Irresistible (19 page)

It feels weirdly distant. Like it wasn’t even me. Gabi and I have met all these new people in the last few weeks. We’ve introduced them to the girls, and it’s like we have a new gang. It gave me this weird sense of closure. I told them all what happened over the summer. Completely different to what happened with Kieran, where I shut myself off. It made me realize that real friends just want you to be okay. They don’t care if you mess up.

And although what I did wasn’t great, at least it was based on feeling something. I’d rather be able to admit I fell in love and acted stupidly than be like Jamie and Cleo, who think it’s something to be ashamed of. It makes you the loser in their game.

I do still wonder if it was really all a game to him.

My phone buzzes again. Jeff drops his head into his hands and sighs. This time it’s ringing.

“Hello?”

“‘Ello? Eez zat Meeyah Johzeef?”

“Gabs, your accent is offensive.”

“Shut up, dick!”

“How’s la Paree?”

“Omigod—awesome. I’ve eaten all this crap that I don’t know what it is. I flashed the Eiffel Tower—just bra, not tit! This woman screamed! Seriously, Mi, thank you
so
much. It is totally the most amazing present anyone has ever given me.”

“No worries. My pleasure.”

“Max says hi!”

“Hi, Max!”

“But guess who we’ve bumped into?”

“Who?”

I hear some rustling and Gabi saying, “You speak to her.”

“‘Ello? Eez zat Meeyah Johzeef?”

It feels like my heart twists.

“Hi, Dan.”

“Hello.”

“How’s … How is it?”

“Really, really great. I’m off to Germany tomorrow evening, but I’m beginning to think I should just lounge around here writing poems and growing a beard.”

He’d look good in a beard. I shouldn’t say that. I should probably stop saying suggestive things to men in general.

“I like beards.” I hope that doesn’t make me sound suggestive. Perhaps a little simple.

“Feel free to come out and see it,” he says. I can almost hear him stop and panic. I don’t think he meant to just invite me to Paris. Again.

Then I hear more rustling and Gabi saying, “Omigod, omigod.” She’s grabbed the phone back.

“Mia, you should come out here! For the day!”

“I can’t go to Paris for a day! Can you even do that? I’m supposed to be saving—”

“Do it! Do it!”

“I can’t! It’s ridiculous!”

There’s a tap on my shoulder. Jeff has slid his notepad across the table to me. Underneath the list he’s written,
Eurostar train does day trips. My treat.

We keep waving as Gabi and Max, laden with bags because someone let Gabi go shopping, walk under the huge departures board and disappear into the crowds.

There’s another hour before my train, so Dan and I are going to find a café to sit in.

My hair is still separated into damp strands from the rain.

It was the most torrential downpour I’ve ever seen. It started in big drops about five minutes after we left the zoo, and the drops very quickly turned into thick jets of water bombing down from the skies. I quickly put on Jeff’s sweater, which he made me wear when I left the house at five in the morning, in a feeble attempt to ward off the sogginess. We were in the middle of a big park that led back to the Metro station and stood there in shock for a moment, unsure whether to carry on or run back to the zoo. Gabi decided for everyone when she turned and ran in the direction of
the Metro, shouting, “SAVE YOURSELVES!” We all ran, shouting incoherently, and as we became completely soaked, the shouts became a mixture of hysterical laughter and crying.

I was surprised by Gabi’s speed. She has, to my knowledge, never attended a PE class. I also had assumed that if she ran too fast she’d be in danger of being knocked out by her own breasts. But, on the contrary, they seemed to give her momentum as a larger and larger gap opened up between us. Similarly, Max managed to go pretty fast, despite the water having traveled all the way up his baggy jeans, causing them to flap behind him.

I was struggling, mainly because my pumps had filled with water and were falling off my feet. Dan was too, because he had his backpack with him. I caught up with him, gesturing wildly at a tree to suggest we shelter for a bit.

We stood under the tree, panting and wiping the water off our faces. I emptied out one of my shoes and then saw Dan peering at me through dripping hair with an odd expression on his face.

“What?” I said, leaning against the tree to take off the other shoe.

