This is it for Gen – I just know it. It’s a part in a West End show, and she’s absolutely made for it. I feel a lump in my throat and realise that there’s a tear sneaking down my cheek. I wipe it away with my sleeve. I’m so, so bloody proud of her.
CONGRATULATIONS! That’s amazing! You’re brilliant and you deserve this. Love you xxx, I reply.
Gen this is just the beginning. You are an absolute STAR xxx Sophie types. And then there’s more coming. She’s still typing something, then a moment later the little notification changes from ‘Sophie is typing’ to ‘Sophie is recording’. I frown at the screen.
A second later a voice message pops up on our group chat.
‘Hi,’ says Sophie, ‘It’s me.’ There’s a pause. ‘I mean obviously it’s me. Anyway listen I have a confession to make and I was going to tell you today and you got in first with exciting news, Gen – congratulations by the way – so I thought actually maybe it’s the day for it.’ And she gives a laugh, which sounds most unlike her. ‘The thing is me and Rich did a thing today. A spontaneous thing. Well it wasn’t that spontaneous really because we had to book it two weeks in advance but we didn’t tell a soul – oh God, sorry, I’m gabbling – but we got MARRIED.’ The last word comes out as a sort of shriek and then there’s a giggle and the message ends.
I hit the record button.
‘Bloody hell, Sophie. You did what? I mean congratulations! Oh my God.’ I hit send, then add as an afterthought, ‘I thought you were throwing up?’
Gen’s typing a message.
OH MY GOD I MUST BE DREAMING.
Nope! Sophie types a reply. You know how much Rich was dragging his heels over the whole setting a date thing. Well, we talked and it turned out that all he wanted to do was get married and not do the whole big wedding thing. Oh – and I am throwing up. But it’s much nicer doing it in Paris.
But you’ve been planning this since you were like NINE, Gen types.
PARIS??? I tap out.
There’s another pause while Sophie records another message.
‘I can’t be bothered to type it,’ Sophie says, and I can hear Rich laughing in the background. ‘We’re on the way to Paris on the train for a honeymoon. Turns out that being spontaneous is quite fun, actually. Love you both, speak to you when I get back …’
And she types in a string of kisses.
I sit back and put my phone down and for a second I think I’m going to cry again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. It feels like everyone is moving on except me. Yet again I wonder if I should just give up trying to be a London person, and head back to Bournemouth with my tail between my legs. I’ve got a million and one old school friends back there, and Gen and Soph visit all the time. Sophie’s even muttered once or twice about moving back, because you get so much more house for your money, and she likes the idea of the baby living by the sea. But I don’t know.
I begin to type a message to Becky, just to see how it feels if I see it written down.
Hi Beck, I begin. I’ve been thinking that maybe London life isn’t for me. I’ve decided to hand in my notice on the room, and head back to the beach.
How anyone could amass so much random stuff in the space of a year is pretty amazing. I shove a pile of scrappy course notes into a box, and tip the contents of my desk drawer out to see if there’s anything in there worth salvaging.
‘All right, mate?’
I look up to see Rob in the doorway. He’s in chef’s trousers and a black T-shirt, and he’s growing a beard. He’s looking good. Happy.
‘No’ going to be the same without you here. D’you reckon you’ll come back and see us now and then?’
I grin up at him, touched. Not only has Rob given me a decent bit of life advice here and there, he’s also taught me how to make a mean lamb jalfrezi and all the trimmings.
‘Now and then,’ I say, feeling a bit sad, knowing it’s not that likely. I can’t face coming back to see Jess and James all loved up and cosy. It already feels weird, because I haven’t seen her in weeks. I miss our talks. London felt different when I was sharing it with her – as if I was seeing it for the first time all over again. But – I shake myself, mentally – that’s over. ‘But I’ve got a really busy year coming up with college.’
‘Aye,’ Rob says, nodding. ‘I bet. Have you seen Jess recently?’
‘Not really,’ I say, looking down at the stuff on my desk. I pick up a jade green stone I was given at a fortune-telling stall when Jess and I were wandering around Camden, and I shove it in my pocket.
‘You know her trip to Venice didn’t go all that well?’
