Say Hello and Wave Goodbye Page 14

  I won’t go, I’ll have to stand Jonathan up.

  I press the answer button.

  ‘Hi Flynn,’ I say with a resigned tone.

  ‘Becca?’ Flynn’s voice sounds distant and I struggle to hear him over the rumble of what sounds like his truck. ‘Look, I’m really sorry but I’m going to be late. Had a bit of a shit day – hit a sewer pipe, pardon the pun. Been hanging around waiting for the water board to arrive and sort it out.’

  ‘Oh, no! Poor you, I bet the last thing you feel like doing it going out. It’s not a problem if you want to cancel.’

  I cross my fingers as I say it because obviously it’s a massive problem for me but I feel I should make the offer. I just hope he doesn’t take me up on it.

  ‘What?’ he shouts. ‘You must be joking; I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I’ve been practising my part and everything, you’ll be giving me an Oscar by the end of the night. ’

  ‘Well if you’re sure.’ I heave a huge sigh of relief.

  ‘I am. Text me the name of the restaurant and I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.’

  ‘Will do,’ I shout over the roar of the truck. There’s a burst of static and then silence.

  I quickly text Flynn the address and my phone bleeps before I have a chance to put it away; my taxi has arrived. I pick up my handbag and quickly check my appearance in the mirror; time to face the music.

  ✽✽✽

  The taxi man chats incessantly, asking me a million questions but fortunately not waiting for any replies because I’m far too nervous to make small talk. I let his cheery babbling wash over me as I try to quell the butterflies that are threatening to burst out of my stomach like a scene from a horror film. Should I have taken my car instead? I did consider it but decided that I needed at least one drink to be able to get through the evening.

  One drink , snorts the Beccabird. As if.

  Okay, maybe two but definitely no more. I can’t afford to get drunk and lower my guard. Thank God Flynn is going to be here to stop me from doing anything foolish; he won’t let me get bladdered because I’ve told him that he has to stop me from drinking too much. Although he wasn’t overly helpful on that score; told me that he thought I was a hilarious drunk and it might be entertaining to watch and may possibly be the highlight of the evening.

  So he obviously didn’t mind the Ronald McDonald joke.

  The slowing down of the car wakes me from my daydreams as the taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. I lean forward and give the driver a ten-pound note and wave the proffered change away as I get out. The driver tells me to have a lovely evening and says it was nice talking to me.

  I stand on the pavement for a moment and try to get my bearings; there are a few people ambling in and out of the pub next door to the restaurant and I can see people through the windows seated at tables. The inside looks warm and inviting with its twinkly lighting and candles and white tablecloths. If I were meeting anyone else I’d be looking forward to eating here because it’s not somewhere I’ve been before; mostly because it’s too expensive. This evening is going to cost me because there’s no way I’ll let Jonathan pay and I’ll be paying for Flynn too because it’s a small reward for what he’s doing for me.

  Aware that Jonathan might be watching me through the window from inside I clip clop through the rather grand doorway into the restaurant before I can change my mind. I quickly scan around the room and spy Jonathan sitting at a corner table. It’s a small round table and it’s going to be rather cosy when they have to lay another place for Flynn. I stifle a nervous giggle and watch as Jonathan spots me and waves at me before summoning a waiter. He has a brief conversation with the waiter who nods and makes his way across the room towards me. I watch and wait as he weaves his way between the tables until he reaches me and leans in and mutters something that I can’t possibly hear. He then does a swift about turn and I follow him to Jonathan’s table.

  Ever the gentleman – or a good imposter – Jonathan stands up as I arrive at the table and he takes my hand in his and kisses me on the cheek. As his lips brush my skin I catch a hint of very yummy aftershave and I can feel that my face is already on fire. I stand mute and statue like .

  ‘Good to see you.’ He keeps hold of my hand and looks at me appraisingly. ‘It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Nice to see you, too,’ I mutter unconvincingly. The waiter gives a little cough and I see that he’s pulled the chair out for me so I pull my hand away and step around the table and sit down. The waiter shoves the chair in a bit too forcefully and I feel the edge of the chair ramming into the back of my knees. Before I can speak the menu is thrust into my hand and I watch as wine is poured into my glass before the waiter silently moves away.