“Nothing,” he said. He kept looking at me steadily. His eyes shone warmly, and there was the hint of a smile on his lips. I smiled back at him. At least whatever he was thinking was something good. At the beginning of the day, we’d been so polite and careful around each other, making awkward small talk about the food or the hostel or the trains whenever it was just the two of us. But every so often we’d catch each other’s eye or say something that made the other one laugh, and I’d get flashes of when we’d just met, of the excited thrill each time we shared a joke. Standing with him
under the tree, that happy, crackly feeling surged between us. Looking out at the nearby lake, with the rain bouncing off it, I thought how ridiculously cheesy it would be if we kissed right now.

One of the branches above us must have moved, because a stream of water dropped through, directly onto Dan’s head.

“Run again?” said Dan, and I nodded. “Okay, three, two, one!”

On the Metro, people kept their distance, which was fair enough, really, as we looked like a couple of drowned rats.

We got off at Temple and made a dash from the Metro steps to the nearest bar. We’d agreed that when we got somewhere vaguely warm, we’d put on some dry clothes from Dan’s bag. Jeff’s sweater was so wet that it was practically molded to my skin, and I couldn’t wait to take it off. I lifted it up above my head and felt a bit more of a breeze than I’d been expecting. I stopped.

“I’m flashing you, aren’t I?”

Dan said, “Umm,” in a noncommittal way, and I felt him peel my T-shirt back down. I struggled out of the sweater.

“I’ll go and change in the bathroom.”

“Cool,” Dan said quickly, holding out a top. On my way to find the restroom, an old man gave me an approving nod. Well, at least someone enjoyed getting an eyeful of my bra.

A few minutes later, we both sat at the window looking out at the rain and drinking hot chocolates.

“What an adventure!” I said. “I’m so jealous you’re out doing stuff like this while I’m doing homework.”

“Seriously? You’ve come out here for one day and nearly drowned!”

“But if I had to drown anywhere, I’d like it to be Paris.”

He smiled. “We could try drowning you in some other European cities and see which one’s your favorite.”

“I’d like that.”

There was a pause, and both of us drank from our cups instead of speaking. I realized too late that I’d finished mine already, so ended up doing a very bad mime of drinking.

Then we were interrupted by a face in the window. It looked like some sort of sea monster. It turned out that Gabi had tried to fend off the rain by holding a newspaper over her head, but the paper had disintegrated and molded to her hair.

“I’ve given up,” she said as she sat down. “Max is totally pissed off, though. His hat sank.”

I suddenly snort with laughter, making Dan jump.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about Max and his sunken hat.”

He’d put the hat on the table and sat there looking at it mournfully while it curved sadly inward from the top. Then he’d tried drying it on a radiator and gotten even more annoyed when it seemed to be drying in its collapsed state.

Dan grins. “Oh, Max.”

We’re at a café aross the street from the Gare du Nord. Every so often one of us looks up at the clock on the wall as the time for my train gets closer and closer.

“How have fifteen minutes gone by?” exclaims Dan. “I swear I looked at the clock only a minute ago.”

“I don’t want to go home,” I say childishly.

“Time for one more,” says Dan. “My turn.”

He goes up to the bar. Outside dusk is setting in; the air
is cool and fresh after the downpour, and the busy streets with people sitting outside chatting are creating an exciting buzz. I look up at him waiting to be served, frowning in concentration at one of the menus and probably seeing how much of it he can read. I remember that I’m still wearing his rugby shirt and should probably give it back, considering he’s going to be away for a while. He’s off to Germany, and then Eastern Europe next. He traveled around Spain first. He said he didn’t want to do Paris at first, after all our planning, but he saw a train when he was in Madrid and thought he might as well come and see the place.

The collar of the rugby shirt is sticking up and is just brushing my nose when I turn to look at Dan. I breathe in his smell. Warm, fresh, and with a hint of honey, I think. Or perhaps that’s how it makes me feel. It’s a nice, glowing feeling, like honey drizzling off a spoon.

It feels like friendship.

The clock on the wall chimes to mark eight o’clock.

