Accidentally in Love: An utterly uplifting laugh out loud romantic comedy Page 12

  ‘It wouldn’t be fair to leave you to do all the heavy lifting.’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody sanctimonious,’ I scoff. ‘As a woman, it’s what I’m stuck with anyway. I’d have to birth them, remember?’

  He tips his head back and makes a guttural noise. ‘And let’s say we do? What happens in ten years’ time when I’ve got my own firm and I’m at work all hours of the day and night? That wouldn’t be fair on you or our children.’

  Our children. The idea prickles at the back of my eyes.

  ‘So, come home at …’ I stop and take a deep breath. ‘No. No more. This is circle work. I’m done.’

  ‘You’re what? You’re done? What do you mean you’re done? You can’t just walk away.’ His gaze follows me as I move towards the approaching train. ‘Katharine?’

  ‘Oh, but I can.’ I smile as he blurs in my vision. It makes him look like a penguin. ‘I really can.’

  ‘Katharine, please, let’s just go home and talk this all out. We can work out what we both want and sort something out moving forward.’

  Shit, if corporate jargon isn’t the original anti-aphrodisiac, I don’t know what is.

  ‘No,’ I say, my voice breaking.

  His porcelain façade cracks. Not much, but enough for me to know I’ve finally broken through. The corners of his mouth turn downward and, for a brief pause, I’m sure I see his lip tremble. ‘Kate, please. I am so … God, I’m so sorry I made you feel like this.’

  ‘What happened in that room, what’s been happening all this time, tells me I’m not a priority for you.’ I rub my eyes with the heel of my hand and blow out a calming breath as the next train approaches. ‘And what the hell is the point of any of this if we aren’t each other’s priority?’

  I step into the carriage and watch as John stands dumbfounded on the platform. He doesn’t reach out, step forward or otherwise make a move. He’s anchored to the spot and, as the doors sound their alarm and close, he slides quickly into the distance. My final view of him is with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, and hands stuffed in his pockets.

  When my front door finally closes behind me that night, I collapse against it and sob for the first time since I walked out of Webster. I cry for my past, for my future, and for everything that has just vanished.

  Chapter 11

  ‘You made a grown man cry last night.’

  Adam stands at my front door with a greasy bag of breakfast, a wry smile, and what seems suspiciously like a hangover. With a disapproving look, I snatch the bag away and let him into my apartment. It’s not quite 7 a.m. on a Saturday, which is no time for anyone to be awake. I’m still in my pyjamas though I’ve barely slept a wink and, today, I’m moving halfway up the country.

  No, it hasn’t sunk in yet.

  What is striking, however, is the notion that my life has amounted to not much more than a few piles of boxes pushed up against windows and leaning against walls. At least that’s how it feels.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re here to defend him.’ I reach over the kitchen counter and switch on the kettle. ‘There’ll definitely be salt in someone’s coffee today if that’s the case.’

  ‘On the contrary.’ He meanders through my things. ‘I’m proud of you.’

  I offer an amused sniff and pilfer the first of three hash browns. As I make coffee, I watch his face change from confused to mildly disgusted when he happens upon underwear that wouldn’t fit into my suitcase. He turns his attention to an old coffee mug, which he waggles in the air.

  ‘Do you remember this holiday?’ he asks. ‘When driving a few hours to Scarborough, and not some ski village in the Alps, was the height of sophistication?’

  ‘I do.’ I smile. ‘I loved the puffins.’

  ‘You were obsessed with those things,’ he says, placing the mug back. ‘All they did was attack me, the little bastards.’

  The memories are a sweet distraction from the dull ache in my chest. As much as last night needed to happen, I’d be silly to try and convince anyone I’m happy about it. Nobody ever wants to feel the way I do right now. Asking Adam to expand on his comment would be nothing more than self-flagellation, but I’m also oddly curious as to the finer details. I tap my nails against the kitchen counter and flip the coin of decision.

  ‘How’d you know he cried?’ The question springs forth as I hand Adam his coffee.

