It Started With a Kiss (30 page)

I handed him the laptop and he began to inspect it. ‘Hmm. Hate to say this, mate, but I think it might be past help.’

This was what I had feared, but having it confirmed – and knowing what cost it might entail to replace it – was not particularly pleasant. ‘Oh well. Another thing to add to the wish list.’

He smiled. ‘Let me take a look at it for a day or so. I might find some way of patching it up temporarily.’ He smiled and motioned for me to sit down on the folding chair he had managed to squeeze in from the bedroom. ‘So how’s tricks?’

‘Oh, you know, same as ever.’

He crossed his arms. ‘Liar.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘How many years have I known you? Haven’t you realised by now that I can read you like a book? You’ve had the weight of the world on you since you arrived – and don’t even try to protest otherwise. Now tell Uncle Tom all about it.’

I fidgeted self-consciously on the chair. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you know the person involved.’

‘Ah.’ He rocked back on the chair slightly and nodded. ‘So this is about Charlie.’

I stared at him.

‘Oh come on, Rom, as conundrums go that wasn’t exactly the most cryptic. You two have been skirting round the subject since before Christmas.’

Seeing as he already knew who was at the centre of my quandary, there was no point in being circumspect about the rest. ‘He finally admitted how he feels about me and he’s asked me to think about us being together.’

His eyes lit up. ‘But that’s great, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been waiting for all these years.’ He raised his eyebrows when I didn’t reply. ‘
Right?
’

‘I don’t know. It’s almost as if the moment I stopped looking his way, he changed his opinion of me. But was that just because I became some kind of unattainable woman or because he’s felt that way about me all along? Surely if he likes me he should know, not have to be cajoled into it …’

‘Rom, Rom, slow down. First of all, Charlie is a
bloke
– we take ages to catch on unless we think it’s our idea, and even then we usually go for the wrong women. We’ve all known that Charlie sees you as more than a friend – it’s just that he was the last to realise it. And yes, you taking your eyes off him and pursuing someone else was definitely an effective motivator. He just needed a swift kick up the backside. Face it, dude, we’re simple creatures: it’s anything for a quiet life. No man – unless he’s certifiably insane – is going to willingly stick his neck on the line unless he has a convincing amount of corroborative evidence in favour of it. Look at Jack and Sophie: she had to practically walk round wearing a sandwich board with “I Fancy You” painted on it before he was willing to risk asking her out. But once he’d said it, he was in there for the long innings. Charlie will be the same.’

‘But it isn’t just about Charlie.’

‘No?’

‘I said I’d search all year for the guy that kissed me, and I can’t get him out of my mind.
He
didn’t need convincing: I could tell he had already made up his mind about me when our eyes first met. Shouldn’t that be the kind of response I’m looking for? Not someone I have to persuade that I’m worthy of their affections?’

Tom watched me for a while, stroking the day-old stubble that peppered his chin. After some consideration, he sat forward in his chair. ‘OK. The best way I can describe it is like this – so bear with me, it will make sense.’

‘OK.’

‘The way I see it, you have two choices: what’s new and what you know. It’s a bit like when you’re looking for software for your PC or Mac. There will always be the latest program, or app, or gadget that promises all manner of new and shiny things for you. You don’t know it because you haven’t worked with it before – but that’s exciting because you don’t know what to expect. Compared to this, anything familiar seems dull. But sometimes what you know is the best option: sure, it might not be as shiny or fancy as the new thing, but you’ve taken the time to get to know it, you know what to expect from it and you can trust it to do what you need it to. You’re frowning. Is this making any sense to you at all?’

I had to be honest. ‘Are you giving me relationship advice or selling me software?’

He chuckled. ‘Hopefully, both. I have my overheads, you know.’

I rubbed my forehead. ‘I’m sorry. What are you trying to say?’

‘Your handsome stranger is like the new software. He’s exciting and mysterious. He burst into your life and swept you off your feet. He could be the love of your life, and if you find him you could be about to embark on the most fulfilling, amazing relationship you’ve ever found.’

‘Or?’

He leaned closer. ‘Or behind all the thrills could lie problems you can’t see: glitches and bugs in the system, if you will. He could completely ruin your life, shake everything you thought you knew and leave you with nothing. He could be a destructive virus waiting to happen – causing damage it could take years to repair.’