My head snaps up and I look at Rob, saying more sharply than I mean to, ‘What d’you mean? Is she okay?’
‘Oh she’s fine, I think. Wee bit quiet. Less of the romantic break, more of the break-up.’
My heart bangs against my ribs. ‘Break-up?’ It feels as if the blood is rushing in my ears.
‘Aye.’ Rob looks at me, levelly. ‘Told me a while ago when we were having breakfast. We were talking about this and that, and she just came out with it. Said she realised she didn’t feel anything for him but friendship, so when he asked her to move in, she gave him the heave-ho.’
‘Ouch,’ I say, to cover my elation.
He nods. ‘Aye. Anyway—’ Rob sticks his hand out, and I stand up and make as if to shake it, but he pulls me into a bear hug and slaps me firmly on the back. As he lets go, he murmurs in his gruff Glasgow accent, ‘Reckon you should be having a wee think about telling Jess how you feel.’
‘Me?’ I’m surprised that Rob seems to have picked up on what’s going on – or should I say, what’s not going on. I sigh.
‘Aye. You. No point missing the boat, eh? I’ll see you later, pal.’
And with a wave of his arm, Rob pulls the door closed behind him and leaves me standing in a sea of cardboard boxes and half-packed bags, my mind whirling in confusion.
I pick up my phone and scan my messages. The last one I got from Jess was a photo of a terrier in a Christmas sweater walking on a lead in Hyde Park a couple of days ago. No message, just the photo and a laughing face.
Maybe I should message her now. And say what?
Oh hi, I hear you’ve dumped James … what about it? Hardly. My heart seems to have gone into overdrive and it’s banging so loud in my chest I feel like it’s about to crash out. Of course—
I click on Instagram, checking to see if she’s updated her whereabouts. I’m always teasing her that she can’t resist documenting every second of her day.
‘If a serial killer was after you,’ I’ve told her, ‘all they’d have to do is check Instagram and they’d be on to you in a second.’
I scroll down the main page and her face flashes up on the screen. Sure enough, there’s a photograph – I zoom in on the picture, looking at the golden light on the water, and the sun setting over the canal at Little Venice: 3.30 p.m., the time stamp underneath says. It’s ten to four now. Surely she’ll still be there?
I grab my wallet and pull the bedroom door behind me. I hurtle down the stairs two at a time, almost tripping over my own feet, and yank the front door open. Then I have a brainwave and run back up the stairs and into my room. I grab the book I never got the chance to give her and shove it in the back pocket of my jeans, before hurtling back out of the door again.
Outside on Albany Road the light’s already fading, and the sky’s a strange blue, tinged with orange. It’s freezing cold. My breath clouds as I sprint up the street, jumping over a pile of cardboard boxes folded up by the red letterbox, and head towards Little Venice. The strains of carol singers on the corner of Talbot Road drift towards me as I stop for a minute, doubled over, catching my breath. God, I really need to get back to the gym.
‘Mummy,’ says a little girl, wrapped up against the cold in a bright red woollen coat, ‘do you think Father Christmas gets cold living at the North Pole?’
‘Definitely not,’ I say, straightening up and looking at the solemn-faced little girl. ‘I think he’s got a nice warm coat like yours to keep him toasty.’
‘Exactly,’ said the mother, giving me a conspiratorial smile. ‘See. That nice man knows, too. Everyone knows.’
I set off again at a jog. The streetlights are on, and cars line up with red buses and chunky black London cabs along Delamere Terrace as I head towards the trees and water of Little Venice. Running to the end of the road, I stand on the footpath and shade my eyes, realising that tiny pinprick flakes of snow are starting to fall.
Is that – I screw up my eyes—
It’s definitely her.
‘Jess!’
I can see her, sitting outside despite the freezing cold, a black bobble hat on her dark hair, a thick scarf wrapped around her neck. She’s in her red coat, and she stands out in the crowds of people – as if she’s the only one there. She’s standing up, putting something in her bag.
‘Jess!’ I call again, and she half-turns, as if she’d almost heard, but isn’t quite sure.
I shove my phone back in my bag and stand up, putting the coffee cup and sugar sachets back on my tray. I can’t decide what to do.