  ‘Well, he didn’t come back to the party.’ He clatters a spoon around in his mug. Gosh, I love my brother, but if he keeps belting the spoon about, I’m going to get him an apprenticeship in the bell tower of a French cathedral. ‘But he did call me about an hour after he left. I was already on my way home, so, I thought I’d do the right thing and stop at his place and just … What the hell did you say to him?’

  ‘The truth?’ I say, lifting my mug to my mouth.

  Adam shakes the last few drops of milk from the carton. ‘Anyway, he says he was trying to call you, but you weren’t answering. For once, he didn’t know what to do with himself and was pacing around the place like his head was on fire.’

  I reach for my phone. It’s flat, so I toss it back into my handbag. ‘And you said?’

  ‘I told him he should probably leave you alone.’

  ‘You’re still my brother.’ I snap my fingers and offer him a high-five.

  ‘Anyway, he was dumbfounded that you actually pulled the pin. I used the old “the woman is a tea bag” and, when he was calm, left.’

  ‘Tea bag,’ I deadpan. ‘You equated me to a tea bag?’

  ‘What? Tea bags get stronger in hot water, what are you … oh, no, don’t be … why are you the one who makes it grubby? I didn’t mean it like that.’

  Though I laugh, I’m sure Adam knows more than he’s telling me. His giveaway is his face. For a lawyer, he’s got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen, at least when he’s around family. If there are holes in the dyke, his eyes flit about excitedly and he draws his bottom lip through his teeth, as if chewing half his face off will avert his attention. When it all gets too much, a tiny dimple will form in his left cheek, which it’s doing right now.

  ‘Anyway, how are you?’ he asks. ‘Are you okay? Be honest.’

  My cheeks fill with air. ‘Not entirely happy about it all.’

  ‘How so?’ He leans against the counter and puts his mug down.

  ‘Oh, it’s just everything, isn’t it?’ I scratch at my forehead. ‘You go into these things thinking something will come of it. It’s all very lovely and sweet, and now I feel like I’ve wasted my time. And not just with him, but with the job, too. Everything I’ve spent time building, and now I’m going back in time ten years and moving home.’

  ‘Now, see, Mum would have called this experience to add to life’s résumé.’ He offers me an understanding smile. ‘It’ll all come in handy, I promise.’

  ‘Maybe.’ I clap my hands together. ‘Anyway, let’s get this show on the road. I only want to do one trip. I’m sure you feel the same.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I had to stop Dad driving down last night,’ he says with a soft chuckle. ‘He called and was adamant he was coming to help. Adam, don’t worry, he said, I’ll be there by ten. I talked him out of it. Anyway, I’m meant to be dropping the truck back in Sheff tonight so, yes, let’s get you moved.’

  Getting all my boxes into the truck is the easy part. It’s big furniture that seems to take forever. My dining table goes downstairs on its back, like a turtle, and my mattress gets jammed in the lift door. Instead of being worried about the door repeatedly opening and closing, gnawing on my bed like a dog with a chew toy, Adam starts shouting, ‘Pivot! Pivot! Pivot!’ and we fall about laughing.

  Today marks the only day I’m officially pleased I don’t do weekly grocery shops. It means my refrigerator is next to empty. While Adam wheels it away with a trolley we manage to borrow from a neighbour, I stick around to do one final clean.

  ‘Look what I found.’ I wander out of my bedroom when I hear Adam return.

  When I
’d come to the realisation I wasn’t destined to be a successful photographer, I’d folded up my tripod, buried my studio lights at the back of the wardrobe and hidden my vintage Rolleiflex camera away. It had been so long since I’d seen it, I honestly thought it was back in Sheffield. I don’t recall ever using it in London.

  ‘Christ, that’s a throwback,’ Adam says. ‘You used to take that everywhere with you, but I never see it anymore. Where’d you find it?’

  ‘In the back of my underwear drawer.’

  ‘Gross.’ With a grimace, he tosses the hot potato back into my hand. ‘Not what you normally find in the back of an underwear drawer.’

  Though I’m laughing, I offer him a playful slap. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘You ready to go?’ he asks.

  ‘Is anyone ever?’

