‘Welcome one and all to the beautiful surroundings of Cannock Chase,’ Jack announced next day, leaping on to a rock by the car park as we gathered together. ‘As you are no doubt aware, we are gathered here today to help our very good friend Wren Malloy in her quest for the perfect school outing.’
We broke into hammy applause as Wren took a bow.
‘Thanks, Jack. Now as you know, I do not do bikes in any shape or form and I really, really need to impress my Head so that he might consider giving me a pay rise sometime before I retire. So I need you bikey people to tell me how you find the trails, if you think a bunch of fourteen-year-olds would enjoy it here and how good the facilities are. Also let me know if there’s anything you think could be a problem. Honest opinions, please.’
Jack jumped down from the boulder. ‘Right, so the idea today is that we complete at least three circuits, following the white and yellow arrow bike trails. If you fancy a breather at any time, come back from the road crossing on the orange trail, which will conveniently deposit you at the refreshment cabin. I’d suggest people wait there anyway once they’re done and then we’ll head back to ours tonight to compare notes.’
Clutching the handlebars of our mountain bikes, we all sounded our agreement and disbanded – D’Wayne and Tom racing off first due to a bet they had made that morning to try to get four circuits in before lunch. Wren and Sophie, both confirmed non-bikers, headed in the opposite direction to start the foot trail, while Cayte, the latest convert to The Pinstripes’ bike club, rode steadily towards the easier bike trail with Jack, who last night had promised to accompany her – no doubt as part of his attempt to build bridges. With everyone else thus occupied, Charlie and I were left together. He fastened his cycle helmet and put on his gloves. ‘Well, looks like just thee and me, kid. Thanks for keeping me company.’
I adjusted the knee support on my left leg. ‘You’re welcome.’ Noticing he was fiddling with the water bottle clipped to the frame of his bike, I decided to take advantage. ‘Shame you’re going to come last, though!’ I called over my shoulder as I rode quickly away over the ginger-brown pine-needled floor of the forest, feeling the rush of pine-scented air against my face.
‘Oi!’ I heard him shout after me. ‘Alright, Parker, you want a race? I’ll give you a race!’
We sped through the undulating terrain of the trail, dodging the low-hanging tree branches and roots that jutted out into the path, attempting to negotiate the obstacles with some finesse, but more often than not resorting to what amounted to ‘falling with style’. As I neared the start of a hairpin right-hand bend, I misjudged the angle and skidded, feet flailing, over to one edge of the steep drop that fell away from the path, just about recovering in time to see Charlie overtaking me, laughing triumphantly as he did so.
‘You’ve asked for it now!’ I yelled, the rush of adrenalin intoxicating as I pedalled quickly in his wake.
I was inches away from his back wheel, but he managed to stay just a fraction ahead of me. At this point, some of Dick Dastardly’s sabotage contraptions would have come in rather handy, I mused to myself, pushing my legs as fast as I could to move alongside Charlie, just as the trail levelled out.
‘Your ass is mine, Wakeley!’ I grinned.
Charlie’s smile lit up the forest clearer than a spotlight on a night ride. ‘Tempting, Parker, but I think I’d rather woop yours.’ He found a reserve of energy from nowhere and pushed a length ahead of me, laughing like a loon as he looked back over his shoulder.
Schoolboy error, right there. Because unfortunately he didn’t see the rather large and pointed granite boulder directly in front of him until it was too late. With a yelp, his front wheel hit the rock head on, flipping him clean over the handlebars to land and skid a few metres down the sandy path on his bottom. It was so hilarious a sight that I guffawed with laughter, sensing my victory was near.
Unfortunately for me, nearer still was the exact same rock he had collided with moments before, and my front wheel crashed into it, flinging me to the ground inches away from Charlie’s winded but guffawing body. Rocked with gasping breaths of laughter, I lay on the ground for a time, my backside complaining vehemently.
When our mirth subsided, Charlie hauled himself upright, offering me his hand. ‘Are you OK?’
I checked myself and, apart from an incredibly dirty behind and a shallow scrape along the length of my thigh, I appeared to have survived the fall. ‘Yes, thanks. You?’
‘I’ll live.’ He gave a rueful smile and rested his tall frame on a verdant, fern-fringed grassy bank at the edge of the trail.