  I try to study the menu but stare at it unseeingly; I can feel Jonathan’s unflinching gaze from across the table and I force myself not to fidget under his scrutiny.

  ‘You look lovely, Bex, but then you always did.’

  I tear my eyes away from the menu and look at him and he gives me a lopsided smile and against my wishes my stomach does a flip.

  ‘Thank you,’ is all I manage to say. He looks good too; crisp white shirt with the neck slightly open, pale grey trousers with a matching jacket slung carelessly over the back of the chair revealing an expensive silk lining.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d come tonight.’ He raises his wine glass and takes a sip. ‘Didn’t know whether your boyfriend would let you hook up with an old flame.’

  I’ve hardly sat down and he’s done what he always managed to do; put me on the back foot, make me feel somehow as if I’ve done something wrong, as if I’m somehow being unreasonable. He blatantly doesn’t believe that I have a partner from the way he said boyfriend . I notice that his accent is even more upper class than when we were together; more polished, more natural . He’s obviously been practising or had elocution lessons .

  ‘Oh, Flynn’s not the jealous type.’ I pick up my glass and take a satisfying gulp. ‘We’re sure of each other and he knows he has nothing to fear from some old boyfriend,’ I say as if I have hundreds of ex-boyfriends lurking around every corner. I take another gulp of wine and put the glass down to stop myself from guzzling it all. Now would be the perfect opportunity to tell him that Flynn is coming tonight and I wonder why I don’t. Do I want to play games and let Jonathan get the wrong idea? I think maybe I do. I think I might want to enjoy myself a bit first.

  ‘If you were my girlfriend I wouldn’t let you go out with another man. I’d want to keep you all to myself.’

  I shrug and take another glug of wine.

  Slow down ! screams the Beccabird. You need to tell him now that Flynn is coming!

  ‘Well I’m not your girlfriend, am I? And as I recall when I was your girlfriend it didn’t stop you from seeing other women.’ I regret saying it the minute I’ve uttered it because I see the hint of a satisfied smile cross Jonathan’s lips. I curse myself for letting him provoke a reaction out of me.

  ‘Ancient history.’ He waves away the waiter who has reappeared at the table to take our order and who effortlessly wheels around and glides off. ‘I was a different person then; we were different people then. My life is quite different now.’ He sits back and gives the goofy smile; the one where he catches his lip, the smile that I used to think so sexy. It is sexy, but also, I realise, calculated.

  ‘I don’t think I was any different to how I am now; except maybe I was too trusting, too easily taken in.’ I stare at him and force myself not to look away. Get out of that one, you bastard.

  ‘You shouldn’t do yourself down, I think you were maybe a bit obsessed with money back then, had a working-class mentality towards it.’

  I stare at him, mouth open and absolutely agog. Trust him to turn whatever I say around; I wasn’t doing myself down but somehow he’s managed to make it seem like I was. To make it feel like I did.

  ‘What?’ I manage to splutter. Out of the corner of my eye I see the waiter approach our table and ve
er silently away before he reaches it.

  ‘It’s the working-class obsession.’ Jonathan picks up his wine glass and twirls it around thoughtfully. ‘The mentality of paying your bills and not taking a risk with money, not being in debt, the petty rules of never having what you can’t afford, saving up for things. It’s not your fault, you were brought up like it, whereas I…’ He takes a sip of his wine, ‘…have never been averse to a bit of risk. You have to gamble to make big money, speculate to accumulate, you know.’

  ‘Funny, that…’ I pick my glass up and drain it despite the Beccabird’s squawks, ‘…because as far as I remember you were very definitely working-class, or should I say un-working class,’ I add spitefully.

  Jonathan laughs and I see that my nasty comment has had no effect on him at all. He pours the rest of the bottle of wine between our two glasses and holds the bottle up and waggles it at the waiter.

