Monday in the Bat Cave was a quiet one, which was just as well, seeing as my head was still trying to piece together the jigsaw puzzle of the weekend. Mick seemed unusually preoccupied, his trusty one-liners absent as we tried to find things to do to look busy in case Amanda stuck her nose in.
‘Good weekend?’ I asked, attempting to start a conversation.
‘Not bad. You?’
‘Great, actually. We were playing at my friend’s sister’s wedding in Shropshire.’
‘Nice. Well, I got chatted up on Saturday night.’
‘You did? Fantastic! Tell me details.’
Mick smiled a shy smile. ‘She’s someone I’ve known for a while, actually. She comes into my local with her friends and there’s always a bit of banter. It’s fun.’
‘So have you asked her out yet?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
He stared at his screen. ‘It just hasn’t been the right time yet.’
‘But you think she’d say yes if you did?’
‘I’d like to think so.’
‘Then what are you waiting for? If you don’t say something now, how will she ever know?’
He grunted. ‘Maybe I’m waiting for her to take the hint.’
‘Mick!’ I laughed. ‘If you like her you should ask her out. Or someone else might get there before you.’
He swivelled in his chair to face me. ‘When did you get so clever, eh?’
Leaning forward, I stretched out a knot in my lower back. ‘Call it almost a year of searching for someone I should have held on to when I had the chance.’
Lately, the thought had crossed my mind more than once that maybe I should have done something more on the day I met PK. I should have run after him through the snowy streets, or scribbled my number on the back of his hand in eyeliner – the kind of things that characters in chick-flicks do when they are about to be separated from the one they are meant to be with. But it had all happened so quickly that by the time I had processed the details he was gone, swallowed up into the Christmas crowds.
Since Frankie and Owen’s wedding, the uncertainty I felt about Charlie had definitely unnerved me – not least because I thought I had put my feelings for him to bed months ago. Truth was, I didn’t want to be thinking about him; I wanted to be absolutely focused on finding PK, putting all my hopes and dreams and energies into the quest. From Charlie’s hot and cold reactions at the weekend, it was impossible to gauge where he stood on the matter, and I was well aware that the only person likely to be losing sleep over it all was me.
Curled up in front of the television later that night, my attention drifted from Lorelai and Luke’s ‘will-they-won’t-they’ scenes in Gilmore Girls to a delightful intrusion of PK’s face in my thoughts. The memory of being in his arms had to become my sole focus. Get this right, I reasoned, and Charlie-centred musings would cease to be relevant.
In the meantime, Charlie was going to return to the only role I wanted him to assume in my life: that of my best friend.
To: romilyp@bubblemail.com
From: caytebrogan@gmail.com
Hi Romily
I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but I wanted to say how truly sorry I am for betraying your trust.
I can’t defend my actions, so I won’t even try. I got caught up in the whirlwind of everything and my stupid ambition got the better of me. But I had no idea what damage it would cause, both to your own reputation and to my personal life. I deserve it, I know, and believe me I’m under no illusions that this is anyone’s fault but mine.
The thing is, I lost Tom, and it’s killing me to know that I threw away something so special in the name of a scoop. He won’t even speak to me, or hear me out. I love him and I’m lost without him. I want to put things right. I’m not thinking that this will bring him back to me at all, but it’s the right thing to do. He won’t listen to me. But he might listen to you.
I know he loves you to bits, Romily, and he respects you. If you could forgive me, then maybe he would at least listen to what I want to say to him. That’s all I’m asking – and I know it’s a big ask. It’s not your problem and I don’t deserve you to even be reading this email (maybe you aren’t).
Please forgive me. I have no idea what to do to make amends for the pain and embarrassment I caused you, but I’ll find some way of making it up to you, I promise.
That’s all. Thanks for reading.
Cayte
I stared at the email at work, thinking that maybe if I looked at it for long and hard enough it would disappear. Because it couldn’t be real, could it? I must have had my mouth open because the next thing I knew a screwed-up ball of paper bounced off my lips, followed by the raucous laughter of my colleague.
‘Denied! No, don’t close it, Rom. One more shot.’