Still amused, I flopped down next to him and picked a dried beech leaf from the lace of my shoe. With its tall, majestic trees stretching up from the lush green foliage, the forest around us was breathtaking in both appearance and size – stretching in all directions as far as the eye could see.
‘I’ve come here all my life, but I’m always amazed by this place,’ Charlie said, watching the kerfuffle of two crows scrapping for supremacy in the branches of a pine tree opposite. He turned to look at me. ‘I know that sounds lame.’
‘No, not at all. I think you should be proud of how you feel.’
‘Like you are with your quest, you mean?’
It came completely out of the blue. I blinked away my surprise. ‘Yes, I suppose so. I’m a big believer that you should be able to express your feelings, whatever situation you find yourself in.’ Suddenly self-conscious, I added, ‘It works for me, anyway.’
His blue eyes were very still. ‘It’s a good plan. That bloke is lucky to have someone like you searching for him.’
The intensity of his gaze unsettled me a little. I looked away. ‘Yes, well. At the moment I don’t know if he would even remember me.’
‘Well, in that case he’s a fool. All the same, it’s good that you have the support of those people on your blog.’ There was a pause. ‘I support you, too. I hope you know that.’
I turned back to meet his gaze. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’
A gentle smile broke across his lips. ‘Even if you do have half the forest floor plastered to your face.’ Reaching up, he brushed the dirt from my cheek with the deftest of strokes, his midnight blue eyes never leaving mine. My breath quickened a little as his fingers came to a gentle rest on the con tour of my cheekbone, and I could see the pronounced rise and fall of his chest in reply to mine. Suddenly, it was as if the whole forest was filled with sparks of electricity, as an invisible force began to pull us gradually, instinctively closer …
‘SLACKERS!!!’
Tom’s shout as he approached us shattered the moment and we jumped back from each other, startled by the intrusion. He skidded to a stop by us. ‘Come on, Charlie-boy – just because you’re not riding with D’Wayne and me doesn’t mean you’re not expected to maintain your excellent trail record.’
There was a loud yell and D’Wayne jumped the rock that had floored us both, pulling up by Tom. ‘What are you doing, guys? This is our second circuit and you two haven’t even done one yet!’
‘Getting old, that’s what it is,’ Tom agreed, jumping on his bike and speeding away when Charlie rose to the bait and grabbed his bike.
‘I’ll give you “getting old”, you sarky git!’ He grinned at me as he started to ride away. ‘Catch you later, yeah?’
Still shell-shocked by what may or may not have just happened, I nodded blankly. ‘Cool.’
Tom shot me a quizzical look, but the call of competition was too strong for him to resist, so he straightened his cycle helmet and set off in hot pursuit, leaving me more than a little dazed at the side of the track.
When I finally remounted and rode after them, my thoughts were in dire need of direction. I decided to take my time on a single circuit of the trail. Negotiating the twists and turns, I replayed the moment over and over, drawing a blank every time. I must have imagined it. He’d said he supported my quest, so why then would a moment like that happen? Perhaps I was more winded from my fall than I realised, or maybe … I pushed the thought firmly to the back of my mind. By the time I reached the others at the picnic tables outside the refreshment cabin, I had convinced myself that nothing had happened. And so, it seemed, had Charlie.
For the rest of the day, and on into the evening back at Jack and Sophie’s, Charlie and I resumed normal service, mocking each other, joking around with the others and enjoying being with our friends. There were no longing looks or stolen glances, awkward pauses or touchy subjects.
When I eventually climbed into my bed in the early hours of the morning, my mind was set: I had obviously misread the moment and everything remained as it had been before.
Over the next few weeks, I tried not to think about Charlie, finding as many things as I could do to distract my mind. Work was incredibly busy as we began to compose the station’s festive jingles for furniture sales, catalogue stores and indulgent food ranges at major supermarkets. Mick jokingly covered the whole of the Bat Cave in tinsel and coloured fairy lights, ‘… to get us in the Festive Zone’, which Amanda hated, of course, grumbling about a lack of respect for health and safety regulations, but Mick refused to take them down, knowing full well that Amanda wouldn’t challenge it, needing to keep us on side and productive in order to impress her bosses. I found the decorations amusing, but their presence inevitably reminded me that time for my quest was running out.
