What a Girl Wants (43 page)

I picked away at the label of the wine bottle, hoping to find some secret wisdom underneath, but there was only more wine. Not that wine wasn’t an answer. ‘I could call him and say “Sorry, the person I thought was just a distraction turned out to be the person I love and the person I thought I loved turned out to be a distraction? And in case it’s not clear, you’re the distraction.” Who wouldn’t love to hear that?’

‘I’ve heard worse,’ she said, lining up all the tiny hairgrips that I was scattering on the table. ‘What about Nick? You going to tell him that?’

‘I did twenty-eight years of never telling anyone anything.’ I pulled out the last half dozen grips and shook my hair loose. It felt good. ‘And in the last three weeks, I’ve told everyone everything. I’m going to try for some middle ground. I told him where I’m at, I can’t force him to be in the same place.’

‘You’re so clever,’ she said with a frown. ‘Why aren’t I as clever as you?’

‘I sound clever right now,’ I agreed, rubbing my fingertips into my scalp. ‘But that’s because someone else told me to do that. Really, I want to bury myself under fifteen blankets and eat my way through an entire Chinese takeaway menu, screaming “why doesn’t he love me?” after every bite. This is what’s called a brave face.’

‘You’re very good at it.’ Paige tucked her long blonde hair behind her ear and looked over the balcony at bright and shiny London. ‘We should definitely get a Chinese tonight though.’

‘I suppose I have to get on with it, don’t I?’ I said, running through the heartbreak handbook in my mind. ‘Move on with my life, get over Nick, make some decisions?’

‘Sounds shit,’ she replied. ‘Let’s get smashed instead.’

Her phone, full of pictures of nuns, sparkled into life and a picture of an incredibly stern-looking woman replaced Julie Andrews and Mother Theresa.

‘Fuck, it’s work.’ She stood up, taking her phone with her. ‘I’ve got to take this. Back in a minute. Don’t drink all the wine. Actually do, you deserve it. I’ll bring more.’

She ducked inside, leaving me to watch a double-decker bus weaving its way through a tiny side street, under a bridge and back out again. I loved double-decker buses. When Amy and I were little, there was nothing more exciting than racing up the stairs to sit in the front seat to drive it – if someone was already in our seat, then God help them. And when I said little, this went on pretty much until we graduated. Now, whenever I took the bus, I made a point of not sitting there. I wasn’t sure if it was because I didn’t want to fall foul of a next generation Amy or because I was worried that it wouldn’t be the same, that I was too old for it now. Probably a bit of both.

The bus rode right past me and I saw a woman sitting in the front seat, reading a book. She wasn’t even looking out of the window. What a waste, I thought, next time I sit in the front seat again, I’ll have my eyes open. And that was when I realized. I didn’t want to get over Nick. I didn’t want to move on with my life.

I pulled out my borrowed phone and my notebook, and dialled the first number scribbled on the inside cover.

‘What?’

‘Veronica?’

‘Yes. What?’

‘It’s Tess,’ I said, looking out for another double-decker bus. ‘Tess Brookes.’

‘You little shit!’ she boomed on the other end of the line. ‘I’ve been calling you for days and you haven’t answered. What the fucking fuck is going on?’

‘Loads actually.’ I didn’t think she needed the entire story, not on the phone anyway. Why deprive myself of the five years she would take off my life with her chain smoking when I saw her in person? ‘Did you get the pictures I sent over yesterday?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Did you get any of my fucking messages? The deal is, I call you, you fucking well answer.’

‘Did you like the pictures?’ I asked.

‘Of course I liked the pictures,’ she replied. ‘They’re good shots and they’re making us both a shit-ton of money. You better not have called me to say you’re jacking this all in to sell me a pissing chicken because I will have you fucking killed.’

‘The chicken thing didn’t work out as well as it could have,’ I admitted, spotting a new bus in the distance, headed my way. ‘I’ve been thinking, I want to go back to Milan. Finish up the project with Al.’