‘Loser.’
‘You have to admit, that was funny? No?’ Mick shook his head. ‘My comic genius is wasted in here. So what’s up? You won the lottery or something?’
I smiled and threw the paper ball back at him. ‘Do you really think I’d be still sitting here if I was?’
‘Fair point. What is it, then?’ He wheeled his chair over to mine and swore loudly when he saw the email. ‘She’s having a laugh, isn’t she? I hope you’re going to tell her to take a running jump.’
I stared back at the screen. ‘Hmm.’
Mick’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are going to tell her to get lost, aren’t you?’
I faked a smile. ‘Yes, absolutely. Blimmin’ cheek.’
He was far from convinced. ‘Well make sure you do. That woman doesn’t deserve a minute more of your time.’
Through the rest of the day, Cayte’s email played on my mind. While Mick and I worked on jingles for a loan company, a bingo site and yet another double-glazing firm, my thoughts were somewhere else entirely. By the time I arrived home that evening, my mind was made up.
Yes, Cayte didn’t deserve it, but this was the right thing to do – for me and for Tom. He’d been utterly miserable without her and, whatever else I thought about her, I could see that she’d made him happy. I suspected that the main reason he wasn’t talking to her now was out of loyalty to me. I didn’t want revenge – even though most of my friends seemed to want it for me – so it was up to me to be the bigger person. Besides, Cayte had mocked me for my belief in true love. Perhaps the best comeback I could make was to demonstrate how wrong she was …
‘You have got to be kidding me!’ Wren’s indignation lit up her apartment brighter than the floodlights at Villa Park.
‘I thought it was a good idea,’ I protested, but Wren wasn’t listening.
‘You’re unbelievable! This woman wrecked your life more or less and now you’re playing Cilla Black so she can have a happy-ever-after? So Cayte flamin’ Brogan is unhappy after qualifying for Bitch of the Year and stuffing up her own life? Diddums – my heart bleeds. Perhaps she should have thought of what might happen before she humiliated you.’
I didn’t have an answer for that, agreeing with pretty much everything Wren was articulating. ‘To be fair, I think she’s actually moved on quite a lot since Cayte-gate.’
Wren snorted. ‘Don’t make me laugh. As if a woman like that is capable of moving on with anything except her own motives. Of course, you realise she’s talking through her cheeks, don’t you? She’s playing you as easily as she played you last time and you’re just rolling over and taking it.’
I flopped down on the sofa, watching any remaining chances I had of winning this argument slinking out of the room in shame. ‘I don’t expect you to understand, Wren. I just wanted to tell you about it.’
Hands on hips in the middle of the living room, she frowned at me, but I sensed her fury was dying down. ‘I’m just so mad at the woman for how little she thought of you when it was all about getting an exclusive story. She should have seen you for the courageous, beautiful go-getter you truly are, but instead all she saw was her ticket to the big-time. That angers me, and I won’t forgive her for it.’ She pulled a hairband from her wrist and wound her red curls into a loose bun at the back of her head. ‘What on earth is Tom going to say about all this? He is so gutted about what she did.’
I averted my eyes. ‘Yes – he was.’
Slowly, the realisation dawned. ‘You’ve already done this, haven’t you?’
My apologetic smile condemned me and I knew it. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon, just before I came here. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but Tom needed to be the first to hear it.’
‘I can’t believe you! How was he?’
How many words did she want? Angry, hurt, incensed, disbelieving, quiet, cold, emotional, lost … all of these and more in the space of a thirty-minute conversation. I hated inflicting this on him, loathed that I was the one witnessing his struggle between bitterness and longing when Cayte should have had to endure this. After his initial reaction, Tom had become very still, staring at a sight a hundred thousand miles away from the compact front room of his terraced house. I wanted to hug him, but suddenly wasn’t sure whether he now felt I had betrayed our friendship by bringing this literally to his door. I was debating what to say when he spoke, his voice strained and low.
‘Tell me why I should.’
‘I don’t think I can …’
He raised his head. ‘Then tell me why you agreed to talk to me.’