Meanwhile, Auntie Mags and Uncle Dudley were on the verge of a new adventure in their lives, with my aunt’s tea shop – Tea and Sympathy – opening imminently. I spent most evenings after work helping them to paint, furnish and prepare the small shop unit, another welcome distraction from conflicting thoughts about Charlie and PK. On the night before the big opening, we gathered in the tea shop with celebratory glasses of wine and a freshly baked strawberry and white chocolate cake ‘for new beginnings’.
‘Well, Magsie, we did it,’ Uncle Dudley beamed, hugging her to him.
‘Yes, I think we did. This is going to work, isn’t it?’
‘Of course!’ I reassured her. ‘Look at this place – it’s so homely and welcoming. I reckon you’ll be fending people off.’
Painted in soft green, pale pink and duck egg blue, the café was a haven of all things sweet. Vintage teacups filled with silk flowers and primrose yellow tablecloths were placed on every table, glass cloches covered rose-painted chintz china cake stands on the whitewashed wood counter top, old books from Uncle Dudley’s car boot forages were stacked on shelves along the walls and large wicker floor-baskets were stuffed with extra cushions – everything a customer could need to feel extra welcome and at home. It was every inch my aunt, even down to the framed pictures of Uncle Dudley, Elvis, Our Pol and me behind the counter.
I raised my glass. ‘I’d like to propose a toast. To Auntie Mags and her amazing cakes!’
Uncle Dudley joined the toast, but Auntie Mags stopped us.
‘No, I’ve got a better one.’ She lifted her glass. ‘To dreams. And believing they’re possible.’
Whatever reservations I may have harboured about Cayte being back in Tom’s life, I had to admit that she was definitely making an effort to repair the damage she had done with her article. Now working freelance, she had written a positive article on love-against-the-odds stories and had linked to my blog at the end. The fresh swell of interest and support this generated really helped to boost my resolve for the quest. Every time I looked at the site, there were a few new messages of support and, as October passed into November, the site’s regular visitors began to have conversations with each other via the comment boxes, forming a virtual community all of their own.
Bridges were even being built between Sophie and Cayte, much to Jack and Tom’s relief. A Saturday night out at The Garter unexpectedly revealed their shared love of karaoke when Jack persuaded them to sing a duet of ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart’. I half-expected a full-on catfight to break out mid-song, but to my surprise they ended up hugging when they received a standing ovation from the regulars. The following weekend, Cayte brought her copy of SingStar to a meal at Jack and Soph’s, leading to the two of them taking centre-stage in the living room, singing away into the early hours of the morning – and that was it. Having found a language both could understand, they looked to be well on the way to becoming firm friends.
Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags meanwhile were busy drumming up support from their ever-growing number of customers at Tea and Sympathy. Conversations with my aunt and uncle soon began to include familiar names of the people who were now travelling from all over Warwickshire to visit Auntie Mags’ little shop of culinary magic in Kingsbury.
‘You know, it’s just like Suzi was saying last week …’
‘That reminds me, Rich Robbins recommended a great new artisan jam for my Victoria sponge that a farm shop near him sells …’
‘If Davey suggests we let him and his strange Goth friends make a movie of the quest one more time, I think I’ll scream …’
Discussions would begin in the tea shop and pass over to my blog, and vice-versa. It was lovely to see my aunt and uncle acting as self-appointed surrogate parents to their tea shop kids by answering questions, offering timely advice and – in my aunt’s case – prescribing cakes for various emotional ailments.
Focusing on the quest – in particular, my virtual supporters’ enthusiasm for it – was good for my mind, too. It meant that my goal of finding PK was uppermost in my thinking, reminding me of why I was searching for him in the first place and reinforcing the still-glowing possibility that I would find him again. With every new follower, I knew I could be one step closer to finding PK.