‘So I take it Charlie is like a word processing program?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ve taken this analogy about as far as I can, haven’t I? Look, what I’m trying to say here – badly – is that you know Charlie. You know how he operates, what he likes and dislikes, how he sees the world. You know all this because, let’s face facts: you’ve been in love with the guy for three years. Sure, he isn’t the fastest car in the garage when it comes to making decisions – I mean, you’ve seen some of his former girlfriends – but the very fact that it’s taken him so long to see you for who you really are means that he’s been learning the whole time. He won’t forget any of that.’ His voice grew very soft. ‘But can you say the same thing for the guy you’ve been chasing all year? Does he even remember who you are?’

It was hard to hear it but he was making sense. ‘So I should go for the default setting, not the dodgy app?’

Tom shrugged. ‘Only you can work that out. But make it soon: the poor guy will be going crazy waiting for your decision.’

When I left Tom’s house later that evening, his words played over and over in my head, like a sequencer sample.

Whoever I chose, he had to be the right one.

‘
Making your Christmas go with a ho-ho-ho – this is Brum FM
.’

‘What do you reckon? Cheesy enough?’ Mick asked as I battled my way through the studio door carrying two huge coffee shop takeout cups and a bag of pastries to keep us going on what promised to be a long day. ‘Are you struggling there?’

‘This door hates me.’

‘Does it now? Bad door,
naughty
door,’ he grinned.

I passed him a coffee. ‘Funny. Good jingle, by the way. Lots of cheese going on there.’

He rummaged in the paper bag for a cinnamon swirl. ‘Amanda wanted more, apparently. Think she’s been passed over for another promotion, so expect her to be the PickMeister today.’

‘Great. That’s all we need.’

Mick stopped, mid-munch. ‘Hey, don’t let the woman get to you. If we stick together, she can’t do anything. We, my dear, stand in between her and her precious departmental results spreadsheet. She messes with us, her figures are going
down
…’

‘Ha, that’s a cheery thought. I’m not worried about Amanda. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’

‘Well,
that’s
what happens when you’re out all night gallivanting with musicians …’

He had a point. I hadn’t planned to come straight to work from Jack and Sophie’s this morning, but a late-night conversation with D’Wayne after the band’s midweek charity gig had kept me up until the early hours, by which time it made more sense to grab a few precious hours there than try to make it home.

I noticed D’Wayne had been a little subdued when he arrived at the social club on the outskirts of Wolverhampton during our pre-gig sound check. The fundraising event had been organised by his brother in aid of the children’s ward at New Cross Hospital, where his young niece had spent six months following reconstructive surgery for a twisted spine. I assumed that his lack of trademark swagger was due to the presence of his family who all possessed incredibly strong characters, but much later I discovered the real cause was a world away from family tensions.

D’Wayne had been quiet when I joined him on the sofa at Jack and Sophie’s after the gig. He was known for being quiet sometimes, preferring to observe from the sidelines than leap into the action, but his humour was never very far away and he could usually be easily cajoled by the guys in the band to join in. Tonight, however, I noticed a heaviness in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. Around us, the usual Pinstripes conversations flowed, but our manager remained still.

I nudged him as I sat down. ‘Everything OK, boss?’

He smiled hollowly. ‘Never better.’

‘Hmm. Don’t ever take up acting, will you? That was rubbish.’

This elicited a more genuine smile. ‘Sorry. Spending too much time in my head at the moment, that’s all.’

‘Want to talk about it?’

Surprised, he shifted position to look at me. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course I am.’

‘Thank you. I can’t really explain why, but … You saw my family tonight, yeah? I was watching them together and it suddenly struck me how sorted my brothers are. All five of them, settled down with kids and everything. But I’m the eldest and what have I got? I’ve got the nice house, the top of the range car, I’m making money and I wear expensive clothes – but at the end of the day, what does any of that mean? You know, I looked at them all tonight and for the first time, I was jealous. When I close the door at night it’s just me – well, most of the time. But even when there’s a lady there, it never lasts …’ He broke off as Tom claimed the seat next to me.

‘All good here?’

D’Wayne made a close inspection of his wine glass. Tom raised his eyebrows at me and, taking the hint, stood again and walked over to Jack and Sophie.

I smiled at D’Wayne. ‘Go on.’

‘I never thought I’d say this, but I don’t want to just date any more. I’ve a phonebook full of numbers but nobody to talk to when I come home.’ He laughed at himself. ‘Man, that sounds so lame.’

‘I don’t think it does. I think you’ve just realised you’re ready to look for something a little more serious.’