I take off the rugby shirt and leave it nicely folded on top of Dan’s bag. I’m a little cold, but I’m sure it will be warm on the train.

Sitting back down, I see my phone, which is on the table, light up.

There’s no name, but I know the number. It’s pointless, really, to delete someone from your contacts when you know their number anyway. I sit there, looking at the unread message.

I look up at Dan. He’s picking up Diet Cokes from the bar and gives me a friendly nod.

My heart is thudding as I pick up the phone. Read or delete?

I click OPTIONS, and my thumb hovers over the delete button. I haven’t spoken to him since I saw him outside Radleigh Castle. I’ve had missed calls, but I’ve never returned them. I saw a silver car a few times in the parking lot by the college, but I just told myself that there must be more than one person with that car.

I can’t resist. I click the message just as Dan sits down.

Check Facebook x

Jamie’s Guide to Being an Idiot

1. Meet a girl.

2. Realize she makes you laugh and that you feel differently with her than with anyone you’ve met before. This annoys you. Be rude to her.

3. Try usual techniques. Swimming pool. Wine.
Casablanca
. End up actually enjoying yourself (highly unusual).

4. When it’s not working and you are losing her to someone else, be weak. Be persuaded that if you want to get anywhere with her, you’ll have to trick her. She would never love the real you. Lie as usual. Allow her to be humiliated because you don’t want to admit to anyone else that you love her. Being in love is your version of a dirty little secret.

5. Think about her every day for weeks.

How to Not Be an Idiot
(even if you risk rejection,
humiliation, and heartbreak)

1. Turn up at St. Pancras station as she returns from Paris, holding a rose and hoping she forgives you. Make it known that you would be willing to wear a “backpack” and stay in “hostels” and other such uncivilized things.

Really, I’d do anything.
J x

• • •

Jamie Elliot-Fox is toxic.

Isn’t he?

So now I’m here.

The train’s moving away. I waved to Dan, and he’s heading off to continue his adventure.

I showed him the message, in the interest of honesty. He said he’d only repeat what he said to me before: do something you actually want to do.

For the last few weeks, that’s what I’ve been doing. Choosing, deciding, making my own adventures, not just letting things happen.

One more choice.

Do I believe him?

Well, I’ve got a few hours to think about it.

Perhaps I should flip a coin.

Piccadilly people:

Brenda, for making this happen, expert guidance, and being the first person to meet my characters.

Andrea, for sending me the best books to review, believing I could write, and for a marketing meeting in which we discussed writing
Irresistible
on men’s chests.

Anne, for reading the chapters I sent last summer and now being my agent.

Melissa, for my first editing, which has improved my writing more than anything else has done ever, and for spotting Mr. Darcy.

Also Natasha, Margot, and all the other fabulous people who work there!

Family and friend people:

Mum, for instilling in me a love of books and Austen. And just for everything.

Dad, for instilling in me a sense of humor. And for advising me on vintage port.

Edd—otherwise known as “the next Roald Dahl”—for his editorial eye and sarcasm.

Suzy, who is more like a friend than a dog (barely), for encouraging me to write and for many hilarious escapades. Together, we’re better by far.

Celia, Emily, Han the Man, Laura, Lorna, Lizzie, Nadia, and Matt. Terribly funny ladies and man. Thank you for all your support in my recent months of being a small author person, and in the years before when I was just a small person.

The admin team at the
Nature
science journal (plus Claire, Tanye, and Haslet), for making my day job hilarious.

Author people (Friends with pens):

Non Pratt, for letting me talk about “bad boys” over a beer, for reading both the book and my crazy e-mails, and for general awesomeness.

Sally Prue, who is
Irresistible
’s official Great-Aunt.

Reader people:

This is YOU. Thank you so much for reading!

Liz Bankes writes for the same reason she reads—to have marvelous adventures without leaving the sofa. While
Irresistible
is not based on her own experience, she entertains hopes of meeting her own Jamie Elliot-Fox someday. She lives and works in London as an editorial assistant.
Irresistible
is her first book.

Who do you find irresistible?