Since our conversation on the bike trail at Cannock Chase, Charlie had said no more about what I was doing. Neither did he reference or acknowledge what happened in the forest, leading me to assume that it was just another red herring on the long road to finding the man I was meant to be with. We had spent most of the past year learning to be friends again – the last thing we needed was for one of us to decide we wanted more. Even if the memory of what I thought had happened in the forest still burned more brightly than it should in its far corner of my mind …
As November set in, D’Wayne was proud to announce that he had secured a golden wedding anniversary booking for The Pinstripes. As the happy couple were fans of fifties and sixties crooners, we had great fun putting together a laid-back set of swing and classic American Songbook songs. Wren and I took turns to lead, Charlie played a simplified drum kit with brushes and Jack indulged in some smooth jazz improvisation. Classics like ‘My Baby Just Cares for Me’, ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, ‘Stormy Weather’, ‘Autumn Leaves’, ‘Let There Be Love’, ‘The Lady is a Tramp’ and ‘Summertime’ flowed as easily as the guests traversing the polished hotel ballroom floor in their long evening gowns and full dinner suits. To do justice to the style of songs we would be singing this evening, all of us had gone to town on our stage outfits: the boys wore tuxedos, Wren looked stunning in a figure-skimming gold floor-length gown and I chose a gorgeous crimson satin 1930s-style dress that draped beautifully and made me feel unspeakably glamorous. In fact, the whole event felt like a scene from a classic Hollywood movie. I could almost imagine a full MGM orchestra supporting me as I sang.
For the final song of the first set, we received a request for Nat King Cole’s ‘When I Fall in Love’, which I was duly elected to sing. I adore this song, not least because it’s one of Uncle Dudley’s favourites and one of the few he knows all of the lyrics to. It’s a long-standing joke between my uncle, aunt and myself that Uncle Dudley can never remember more than one line of lyrics to any song. Auntie Mags and I once caught him falling into the famous pitfall of forgetting the words to ‘Unforgettable’: ‘Unforgettable … la la la laaa …’ – which, as you can imagine, he has never been allowed to forget.
Singing ‘When I Fall in Love’, I was instantly reminded of Uncle Dudley serenading Auntie Mags with it in the tiny living quarters of Our Pol, waltzing her around in his Simpsons slippers. I closed my eyes and imagined waltzing through the Christmas crowds in the arms of my russet-haired partner, every line from the song a promise to him … I reached the instrumental and looked back at Jack and Charlie as they played. Jack, his eyes closed, was lost in the moment, playing almost unconsciously. But Charlie was looking straight back at me, his midnight blue eyes dark in the coloured stage lights that threw shadows along the con tours of his face.
We took a break while the buffet was served and Jack, Tom and Wren made a beeline for the bar. D’Wayne strolled over to Charlie and me, chatting with the couple celebrating their anniversary.
‘Charlie, Romily, can I introduce you to Trisha and Les?’
Les shook our hands and Trisha hugged us, much to Charlie’s surprise. ‘It’s just so wonderful,’ she gushed. ‘It’s the kind of wedding we dreamed of fifty years ago.’
Her husband squeezed her arm. ‘Not that we would’ve had it any other way though, eh?’
She patted his hand. ‘Absolutely not. We didn’t have anything as fancy as this,’ she told us. ‘A fish supper with our families and a couple of friends in Stone Yardley Village Hall and his mother made the cake. I made my wedding dress at evening class and we walked from the church to the reception because my mum and dad didn’t have a car. But it was a lovely day.’
‘Made me the happiest man alive, my Patricia did, when she said she’d be my wife. And we’ve never looked back, have we, sweetness?’
‘No. Happy-ever-after, us, aren’t we, Leslie?’
When they left, Charlie bought me a drink and we sat at a table by the side of the stage, chatting and laughing. I couldn’t help thinking how different this was to when Charlie insisted I accompany him back from the New Year’s Eve gig, ten months ago. It was wonderful to be able to laugh and joke together, even if unfinished business still lurked forebodingly around the peripheries.
After a lull in the conversation, Charlie cleared his throat. ‘I have to say, you sound awesome tonight.’
Taken aback by the sudden compliment, heat began to spread up the back of my neck and I focused hard on my glass. ‘Thanks. You’re playing well, too.’
‘That’s not what I mean. We’ve performed these songs before, but I’ve never seen you so lost in a song as you were with the last one.’
‘I was just thinking about my uncle and aunt,’ I replied truthfully. ‘It’s one of their favourites.’
He was quiet for a while. ‘I thought … No, forget it.’
‘Go on.’
He smiled. ‘I was wondering if you were thinking of him.’