I desperately hoped that this would make sense when it came out – because I was having trouble deciphering my motives as well.
‘All I can say is that I recognised something in her that I’ve seen in myself since I started my quest. I don’t like what she did to me – and I hate what she did to you. I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for that. But what I do know is that she’s realised how amazing you are. And I know it may be too little, too late, but this is her last chance to put everything right. And I don’t know, but I think if I was in her position and I’d hurt someone I knew I was in love with I’d move heaven and earth to make amends. I would do whatever it took to make him hear me. I can’t tell you to take her back; I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could. But I promised I would talk to you, and that’s what I’ve done. What happens now is none of my business.’
He had looked at me for a long time. ‘You’re one of my best friends and you mean the world to me. You’ve always been fair and I know you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t thought it through first.’ He rubbed his chin and nodded. ‘Tell her to call me tonight. But I’m making no promises about anything.’
‘I still think she’s a proper cowbag for making you do her dirty work,’ Wren shook her head. ‘But I’ve got to hand it to you, Rom, you’ve more balls than me. I bet she was over the moon when you called her.’
‘There were a lot of tears and thanks.’
‘Hmm. Well I hope she realises how gracious you’ve been. If there’s such a thing as karma then I reckon PK is already on his way to find you.’
‘Let’s hope there’s a stealth jet nearby so he can get here tonight!’
Joking aside, the thought that my actions might influence events regarding PK gave me an immense shot of hope. Regardless of the result of Tom and Cayte’s tentative cease-fire, I knew I’d done the right thing. Once again, I’d followed my heart – even though it led me towards the most difficult path – and I had stayed true to myself.
As I considered everything that had happened, something Auntie Mags had said to me suddenly came back into sharp focus:
‘You must always be yourself, Romily, no matter what. Because, at the end of the day, that’s all you have.’
The beginning of October brought gale force winds that lashed the city and brought several centenarian trees crashing to the ground. Uncle Dudley called to tell me that the main road had been blocked for the best part of a day while council workers struggled to dissect and remove a four-hundred-year-old oak tree felled by the wind overnight. In the end, he and a group of narrowboat skippers had offered their assistance, finally clearing the road at six pm. Always one to spot an opportunity, Uncle Dudley managed to secure a large section of the fallen tree from the grateful council staff, who were only too happy to transport it half a mile to the narrowboat moorings, thus providing a significant amount of free firewood that would keep the stoves of everyone’s galleys toasty for several weeks.
While my uncle was battling the elements outside, my aunt was engaged in a battle of her own of an altogether different kind – although just as potentially tempestuous. The first I heard of it was when she unexpectedly called me at work and asked if we could meet for lunch.
It was a pleasant surprise and a well-timed interruption from the wonders of writing something suitably annoying for a corn plaster commercial. I arranged to meet her at Chez Henri, a small family-run French bistro just off New Street that I know she particularly likes.
During the first course, we chatted about everything and nothing: work, the weather, Uncle Dudley’s valiant struggle with the fallen tree, Elvis’ ear infection which had led to him crashing about Our Pol in a wide plastic moon collar to stop him scratching … All the time, I could see something unspoken causing the corners of her smile to tighten.
When our desserts arrived (the real reason my aunt loves Chez Henri) I watched as she carefully rotated the plate, studying its construction as closely as the Jewellery Quarter jeweller inspecting an antique diamond necklace.
‘Faultless, effortless …’ she breathed, shaking her head in awe. ‘This is the highest order of confectionery skill.’ Then, quite out of the blue, she burst into tears.
‘Auntie Mags, what’s wrong?’ I pleaded, shocked to see such an intense flood of emotion coming from my usually level-headed aunt. Her loud, full-body sobs were startling the other diners in the restaurant.
‘I’ll never be able to compete with this! What was I thinking?’
‘What do you mean? Why do you have to compete?’ For a moment I half-wondered if Auntie Mags had entered MasterChef – something Uncle Dudley drives her mad suggesting whenever they’re watching it.
‘Ooh, ignore your old batty auntie,’ she sniffed, wiping her eyes with her napkin. ‘It’s just that I’ve … well, I’ve gone and done something a bit silly.’