  ‘Class isn’t about up-bringing, it’s a state of mind.’ He taps his forehead for emphasis. ‘You can’t do anything about your parents, it’s the luck of the draw I’m afraid and my parents definitely weren’t the best. But you can change your mindset and lose that bad start which is what I’ve done, and is why I’m so successful.’ He sits back with a self-satisfied smile and I have the feeling he thinks I should congratulate him.

  History has been rewritten; he’d never admit that he swindled me out of my house by fraudulently obtaining credit cards in my name; wild horses wouldn’t get Jonathan to admit that he’d done anything wrong. Somehow, he manages to make everything not his fault and succeeds in making me feel mean spirited and provincial for caring too much about money. It’s pointless even talking about the past, he never admitted he’d done anything wrong then so why would he admit it now?

  ‘No significant other?’ I ask in an attempt to change the subject. Jonathan stares at me thoughtfully and then looks down at the table.

  ‘I’m not short of female company but there’s no one special; no one I want to settle down with. Again.’ He looks up at me through his eyelashes with a resigned smile.

  And there it is; he just can’t help himself; he always wants what he can’t have and has to prove that he can get anything or anyone he wants. He has to make sure to himself that he has the power to take what he wants, but as soon as he’s got it, he doesn’t want it anymore and discards it. It’s his mission to get me back but the very second he achieves it, I’ll be cast aside.

  ‘How long have you and Flynn been together? Because you gave me the impression it was years but from what Em says you’ve only just come back to Frogham.’

  Damn, he has been talking to Em. Does he know about the flat? I wonder how friendly they are – he’d know for sure I was lying if she’d told him about that. I’m surprised, because although I don’t know Em she doesn’t seem the sort of person to have chatty conversations about other people. I don’t know why I think that about her, but I do.

  ‘I have just come back; Flynn and I had a long- distance relationship for ages before I moved in with him.’

  Jonathan smirks.

  ‘Is that so? Because I was beginning to wonder if you’d made him up.’

  ‘Why ever would I do that?’ I give a fake sounding laugh and cross my fingers and pray that my face doesn’t turn beetroot.

  ‘To make me jealous. You didn’t seem like you were with someone else when you were flirting with Gav.’

  So he was watching me. Or questioning Gav.

  ‘I wasn’t flirting, just chatting.’ I make myself look him right in the eye.

  ‘Oh, trust me, you most definitely weren’t just chatting. I know you and you were all over Gav.’

  ‘You don’t know me,’ I say flatly. ‘It’s a very long time since you’ve known me.’

  ‘I do know you,’ he states, ‘And if I was Flynn I would not have been happy about you and Gav.’ He reaches across the table to me and touches the back of my hand and my fingers that are curled into a fist. ‘You need to relax, you seem very tense.’

  I stare at him and like a rabbit caught in the headlights I find myself unable to move. I slowly unfurl my fingers and release the tension and feel the dry warmth of Jonathan’s fingers as he gently covers my hand with his own. He gently strokes my fingers and our eyes lock and I can’t breathe. We stay like this for several moments until a shadow falls across the table and breaks the spell. I drag my gaze away from Jonathan and look up, expecting to see the insistent waiter again. A dark suited man is looking down at me and I get an impression of tanned skin, short cropped hair and piercing green eyes. He smiles at me showing perfect teeth and part of me wonders who this drop- dead gorgeous man could be.

  ‘Hello, darling, sorry I’m late. Aren’t you going to introduce me?’

  Jonathan and I gawp at him in astonishment.

  Flynn has arrived.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A nother place has been set and a chair has been brought over for Flynn. The three of us sit awkwardly around the small table as the waiter gives each of us a menu before gliding away and reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Flynn, who has definitely made a conquest.

  I should have told Jonathan straight away that Flynn was joining us; I missed the opportunity to pretend it was a misunderstanding on my part and when Flynn appeared, I was so shocked that it took me several minutes to remember the little speech that I’d prepared.