I considered my response for a moment, this being new territory for both of us. How odd that he’d read my thoughts like that … ‘I was, actually.’
‘Oh. Spooky, huh?’
I smiled at him. ‘Very.’
Nothing more was said on the subject, but I sensed a taboo had been broken. And it felt good. As we joined the others on stage for the second set, I couldn’t stop smiling.
But as we embarked on the second set, things began to change. I noticed it about four songs in, when I looked over to Charlie during an instrumental break and noticed that he wasn’t smiling. Initially dismissing it, I turned back to the audience and focused on my performance. But, three songs later, it became obvious that a dark mood had settled across him. Everyone else in the band was laughing and enjoying the moment – so why couldn’t he?
As we reached the end of the gig and began to pack away, I tried to think back over what we talked about during the break and couldn’t find anything that I might have said to offend him. Annoyed, I timed my journeys back and forth to the van in order to incur minimal meeting points with him. This tactic appeared to be working until Les and Trisha’s family accosted the others, leaving the task of the equipment pack-down to Charlie and me. With no spare bodies to watch the van, I was forced to remain by its open back doors, as Charlie brought the remainder of the equipment out.
I fitted the speakers, flight cases and bags into the van as best I could, but Charlie insisted on taking out what I had packed and huffily replacing them. Incensed by his silent hostility, feeling utterly useless and disregarded, I resorted to handing him items as he crouched inside. When he shook his head in exasperation at me for the fifth time, it was the last straw.
‘Maybe I should leave this to you, seeing as I’m obviously causing more problems by helping,’ I snapped.
His head jerked round. ‘What?’
‘I don’t see the point of me standing here like a total lemon while you tut and sigh at everything I do.’
‘I wasn’t aware that I was.’
‘Like hell you weren’t. Honestly, Charlie, I don’t know what’s worse: you blowing hot and cold or you ignoring me entirely.’
The blue touch-paper well and truly lit, he jumped down from the van and faced me, anger firing through him. ‘That’s rich coming from you.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘You heard.’
He pushed past me and stormed back into the hotel, leaving me raging by the van. How on earth could he accuse me of being the one at fault? It was his attitude from out of nowhere that had caused this tension, not mine. And if he thought I was going to take the blame, then he was seriously mistaken.
Reasoning that the best thing I could do now was to make my excuses and leave, I slammed the van doors and turned to head back – just as Charlie strode out again.
‘See, the thing is, Romily, I don’t get it. I’m sorry, but I don’t.’
If he was after a fight, he was most certainly going to get one now. Seconds out, round two … ‘Oh, please enlighten me.’
His midnight eyes were aflame as they seared into mine. ‘I don’t get how you can spend a year of your life looking for someone you barely know, when the someone you should be looking for is right in front of you.’
The world around me skidded to a halt. My anger vaporised, leaving me numb and defenceless. ‘Sorry?’
‘This guy you think you’re in love with doesn’t exist. Only up here,’ he pointed to his temple. ‘You’re asking him to be someone he isn’t. He can’t be what you want him to be because he doesn’t know who you are. This isn’t what you need, Rom, and you know it.’ His voice softened. ‘Deep down, you know who you need. I think you’ve known it all along.’
What on earth was he talking about? He knew how much my quest meant to me – and if he didn’t, then why did he seem to be supporting me at the Chase last week?
‘Don’t you dare say that now, after everything we talked about,’ I countered, hurt and confusion mixing with anger to form a dangerously flammable cocktail. ‘You have no right to …’
‘I have every right!’ he shouted back. ‘Why are you still searching, Rom? Why won’t you admit how you feel?’
‘I am saying how I feel! The difference is, Charlie, the man I’m looking for sees me for who I am – and yes, it was only for a second, but in that time I saw all I needed to know. That’s why I’m still searching.’
‘But he doesn’t deserve you like …’ he broke off.
‘Like who, Charlie?’
‘Like me!’
Winded by this blindside blow, I reeled for a moment then regrouped. ‘This is ridiculous. I gave you the opportunity to be with me at Christmas and you didn’t want me!’
‘Well, I do now!’
And there it was, his final shot reverberating around the buildings that surrounded us as we faced each other.