‘I think I’m lonely, Rom. Just a shock to realise it, you know?’

I assured him that it was a good thing to be able to recognise how he felt, but beyond that I didn’t really have any answers. After all, I was secretly still torn between accepting Charlie’s advances or sticking it out until the bitter end with my search for PK. When I had finally fallen asleep under a borrowed duvet on Jack’s sofa in the early hours, images of both of them swirled together restlessly in my dreams.

Mick raised his eyebrows. ‘No closer to making a decision then?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s driving me insane.’

‘Why don’t you try this?’ He grabbed a notepad from a drawer and pulled a pen from his back pocket. In the middle of a page he drew a vertical line with a horizontal line forming a cross at the top, wrote ‘Charlie’ on one side and ‘Kisser’ on the other and handed it to me.

‘What am I supposed to do with this?’

‘Pros and cons, mate. Well, it’ll have to be pros actually, seeing as I’ve only got two columns. You write down all the reasons you should choose Charlie, and then do the same with the other chap. By the end, one of them should emerge as the winner.’

It seemed an extreme and callous measure but, as the confusion raging in my head showed no signs of abating, I decided that anything was worth a try.

Instead of going straight home, I headed into the town centre. I needed space to think. Walking through crowds of homeward bound students, their teenage energies made me smile as I remembered Charlie and I waiting at the bus stop outside our sixth-form college with Tom, Jack and Wren. It seemed a world away now – thirteen years in the past and a million miles from where my teenage self had dreamed I’d be.

One thing that seventeen-year-old Romily Parker never expected was that her twenty-nine-year-old self would be caught in an impossible choice between two men. To be honest, it was a surprise to me. A year ago I wouldn’t have been sitting in the corner of the café in the High Street agonising over a growing list on a sheet of crumpled radio station notepaper – I would have been in Charlie’s arms feeling I was the luckiest woman alive. What a difference a year made …

Sipping a mug of mocha, I stared at Mick’s list. By now, Charlie and PK were neck and neck with five pros each. How on earth was I ever going to decide? I couldn’t shake the memory of Charlie’s expression when he’d told me how he felt. He had looked so vulnerable, his emotions laid bare before me, and when I replayed the scene in my head it was so easy to imagine myself saying yes. But whenever my thoughts entertained the prospect of being with him, PK’s face would appear and throw everything into question again.

Of course, PK might never appear – but I didn’t want to consider Charlie merely as a default choice. If I was going to be with him it would have to be because he was the right one for me.

As I stepped out on to the darkened street in freezing rain, I promised myself that I would make the right choice, no matter what.

‘Romily, it’s Tom. You need to come here after work, OK?’ He sounded breathless on the phone, next day. ‘Can’t explain because I’ve got to make sure I call everyone, but you’ll be there, right?’

‘Of course I will, but what …?’

‘Great. Bye!’

Mick laughed when he saw my puzzlement. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I don’t know. I guess all will be revealed later.’

I arrived at Tom’s house at five thirty and met Charlie walking up the path.

‘Evening, you. Any idea what this is about? Tom was very weird earlier.’

‘Haven’t a clue.’

‘Ah well,’ he said, ‘only one way to find out.’ He reached past me to knock the brass knocker on the front door, his face so close to mine that I could feel the warmth from his skin on my cheeks. My heart performed a back flip and a ‘pro’ was added to Charlie’s list.

It was immediately obvious that my bandmates and manager were as eager as Charlie and I to discover the reason for our hastily arranged meeting. We gathered in the living room as Tom stood to address us.

‘Right,’ he grinned, his eyes twinkling. ‘I have a bit of news.’

‘You’re getting married?’ Charlie suggested.

‘Not unless you know something I don’t, Charlie-boy,’ Tom grinned. ‘But it’s about as much of a surprise.’ He took a breath. ‘The gig’s back on.’

D’Wayne was confused. ‘Which gig?’

‘The millionaire gig.’

This bombshell reverberated around the room, all eyes wide on Tom.

‘When – how?’ stammered Wren, voicing the questions we were all considering.

Almost beside himself with excitement, Tom barely paused for breath as he shared the details. The bride, so poorly when the original date for her wedding arrived, had rallied in recent months and two weeks ago had walked again for the first time since her operation. Julian was so delighted that, following his daughter’s unguarded comment wishing she could still get married this year, he had called the original venue and managed to arrange a new date, just before Christmas.

‘That’s the only snag,’ he explained, his smile fading a fraction. ‘It’s Christmas Eve.’

