It’s just…’ Adam continues and I snap my eyes back up to his face. He’s looking over at the TV, fortunately. ‘She’s great. I love her. Right? But we just… we fight a lot. Like all the time. You know?’

  I do know.

  ‘And sometimes it’s about stupid shit and I think it’s just ’cos I’m annoying and she’s, like, precious about stuff – she screamed at me last night for leaving my shoes in the middle of the floor – but then it’s bigger stuff too. Like what we both want… out of life. You know?’

  I drink some more tea. ‘I think… you’re both very different.’

  ‘Yes!’ Adam says, leaning forward and slapping himself on the knee, as if I’ve given him a great insight rather than just telling him something everyone already knows. ‘But, like, that’s meant to be good, yeah? Opposites attract? And I did like that when we first met. That she’s not like me. And I think she liked that too. But now it pisses her off. She doesn’t want me going to the gym so much. I said I was thinking of doing an Iron Man and she looked at me like I’d shit in her pocket.’

  I laugh. I can imagine that exact look.

  ‘I think maybe you need to talk to her?’ I say. That’s always good relationship advice, right? You can’t go wrong with talking. I hope.

  ‘Celine’s not really into talking,’ Adam says, tipping his head forward and rubbing the back of his neck. ‘She likes to resolve things more… physically.’

  My face heats immediately.

  ‘You can all hear us, right?’ Adam asks.

  I nod. I’m staring down at the floor. There’s no way I can look at him now. Instead I stare at the orange stain on th
e carpet, made when Henry knocked a pot of mango chutney off the coffee table a couple of months ago.

  ‘I think she gets off on it,’ Adam says.

  God. It is way too early for this.

  ‘Sorry,’ Adam says. ‘I was just lying awake for a while, thinking, and I’m a bit…’

  I don’t look up, so I don’t know if there’s a gesture or expression to accompany whatever it is he is.

  ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you,’ he says.

  ‘I’m not embarrassed,’ I say. Even though I know full well my face is burning red.

  ‘Can I just ask one more thing?’ he says.

  I nod. I think.

  ‘Is it, like, a problem? For you and Henry and Freya? Hearing us, I mean?’

  ‘Do you mean… um…’ I manage to say.

  ‘Both, I guess. Fighting and fu— the other thing.’

  My face is now so hot it’s actually starting to hurt. I picture it sizzling. Like a fajita.

  ‘I don’t think so?’ I say. ‘As long as it’s not too late. On a weeknight.’ That’s truly the most pathetic answer I could possibly have given. I’m embarrassed for myself. Please keep your fighting and fucking to early evenings and weekends!

  Adam laughs, at least. ‘Right. OK.’

  ‘I did say I wasn’t the best person to talk to about this.’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘That’s been really helpful.’

  ‘I doubt it. I’m sorry.’

  Adam grins at me and stands up. He’s wearing pants, thank god. Tiny bright blue pants. I stare back at the mango stain again.

  ‘Morning,’ he says and I look up to see Henry at the door. He looks at Adam and then at me. His hair’s standing on end and he’s still in his pyjamas – red pyjama bottoms and a shapeless white T-shirt. Henry in pyjamas! A never-before-seen sight!

  ‘I overslept,’ he says.

  ‘Shit!’ I grab my phone. I hadn’t even thought about the time. Or work. ‘We’ll be OK if we leave in the next fifteen minutes,’ I tell Henry.