‘Madame Parker, are you well?’ asked Jean-Jacques, the assistant manager and son of the restaurant owner, arriving at our table after being alerted by one of the waitresses, who now half-hid behind him. The family is great friends with Auntie Mags and Uncle Dudley, who have been coming to this restaurant since they first got together.
Blushing, she smiled up at him. ‘I am now, JJ. I’m so sorry for scaring your customers.’
‘You mustn’t worry about that. We are concerned about you,’ Jean-Jacques replied, with the waitress and now the wine waiter and the maître d’ all nodding their agreement either side of him. ‘Please, tell us what has happened to make you so sad?’
Auntie Mags sniffed again and addressed her growing audience at the table. ‘I was just explaining to my niece that I’ve been a little … impulsive.’ Her smile was apologetic as she looked at me. ‘It was something you said in the summer when you came to stay with us, Romily, about my cakes being like therapy? Well, I haven’t been able to get that thought out of my mind ever since. And then when your blog followers started asking me for my recipes, it all seemed to point to one obvious thing. I mean, life’s too short to put things off, isn’t it?’
Jean-Jacques, the waitress, the wine waiter, the maître d’, the couple at the next table (who had now turned their chairs to face us) and I all nodded.
‘Well, that’s what I thought until … But I’m getting ahead of myself.’ She smoothed the napkin into a neat triangle beside her plate and took a deep breath. ‘Yesterday morning, I signed the lease on a small tea shop in Kingsbury village, with some of the inheritance money from my mother that I’ve been squirrelling away for a rainy day. And I know what you’re going to say, Jean-Jacques, and I agree totally – it was impetuous …’
‘No, Madame!’ The assembled staff shook their heads in unison with their boss.
‘But it was! What do I know about food service?’
‘That’s nonsense, Auntie M. You bake all the time and your meals are always wonderful,’ I protested.
‘For my family and friends, yes, but I don’t know the first thing about health and safety regulations, or food hygiene thingies! And how will I know what to make every day, or how much to make? I’m starting a business in the premises of a former tea shop that went bust in six months – that’s not a great omen to begin with, is it?’ Tears welled in her lovely grey eyes once more and she gave a helpless shrug. ‘You see? It’s hopeless.’
The waitress and the wine waiter placed sympathetic hands on her shoulders as Jean-Jacques, the other diners and the maître d’ offered their best sympathetic smiles.
‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ I said, reaching across to take hold of her hand. ‘Your cakes are like magic. You should be sharing them with the world. I’ll help you to sort everything out – and so will Uncle Dudley.’
‘And you must come to the kitchens after service one day for my father to tell you about the regulations,’ Jean-Jacques agreed. ‘You can ask us anything.’
Hope glistened in Auntie Mags’ eyes as she looked around at the impromptu team of cheerleaders gathered round her chair. ‘Do you really think it could work?’
It was impossible not to grin as I reassured her with the very words she had said to me when I was launching into the unknown at the beginning of my quest: ‘Absolutely. You just have to believe that it’s possible.’
I love your blog posts so much, Romily! The way you believe in possibility is really inspirational. I’ve been trying to do the same and I really think it’s helping. I’ve already found my happy-ever-after, although everything else in my life has been challenged. What I know is that when you find the one for you, nothing can shake it. I wish for you what I’ve found. Keep going! xx Ysobabe8
Thanks for your encouragement! That means a lot. It’s great to know that you’re feeling positive about things, too. I’m glad I’ve helped, even if it’s just in a little way. As for me, even though right now I can’t see what’s ahead for the quest and things have definitely gone quiet, I’m not giving up hope. xx RomilyP
The following Tuesday, an excited phone message from Jack summoned me to his studio after work. He was waiting by the fire exit when I arrived in the car park.
‘Is everything OK?’ I asked, a little unnerved by this enthusiastic welcoming committee. Jack is usually so laid-back he makes snails look like they’re in a hurry.
‘Fine, fine – excellent,’ he gabbled, ushering me inside and slamming the door behind us. When I sat down in the black leather office chair, Jack was practically hovering off the edge of his seat.