  Luckily, Flynn has obviously been practising his lines and he smoothly took charge and gave the impression that he thought he’d been invited all along. He was so good that he almost convinced me that Jonathan had asked both of us. Jonathan knew that I didn’t really think that he’d asked both of us but he went along with it; I didn’t like the look on his face, the knowing smirk. I have the feeling that he thinks I was trying to make him jealous by not telling him straight away that Flynn was coming.

  And you let him hold your hand , mocks you know who. And stroke it.

  Shut up .

  Thank God Flynn is here or who knows where it would have ended.

  And what an arrival - I can’t believe how different he looks. The Ronald McDonald hair has completely gone; whizzed off and replaced with very short, dark brown stubble. When he first appeared at our table I was stunned and for a moment I couldn’t think who he was, he completely took my breath away. I always knew he was good looking underneath that red hair but tonight he looks absolutely amazing, like a film star or a model, and I could see heads turning in our direction as he bent down and kissed me tenderly on the lips after he apologised for being late. Even though he’s gay and I knew it was only play acting I enjoyed every moment of it – who wouldn’t enjoy being the envy of every woman in the room? The kiss was wonderful too; his lips were soft and dry with none of that awful slobbering that some men go in for. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and pull him closer and keep on kissing him, he could definitely give Jonathan a run for his money in the kissing department.

  What is wrong with you? demands the Beccabird, wings on hips. One minute you’re drooling over an ex-boyfriend and the next you’re dreaming about snogging your gay landlord.

  I know, I’m just a mess.

  Jonathan’s face was an absolute picture; I wanted to take my mobile out and snap a photo of him so I could look at it and laugh in my lowest moments. His mouth didn’t quite drop open but it wasn’t far off, he was stunned into silence for once and he didn’t see the wink that Flynn gave me as he straightened up.

  Typically, after a few minutes he’d soon recovered himself and as he stood up to shake Flynn’s hand the practised, confident Jonathan took over. But I’d seen it, I’d seen that moment of doubt and the flash of jealousy as he took in Flynn’s appearance and realised he was being upstaged and put in the shade and that actually maybe I wasn’t lying after all.

  Jonathan is an imposing figure and a handsome man but stand him next to Flynn and he pales into insignificance. Actually, I think any man standing next to Flynn would fade away; I have to admit that I ha
ve a major crush on my gay best friend (well, soon to be best friend).

  Another bottle of wine was ordered and three glasses swiftly poured and I couldn’t help but notice that Jonathan betrayed his discomfort by draining half of his glass in the first swallow.

  ‘Sorry, I got the wrong end of the stick Jonathan, I honestly thought you’d invited both of us.’ I look across the table at him and give him a sheepish smile. ‘I should have realised that you hadn’t when I arrived as the table was only laid for two people.’ We both know that I’m lying but for once I don’t care.

  ‘Totally my mistake,’ Jonathan lies in his most pompous tone. ‘Of course I should have asked both of you. So glad for the misunderstanding otherwise I’d never have the pleasure of meeting your better half.’

  He gives Flynn a smile that never reaches his eyes and I wonder if he believes Flynn and I are together. I wonder if we’re doing a good job of fooling him or if he’s not fooled for a minute because yet again, I’m punching way above my weight.

  When we were together he always let me know in careless remarks and unfunny jokes that I was lucky to have him and that he was way out of my league and he could do far better if he wanted to. Pathetically, I totally agreed with him. Or he could have been joking – because you could never tell with Jonathan - and my rock bottom self-esteem put two and two together and made five.

  ‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ Flynn answers in an accent that sounds very like Jonathan’s own because he can’t help picking it up and copying it. ‘Becca’s told me all about you.’ He stares unsmilingly at Jonathan for a moment too long before slipping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close. I lay my head on his shoulder and snuggle up to him for a moment and wonder if I’m overdoing it.

  Yes, you are! barks the Beccabird. Overacting as usual!

  I don’t care, it’s very nice being in Flynn’s arms and the look of confusion on Jonathan’s face is priceless. His smile never falters but I know him too well and can see his brain working overtime; calculating how much Flynn really knows about him, did I tell him everything and does he have anything to fear from him? He’s not to know that I haven’t told him all of the sordid, tacky details to spare myself the humiliation, not him .