And then I think I hear someone calling my name. I look around, wondering if I’m imagining things. And a second later, more urgently, I hear it once more.
‘Jess!’
Standing at the top of the road is Alex, his T-shirt hanging out from under the huge blue sweater he wears around the house, no coat on despite the fact it’s zero degrees and starting to snow. My heart feels as if someone’s shot it with about a million volts of electricity and I walk towards him as he weaves his way through the meandering tourists, bumping into them and apologising, his face – his lovely face – one huge ridiculous grin of happiness.
We reach each other and stand on the canal path, beside the houseboat we’ve both said we’d love to live in, and we stare at each other for a moment.
‘Hi,’ says Alex, after a moment.
‘How did you know where I was?’
‘You leave a trail,’ he says, and reaches across, unfurling one of the tassels of my scarf. ‘I got you a birthday present. I mean, I’m sorry it’s late, but—’ he says, pulling a book out of his back pocket. He hands it to me. It’s wrapped up in brown paper and string. I tug at it and the wrapping comes away.
‘Look inside,’ he says.
It’s a signed copy of One Day. I feel my cheeks going all pink with happiness. ‘That’s so lovely.’
‘Is it okay? I thought …’ He looks a bit shy.
I look up at the sky. ‘It’s snowing,’ I say, for no reason at all. As if he hasn’t noticed. As if it actually matters. My brain isn’t working properly.
He nods. ‘The thing is, I spoke to Rob,’ he starts to say.
He’s gazing at me intently. I put a hand to my face.
‘Have I got chocolate on my nose, or something?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘You broke up with James.’
I nod. Something inside me gives a gigantic whoosh, as if I’m a firework display and someone’s lit the first match. It’s freezing cold, but I drop my gloves on the footpath beside the canal and take a step towards him. My heart is going to explode in a moment and I think if I don’t just do something about it right now I don’t know what’ll happen—
‘What about – I mean …’ I open my mouth and try and find a way to say what I want to, but there doesn’t seem to be a way to ask.
‘Emma?’ He reads my mind. I nod.
‘Friends.’
I raise my eyebrows slightly.
‘It wasn’t ever really a thing. I mean we’re friends. That’s all. I mean the thing is, it couldn’t be, because …’ He stops and puts the heels of his hands to his forehead, closing his eyes, as if he’s trying to concentrate. ‘Because the thing is—’
‘What is the thing, Alex?’ My heart is beating so loudly in my ears that the outside world seems to have just disappeared. I watch as he bends down and picks up my gloves, holding them in one hand.
He’s closer to me now, so close that I think it’s possible that he can hear the sound of my heart banging in my chest.
‘The thing is—’ He takes a breath and looks at me with those huge brown eyes. ‘I love you, Jess.’
My breath catches in my throat. A couple walk past and I see them looking at each other and one says ‘aww’ to the other. There’s a snowflake on Alex’s eyebrow and I reach forward to brush it off and he catches my hand in his and there’s a moment where I feel like all the snowflakes in the world have paused, just for a second, and I look into Alex’s face – and I see his beard and his melty brown eyes and the way one eyebrow sticks up untidily and his hair is scattered with snow and—
‘That’s funny.’ And I don’t know why but I feel like my whole face is one huge beam of happiness. ‘Because I love you, too.’
And I stand on tiptoe and for a second I brush a kiss on the side of his mouth and I breathe in the familiar scent of him and I think my legs might give way. And then he drops my gloves and I drop my bag and he pulls me close so I can feel that underneath his jumper his heart is thumping even harder than mine, and we kiss. And the snow starts falling again, and I don’t even notice. I reach my hands inside the warmth of his jumper and feel the skin of his back under his shirt and it’s burning hot.
‘Your hands are bloody freezing,’ he says, pulling back and laughing.
‘I think maybe we should go home,’ I say. And I take his hand, and we walk back through the darkness, past the cinnamon-scented coffee stall, and through the shortcut past the Dog and Ferret, where they’re playing ‘Last Christmas’ on the speakers and we hear a blast of it when someone pushes the door open. And he looks at me and swings my hand for a second, and smiles.