‘Halle-fucking-lujah,’ she barked, breaking in the middle of her swearing to suck on her cigarette. ‘Amazing. You’re not a completely useless twat after all, are you?’

‘Not completely useless,’ I agreed. ‘I’m trying.’

‘You were trying my fucking patience,’ she replied. ‘Now get your arse back to Italy so I can get an invoice in. I’m not doing this for fun, you know.’

‘No, I know,’ I said, excited. ‘I’m going to do a really good job, trust me.’

‘Of course you fucking are, why wouldn’t you?’ Veronica asked. ‘When are you going? Just so I know where in the world you’re fucking hiding, otherwise I’m going to inject one of them tracker chips in you like I’ve got in the dog.’

I sat back in my seat and smiled. ‘You’ve got a dog?’

‘When are you going?’ she shouted.

‘Tonight,’ I replied, unfastening the top two buttons of my shirt. ‘This afternoon. I’ll be back in Milan tonight.’

‘Whoop-de-fucking-doo!’ Veronica cheered. ‘No more fucking mention of chickens?’

‘No more,’ I promised. ‘Unless you want me to take a photo of a chicken.’

‘Right fucking answer.’ I could have sworn I heard her smiling. ‘And yes. Two dogs. Yorkies. Little bastards, the pair of them.’

And then she hung up.

‘You all right?’ I asked Paige as she stomped back out onto the terrace, as hard as her kitten heels would allow. ‘Not good news?’

‘Someone’s fucked up a spread.’ She picked up her glass of wine and took a huge swig. ‘I’m going to have to go in. Honestly, I can’t even take one day off without some jobsworth cocking everything up.’

‘Never mind, you’ll get the holiday back, yeah?’ I asked, finishing off my own glass and embracing the sudden tipsiness that went straight to my head. ‘You can use it to come and visit me in Milan.’

‘You’re going back?’ Paige squealed in a way that only very girly girls can get away with and gave me a big, skinny hug. ‘When?’

‘Now, I suppose,’ I said, brushing my hair back and watching as the next double-decker bus rushed past us, two teenage girls in the front seat with their feet up on the rails, laughing in each other’s faces. ‘Am I mental?’

‘Yes,’ she said very seriously. ‘But it’s pretty cool. And I don’t really want you crying on my settee for three weeks either.’

‘That’s fair,’ I accepted. ‘I am a bit gutted about the Chinese though. Have they got Chinese takeaway in Milan?’

‘I’m googling it,’ she replied. ‘If they haven’t, you’re not going.’

Flying back and forth to Italy in a day probably wasn’t a big deal for a lot of people, I thought, as I took my seat in one of easyJet’s finest, but I couldn’t have been more excited. Running away to Hawaii had been impulsive and silly, and borrowing someone else’s identity was downright stupid, but this wasn’t running away, this was making a choice. This time, I was running towards something amazing, something exciting. I didn’t want to wake up one day as bitter as Edward Warren and so scared to try something new that I’d rather shaft my best friend than take a chance. And I didn’t expect it to be easy; I knew this was something I was going to have to work for and I was so up for the challenge.

And there was something else I was ready to fight for. As the plane rolled down the runway, preparing for take-off, I pulled a small square of paper out of my handbag and promised myself it was the last time I would read it. At least for the duration of the flight. It was the letter than Nick had given to Domenico before he left.

He had given it to me on Friday night, unfortunately right after he had given me something strong enough to knock out an elephant, so I hadn’t been able to concentrate on it then, let alone commit it to memory. The morning after, I’d been too scared as to what it might say. Sunday, I felt the same and all the way back to London, I could feel it burning a hole in my handbag, hiding between the pages of my passport. But it wasn’t until I was on the Tube, on my way to Gatwick, that I felt brave enough to read it. It was only then that I realized there couldn’t be anything in the note that was worse than what I was imagining anyway.

I unfolded Nick’s letter, leaning in to the window, away from the man sitting next to me. Now my decision was made, I wasn’t afraid to read it. I was going back to Milan, back to Al and Kekipi and Amy, back to my camera and all the things that I loved.