Gone was the fire from his eyes; instead they met mine with the startling vulnerability I had seen for the first time in the cottage garden at Combermere Abbey, two months ago. But what was I supposed to say? Did he expect me to fall into his arms now, after he so roundly rejected me almost a year ago?
‘I don’t know what to say to that,’ I said.
His shoulders dropped. ‘Don’t say anything now. Just think about it, OK? I know everything’s a mess and I don’t blame you for being cautious. But what happened at the Chase – I know you felt something too.’
He was right, of course, but I needed time to think, to weigh up the evidence before me and work out where all the pieces belonged: Charlie, PK, my quest, the possibility of a burgeoning new career … ‘I don’t know how I feel.’
He took a breath. ‘But you’ll think about it?’
I nodded.
Even though it had been one of Mum’s pet sayings as I was growing up, the phrase ‘be careful what you wish for’ had never really made sense to me before. I had always assumed it was just my mother’s way of discouraging any illogical, heart-led notions I might be harbouring.
But now I understood. I had invested at least three years of my life fostering what I thought was true love for Charlie, only to have it thrown in my face last year and then newly resurrected now. On the other hand, I had devoted almost a year of my life – along with everything that had entailed – searching for someone who appeared to want my love, only for him to disappear instantly and remain stubbornly at large. It was nearly the end of November, a month before the quest deadline. If I was honest with myself, what chance did I realistically have of finding him now?
Of course I loved Charlie: you don’t spend three years of your life pining after someone without it leaving any lasting mark. But after a year of looking in the opposite direction, did enough of it remain to support a relationship? And what of my feelings for PK? The intoxicating, gleaming prize awaiting me at the close of my quest, the promise of which had dictated my every move this year; waiting, longing, sure in the knowledge that it could be mine?
When I confided in Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags, they told me to follow my heart. But the only problem was that my heart was twice as confused as my head. Wren suggested that I imagine which of them I’d like to wake up next to in the morning, but that didn’t exactly narrow the choice down either.
In the end, the best advice I received came from a most unexpected source.
The aged laptop I had been using at home finally decided it had tired of slaving over my photographs, freezing one evening and stubbornly refusing to turn itself off or reboot. When it comes to anything computer-related, there is only ever one person my friends and I turn to.
‘Hello, Tom Rushton.’
‘Hi, it’s Rom.’
‘Romulus! How goes it in the land of jingling? Still immortalising dodgy products in song?’
‘I’m afraid so. Sorry to do this to you, but my laptop’s playing hardball. Is there any chance you could take a look at it for me?’
‘Sure, bring it over any time. In fact, what are you up to tonight?’
‘Nothing, I think.’
‘Excellent! Come to mine for tea! Cayte bought me the new Gordon Ramsay cookbook and I’m experimenting tonight. You up for it?’
I smiled. ‘Absolutely. Thanks, mate.’
‘No worries. Oops, better go, the boss’s car has just pulled in.’
He was in the throes of a chopping frenzy when I arrived that evening. His father is a trained chef, so he learned how to do the impressive fast chopping thing at an early age. It never ceases to amaze me how he can expertly shred vegetables with a knife so sharp it scares me, without ever looking at what he’s doing.
‘It’s a kind of a stew,’ he informed me, scrutinising the recipe book that lay open on the top of the kitchen scales. ‘You’re supposed to leave the veg pieces quite big, but you know me once I start – it’s julienne or bust!’
‘Well, it certainly looks impressive.’
‘Excellent.’ He addressed the book with a mini bow. ‘Thank you, Gordon.’ He beamed at me. ‘So I hear your laptop’s not a happy chap?’
I glanced down at the offending item I carried under my arm. ‘Yup. I think it might be on the way out.’
‘We’ll see about that. Let’s head up to my office and I’ll leave this cooking.’
Tom’s office is quite possibly the smallest office I have ever seen; it’s barely more than a large cupboard. It has a compact, half-size desk (which I have on good authority from Jack and Charlie took a fair bit of sawing in order to ‘custom-fit’ it into the limited space); an old leather-look office chair that has an unfortunate wobble and a printer he has to counsel, coax or threaten before it will print anything. That his home office is so shabbily attired seems a contradiction when you consider the cutting-edge, millionaire-owned technology firm where he works, with its state-of-the-art terminals, spacious accommodation and swanky office furniture.
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.