  Fiona appears at the top of the stairs, hair swept up in a bun and wearing her usual paint-splattered smock. Adam, Dad, and I have been unloading the truck for an hour already, and she’s just arrived brandishing a brand-new mop and what looks like a washing basket full of handy items for the new renter. Through the clear cellophane tied with white ribbon, I spy bleach, spray cleaner and cloths, mouse traps, disinfectant and those little stars that stick to the inside of the toilet.

  One of my favourite moments of the past ten years was hearing Fiona’s take on how she met my father for the first time. After a divorce that can only be described as Mt St Helen’s on a bad day level of catastrophic, she moved to the area and came into Dad’s store looking for a specific brand of oil paint.

  All she wanted was to pick up where she left off on an old hobby, but Dad tried telling her she was using the wrong paint, that it didn’t mix as well as the brand he sold, and it escalated into what Dad likes to call a ‘spirited debate’. She threatened to shop elsewhere and he relented, agreeing to order in a bunch of paints for her, and a few extra should she need them later. He took her number and promised to call when they arrived, and the rest is history. Peas in pods and all that.

  Turning the basket at angles, I can also see sourdough bread laced with apricots, sultanas, and figs. A sweet cinnamon scent wafts up with each squeeze of the basket. There’s also a block of butter from a local dairy and my favourite brand of local milk with cream on top. Breakfast tomorrow will be nothing like my regular grab-and-go from Pret.

  ‘This looks amazing.’ I place the basket on my dining table and wrap her in a hug. ‘And you’re incredible. Thank you.’

  ‘It’s really, really lovely to have you back,’ she whispers. ‘Your father is especially thrilled.’

  ‘Don’t.’ I retreat and point at her, my bottom lip trembling. ‘Give him a week and he’ll be sick of the sight of me.’

  ‘I doubt that very much.’ She gives me a motherly look as she moves across the apartment. My apartment.

  Adam crosses the threshold with my last box of junk. He looks as exhausted as I am, shaking his arms out as he thumbs towards the bottom of the stairs. ‘Looks like someone’s already planning the grand opening.’

  Dad is pacing about the place, checking over each room and calling up his suggestions for what he thinks should go in each room. ‘Oh, and caterers. Lots of caterers!’

  Fiona raises a finger to her lips. ‘He hasn’t shut up about it.’

  Right now, opening night is the last thing on my mind. Furniture is strewn across the place, I’m exhausted, my head aches and the last twenty-four hours have been an emotional spinning wheel. On the upside, the move was painless, with only one stop at services for a lark before continuing up the M1. I had met Ava, the estate agent, at her office, where I signed all the final paperwork and took possession of the keys and the building.

  The flat above the gallery is thrice the size of my London apartment. I’ve gone from a cosy budget hotel room to an open-plan penthouse suite, not that I’d dare complain. I like to think of it as my reward for dealing with a tsunami of trash this week. With what little I own, it’s more than enough room for me without having to spread out into the other rooms. If I break the space up into thirds, I’ve got all my needs sorted.

  It had all felt surreal at the time, inspecting the building and asking for permission to do things that generally make a landlord’s eyes twitch. Now I’m here and my belongings are filling up the place, it feels oddly familiar and comfortable, nourishing even.

  At the far end, closest to the fire escape, there’s a kitchenette, and we waddle my refrigerator into the corner beside the door. The en suite off to the side looks like a recent addition. My extendable dining table finally gets the chance to shine, and I let it fold right out and drag it into the middle of the dining area. I move it again to accommodate my sofa and television.

  The front end of the flat becomes my bedroom. My bed, bedside tables and lamp are all shoved beneath the space by an open window that overlooks the street. When everything’s in place, I stand back and take it all in.

  I don’t think I’ve ever had this much room to myself. It’s freeing, if not a little overwhelming, and I’m already so much more in love with it than I thought possible. When everything’s tidy and in place, it’ll be so homely. Even the Tupperware orange wall doesn’t bother me so much anymore. In fact, I might keep it. My low-rise shelf full of art books almost suits it. I quickly decide my art is going on the wall above it.

  ‘Now what?’ Dad sidles up beside me.

  I scratch my fingers through my hair. ‘I think I’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.’