Silence claimed the room as we processed everything.

Wren looked at everyone. ‘Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I’m well up for it.’

‘Count us in,’ Jack and Sophie agreed.

‘I’m in.’ Charlie nodded and looked at me. ‘Rom?’

It was a no-brainer as far as I was concerned. Playing at a star-studded event and being able to see the capital in its full festive finery was too exciting for words. ‘Definitely.’

D’Wayne clapped his hands. ‘Alright! Looks like we’re going to London!’

‘In that case, we should probably open this,’ Jack said, producing a huge bottle of champagne to rapturous applause.

‘Did you know about all this?’ Charlie asked Jack as Wren went into the kitchen to find glasses.

‘Not at all. But I knew it was something big by the way Tom was acting when he phoned. Besides, I was pretty sure nobody would object to champagne.’

Sophie sighed. ‘Shame we’re so predictable, isn’t it?’

‘Terrible,’ I laughed.

‘We should go ice-skating in Hyde Park,’ Wren squeaked, ‘and walk along Regent Street to see the lights!’

‘Er, may I remind you that we’re actually there to work?’ D’Wayne said. But his grin ruined the impression of a stern manager.

Sophie dismissed this with a wave of her hand. ‘We’ll fit everything in, don’t you worry. We can’t go all the way to London at Christmas and not enjoy it a little, surely?’

D’Wayne laughed. ‘OK, I give in! I’m sure we can find time to have a bit of fun.’ He yelped as Wren and Sophie fell on him in a huge group hug.

Charlie placed his hand lightly on my arm and leant towards my ear. ‘Christmas Eve in London, eh? Perhaps me and you will have something to celebrate by then …’

I watched him as he walked over to congratulate Tom, my heart racing like a greyhound after a rabbit.
Maybe we will, Charlie
, I said to myself,
Maybe we will.

After the initial euphoria of the millionaire gig’s re-emergence, the reality began to sink in. With barely three weeks until the premier event, time was of the essence and rehearsals became a priority.

To this end we arranged a rehearsal schedule to end them all, squeezing in as many opportunities to work on our performance as possible. Even when we couldn’t all make it, small groups of us met to rehearse key components of the music: Wren, Jack and I meeting at his house to practise the harmonies and vocal parts; Charlie and Tom taking an hour during their lunchbreaks to go over stabs and rhythms; and as Sophie was joining us, she, Jack and Tom worked late into the night to perfect solo sax parts for the longer numbers.

A week before the wedding, we gathered for an all-day rehearsal in the shoe factory, arriving at eight in the morning and expecting to stay until at least six that evening. Carrier bags stuffed with supplies were piled up by the kettle and bottles of water were everywhere. The shoe factory was not renowned for its warmth so Tom had placed all manner of heaters around the studio and each band member was attractively attired in several layers of clothes to try to keep out the icy draughts that seemed to permeate through every crack in the building.

Once all the equipment was set up Tom passed out steaming mugs of strong coffee. ‘There’s about three spoons of coffee in that,’ he said. ‘If the caffeine doesn’t help us, nothing will.’

Charlie screwed his nose up as he received his mug of murky instant. ‘Ugh. It’s like the Pot Noodle of coffee.’

‘You’re such a coffee snob,’ I giggled. ‘Just drink it and be grateful.’

He feigned offence, but his eyes were smiling as they held mine. The chemistry between us had been steadily growing as my weeks of debating Mick’s list had passed and Charlie’s ‘pros’ were beginning to edge ahead of PK’s for the first time. As I watched him mucking about with Tom and Jack, I sensed that my decision, when it came, might be easier than I was expecting it to be.

D’Wayne arrived with a huge box of doughnuts at eleven, much to the collective joy of all present. When Wren (who, despite her petite frame can put away more food than Tom and Jack combined) sneaked a second doughnut from the box, D’Wayne tutted loudly.

‘I’d have thought you’d be watching your weight for the gig, Wren.’

Uh-oh
.

There are many things I have learned about my best friend since the day we met in the Wendy house at play-group, but the most crucial has been to recognise the warning signs when she’s angry. Unfortunately for D’Wayne, he had yet to acquire this skill. As he continued to mock her, the rest of the band fell gradually silent as we waited for the inevitable consequences.

Sure enough … ‘Oh right, so you have the right to make sexist, offensive comments because
why
, exactly? Because you’re such a comedian? Oh, wait, no we can’t accuse you of that because you’re
not
.’