‘Dear Tess.’ I whispered the words as quietly as possible. Reading it was still too hard, I could hear his voice in my head and it was too much.

Dear Tess,

I told you I didn’t know if I could do this and it turns out that I can’t.

I’ve been thinking about it all week but I can’t see another way. Even if you hadn’t left, I still would have been on a plane to New York in the morning, you just made it easier for me.

I’d been fooling myself into thinking I could do it, because it’s so fun and so easy being with you but there’s nothing fun and easy about being with me. I care about you so much my bones ache. You, Tess, are spectacular and anyone would be lucky to have you in their corner but I can’t do this right now and it’s not fair. I wish I could but it just wouldn’t work so I’m walking away before I make this any harder for either of us.

Take care of yourself.

All my love,

Nick

My fingers folded the letter back along its already well-worn lines and slid it back inside my passport. I’d gone through so many emotions since the first time I’d read it that I was almost numb. I was furious that he thought he could make these decisions for me, heartbroken that he didn’t really want me, let down by the fact that he didn’t even want to try, and so sad that he was so hurt. But Al was right. Chasing after him now would mean fighting then and making up and running around kissing, laughing at other people’s dogs again, but, ultimately, the same thing would just keep happening over and over.

I’d never really thought about the difference between the things I wanted and the things that I needed. Right now, whether Nick’s letter was entirely honest or not, he couldn’t be what I needed, even if he was everything I wanted. He needed time, I needed time and, thankfully, that was one thing I had plenty of. But, as I watched London slip away behind me, I knew that I couldn’t give up on him, even if maybe I should. And if he thought I would read his note, smile, nod and get on with life as though he had never existed, he was as stupid as he was hot.

And that would make him so, so stupid.

London had never really struck me as a beautiful city. It was where I worked, it was my escape from the village and from my family, but up here, flying over it at sunset, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit sad to be leaving. I wished I had my camera to capture the fading light, casting its shadows over all of her stories. The next time I was in London, I promised, smiling at my reflection in the tiny double window, the next time, I’d be ready.

It hasn’t escaped me that this list gets longer every time I write it and for that, I will always be grateful.

I’m starting to feel like you’re all getting bored of hearing me say thank you and would much rather I quit writing, got a job down the supermarket and stopped whining at you. Well, tough luck. There will almost certainly be more books, more whining and more thank yous. If you’re very lucky, there might also be a drink and a hug. Or just the drink, if you’d rather.

Rowan Lawton, wonder-agent. Liane-Louise Smith, patience of a saint. Lynne Drew, Thalia Suzuma and Martha Ashby, how many ways are there for you to say ‘don’t worry, we’ll make it work’? I know this one was a bloody chore and you helped keep me sane during a very difficult time. Thanks, hugs and drinks aren’t enough. Soul of my firstborn? Soul of my firstborn it is. If I listed everyone who was owed hugs/alcohol at HarperCollins, they’d have to charge you another pound for the book so they’ll just have to take it verbally when I see them. So to speak.

The last, ooh, let’s say nine months have been a serious effing challenge and without the support and love of my friends and family, you’d be reading this wherever you are right now while I sat rocking back and forth in a cave with very bad roots and no manicure to speak of. All my Twitter buddies, my Facebook friends, fellow authors and generally fantastic people who stop me going legitimately mental, thank you.

If you enjoy this book at all, you should probably give Della Bolat a call and say thank you. I ran out of ways to say it but I like to think my epic overconsumption of
pizza al tonno
right across Italy made my feelings clear. Love you, skank.

And to the people who literally had to hold me together when things got dark, you are my heroes. Della, Beth Ziemacki, Ryan Child, Emma Ingram, Rebecca Alimena, Philippa Drewer, Scott Addison Clay, Kevin Dixon, Jack Murnighan and Terri White, I know I’m here because you are.

‘Yet still steadfast, still unchangeable.’

‘Fans of the I Heart series will instantly fall for this gorgeously funny and romantic read’
Closer