Amused, I giggled. ‘What on earth is up with you?’
His smile was wider than I’ve ever seen it before (excepting, perhaps, the time we surprised him with front row tickets to see Prince in concert for his birthday). ‘We might just have had a breakthrough.’
‘Who might have?’
‘Us – me and you, Rom! Keep up, will you?’
‘What kind of breakthrough?’
‘A music kind of breakthrough …’
Now my interest was fully switched on. ‘Tell me.’
He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right. You know those two songs we sent to the music lawyer ages back? Well, I had a very enlightening phone conversation this afternoon with one of the music buyers for Integral – they handle some of the biggest names in the industry. Turns out someone there listened to our tracks and passed them on to Mitchell, the senior music buyer.’
My heart was racing. I knew Integral well – they had been one of the labels we had always joked about being signed to when we were in our teens and writing truly awful songs together. Could it really be possible that they were interested in us? ‘So what did they say?’
He took a breath. ‘They liked what they heard. And they want more. Six more, to be precise. They have an artist in development at the moment and they’re looking for something fresh that will set them apart. I can hardly believe I’m saying this – but they think our stuff is what they’ve been looking for!’
I let out a yelp as Jack jumped up and wrapped his arms around me, the pair of us jumping around like children, until we fell back breathless into our chairs, mirroring dopey grins at each other. This was crazy – our songs had become something we did for fun and we had long since put our unrealistic teenage dreams of chart-storming stardom behind us. I knew we were good, but I never in my wildest dreams thought that anyone else would be interested in them but us.
‘Who’d have thought it, eh? Our tunes being commercial,’ Jack grinned. ‘I’ve been in a daze since I spoke to them. But I know we can do it. We totally rock!’
‘We so do!’ Trying to get a grip on my emotions, I made a concerted effort to calm my racing pulse. ‘Wait – OK, what does this actually mean for us? In terms of time frames …?’
Jack calmed himself sufficiently to talk shop. ‘Realistically, Integral are looking to receive the extra tracks in the New Year. The guy I spoke to reckons they’ll be searching in earnest for the album tracks from around mid-January. We’re just lucky to have come to his attention while they’re in the planning stages. I don’t think this is “give up your day job” stuff just yet – but if they like them, and this artist turns out to be suitable, who knows where it might lead? So, what you think?’
It was a lot to take in, but the easiest decision I’ve ever made. ‘I’m in if you are.’
Jack reached out and shook my hand. ‘Deal.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘We work out when we’re actually going to write these songs,’ Jack replied. ‘I reckon we give ourselves six weeks – aiming to deliver them by the end of the second week of January.’ He flashed a wry smile at me. ‘I suppose it’ll be good for you to focus past the end of this year for a change.’
Wow. That was a new thought to add to the mix. I hadn’t really considered what I would be doing after my Christmas Eve deadline. I had lived with the quest and my thoughts of PK day in, day out for the past ten months and had come to rely on them always being with me. But the truth was, time was running out and, come Christmas Day, the quest would be over. What would I do then? I hadn’t considered how I would walk away into the rest of my life if he didn’t show up. I had so many people rooting for me, believing in what I’d pledged my year to achieve: what would they do after midnight on Christmas Eve if I failed to find my mystery man? Would it be like the scene in Forrest Gump where he just stops running and everyone following him is left standing when he turns to begin the long walk home?
The prospect of at least a foot in the door at Integral was exciting. It wasn’t the career in music that I dreamed of – not yet. But it was a start: and that, surely, was something we could build on. As we excitedly discussed how we would go about this, I marvelled at how far I had come in almost a year. Searching for PK, no matter how fruitless it had proved to be so far, had undeniably stood me in good stead for learning to wholeheartedly pursue my heart’s desires. And if I could get to the end of this year knowing I’d remained true to myself, then all boded well for next year … whatever it might bring.