  ‘Correct answer,’ he says.

  Without a thorough clean, it was a little useless unpacking everything. Instead, I do the bare minimum, running the vacuum across the floor, wiping down benchtops and making sure my television didn’t die en route. Oh, and crack open the brand-new bed sheets Fiona has gifted me, because I am sleeping like a queen tonight.

  When Adam suggests a takeaway dinner, we huddle around his phone and shout the names of dishes at him like we’re in a bingo hall. An hour later, a delivery driver unloads his loot at the front door. Before he leaves, he quips that he thought the place was abandoned. Where have we been all this time, in the basement?

  We’re weird, I’ll give him that, but we’re not quite the family from The Burbs just yet. Simply moved back to the area, I explain as he does an embarrassed shuffle back to his scooter. And despite his first impression, when the four of us are together we do work in a lovely synchronisation.

  Fiona wipes down the table, which has suffered a light scratch on its journey today. Dad lays out placemats and all the plastic cutlery that had been stuffed in the takeaway bag. I find candles at the bottom of a box, and they serve as makeshift centrepieces while Adam pours out wine. For a moment, we sit in stunned silence, taking each other in, my brother and father wearing identical smirks, Fiona with her face hidden behind an oversized glass of wine and me, dumbfounded that I actually took the leap to get here.

  ‘Well, shit.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Only took you ten years,’ Dad says. ‘Oh, I’m just going to try my luck in London for the summer. I’ll be right back.’

  Adam sniggers, which starts everyone else laughing. As we eat from each other’s plates and fight over the mix of Indian, Chinese and Thai cuisines, we take turns replaying our own version of London’s Greatest Hits. All the old stories I thought were long buried come churning up to the surface again. It’s the second week in a row we’ve done this as a family and, I must admit, I’m enjoying it way more than I thought I would.

  ‘So, Adam, where’s Soph?’ Dad asks. ‘She okay?’

  Until now, he’s looked more relaxed than I’ve seen him in months. That tired grey glint in his eye had disappeared long enough for him to look under forty again. Now, he shifts like he’s been winded. ‘Yeah, she’s fine. She’s good, just a lot of work going on right now. Plus, she felt like she’d kind of get in the way today.’

  ‘Rubbish.’ Dad places his glass down a little too hard. ‘She could’ve helped with something. We
would’ve found her something to lug about.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’ He looks away quickly. That was a lie. ‘Next time, hey?’

  ‘Not to worry.’ Fiona looks at my brother. ‘How’s your week been otherwise?’

  ‘It’s been busy.’ He nods, twisting noodles around his fork as he nods in my direction. ‘But this one here is giving me something else to think about.’

  I groan. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ he insists. ‘It’s been a nice break actually. I think I’m getting too caught up in the Monday to Friday of things, so I’m appreciating being dragged out of it. Fresh air and different faces and all that.’

  ‘What have you got coming up? Any big cases?’ Dad asks.

  ‘I’m hoping for a quiet one this week. I’m meeting the estate agent at Katharine’s flat on Monday morning. Easier than her coming back and forth,’ Adam explains as he casts a glance my way. ‘Can you make sure you keep your phone on you this week?’

  Shit, my phone. In the hullaballoo of moving, I’d forgot all about it.

  ‘Thank you for reminding me.’ I leap from my seat, dig around for my phone and its charger and plug it into a socket by my bed.

  The room is quiet as I wait for that spark of life, the little battery icon to disappear before I find out who, if anyone has been trying to get hold of me. It’s barely awake before a quick succession of notifications start popping up.

  ‘Someone clearly wants to get hold of you,’ Dad quips. ‘Not someone you’ve got squirrelled away, is it?’

  ‘What?’ My head snaps back at him. ‘No.’

  That’s not entirely a lie. They haven’t met John because, as it turns out, they were never going to. Though, judging by the half-dozen missed calls and increasingly desperate text messages, he might have had a quick change of heart after I left him on the station platform last night. I swallow down nerves and grapple for a change of subject.

  ‘You know who isn’t particularly good at answering his phone?’ I ask, flopping back down in my chair and point at my father. ‘Your friend Christopher.’