With a free weekend that week, The Pinstripes arranged a weekend gathering at Jack and Soph’s, beginning with a meal on Friday night, followed by a bike ride at Cannock Chase the next day. One good thing that had come out of our gig drought of late was that we had been able to spend a lot more time together doing non-music-related things. I arrived before everyone else and helped Jack prepare the component parts of the meal. By the time Sophie arrived home, an impressive selection of delicious tapas was laid out on the table in the dining room.
Sophie was grave-faced when I handed her a freshly brewed mug of tea. ‘You know Tom’s bringing her tonight, don’t you?’
I didn’t have to ask to whom she was referring. Since Tom and Cayte announced their tentative intentions to give their relationship a second chance, my friends had been sharply divided over the decision. Sophie was unrepentant in her opinion: ‘I don’t think she deserves to come back. Frankly, I’m surprised at Tom for believing her.’
‘It was his choice, hun. We have to support him.’
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘That’s as maybe. But I don’t have to like it – or her.’
Right on cue, Tom and Cayte entered, he looking a lot more relaxed than she was. His eyes lit up when he saw me. ‘Hey you,’ he said, giving me what Uncle Dudley would call a ‘hug that could crush walnuts’, ‘thanks – you know, for this.’
I hugged him back. ‘You’re welcome.’
Cayte hesitantly offered a hug, which I accepted briefly. ‘Romily, I …’
‘I know. Hi.’ I might have been instrumental in bringing them back together, but I wasn’t quite ready to be bosom buddies just yet.
Wren and Charlie arrived an hour later, after a meeting at Charlie’s dad Henry’s art gallery.
‘I’m doing a jazz gig there next month,’ she told me. ‘Henry reckons it could be a regular thing.’ Her eyes were sad tonight – noticeably so.
‘That’s great – isn’t it?’ I asked.
Wren’s smile said otherwise. ‘Yeah, of course it is. It’ll make my bank manager a little happier at least.’
Sophie clapped her hands. ‘OK, everyone, food’s ready.’
We dutifully filed through into the dining room, everyone making approving noises about the spread of tapas before us. As we moved around filling our plates, I could see the dynamics change around Cayte. Sophie avoided her entirely, watched carefully by Jack; Tom stayed close behind her, his right hand protectively at the small of her back and his eyes flicking to each of us, trying to gauge our reactions; Wren was in a world of her own and seemed oblivious to everything going on around her; while Charlie made an effort to include Cayte in the conversation drifting between us all.
‘Bet you’ve never seen so much tapas in one room before, eh, Cayte?’
‘I haven’t. You’ve done a great job, Sophie.’
Sophie muttered something and walked into the kitchen. Cayte’s smile remained in place, but the tension in her expression was unmissable.
‘Guys, don’t feel you have to stand up in here,’ Jack said quickly, smiling broadly. ‘Let’s go into the living room where we can all relax, yeah?’
Tom and Cayte were the first to leave, with Charlie following close behind. Jack gave me a despairing smile and headed into the kitchen to pacify his girlfriend, leaving Wren and I alone by the mountain of buffet food.
‘I don’t think Cayte’s in for an easy ride tonight,’ I said.
‘Hmm.’ Wren was absent-mindedly picking at a pile of salad on her plate.
‘Right, what’s up?’
‘What? Nothing, I’m fine.’ She popped an olive into her mouth and chewed vigorously. ‘See? I’m eating and everything. So no need to worry.’
‘Wren …’
Her face fell instantly. ‘Oh, OK. Seth broke it off last night.’
‘The barista? How come?’
Her curls bounced as she shook her head. ‘I don’t know. One minute he was über-keen, the next he announces we’re not working and he’s found someone else. Guys just don’t seem to want to hang around for me after the initial chase. What am I doing wrong, Rom? I mean, am I hideous or something?’ Tears sparkled at the corners of her impossibly large, cocoa brown eyes.
I hugged her, feeling the shudder of her shoulders as her tears began to fall. ‘The right one is out there for you, I know he is. He might be closer than you think. You just have to focus on what makes you happy until he arrives, that’s all, instead of putting your life on hold indefinitely.’
She sniffed. ‘I know. I’d just like a man I could keep hold of, you know?’
Right at that moment, I knew exactly what she meant.