Page 98 of Five Things I Love About You

‘But all this must have cost you a fortune,’ I said. ‘We need to talk about how I’m going to pay you back.’

She merely shook her head. ‘I can afford it. You can’t. You’re my friend, and I want to do this for you. There’s nothing to talk about. Now go.’ Then she pushed me out of the door and closed it behind me.

Now, I’m on my way to Heathrow. Kirstie had to work (‘How else am I going to afford to pay for all this?’ she joked as she pulled me in for a Chanel No. 5-scented hug), but Sophie has agreed to drive me there in her battered Mini, and as we sit in traffic on the North Circular trying to get out of London, she glances across at me.

‘I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,’ she says.

‘I don’t really have any choice,’ I say. ‘I’ve been bullied into it.’

She grins. ‘I think bullying is slightly harsh. But it’s so romantic.’ She reaches across and squeezes my hand, her bracelets jangling as she does.

‘I’m too nervous to see any romance in it,’ I admit.

‘Don’t be nervous. He’s thrilled you’re going to see him.’

‘But that’s just it. How do you know that? What if he was mortified and was just being polite? I mean, heispolite.’ I bury my face in my hands. ‘Oh God, what if he thinks I’m totally tragic?’ I look up to see Sophie smiling at me. Behind us, a car beeps and she looks ahead to see the traffic’s moved.

‘Bugger,’ she says, moving forward a couple of hundred feet before the brake lights in front of us flare again, and the traffic lights turn red. She looks back at me. ‘He doesn’t think you’re tragic. I think he loves you.’

‘He doesn’t love me. We don’t know each other well enough to be anywhere near love.’

‘If you say so.’ The traffic is inching forward again and she concentrates on the road for a while. I stare out of the window at the grey day. Dirty slush is piled against kerbs and lampposts, and an icy wind bends the bare branches of the few trees I can see. Since Kirstie and Sophie told me about this trip, I’ve done some googling about Toronto. It’s not a city I know much about so it’s been fascinating to learn about it. The area where I’m meeting Matt, which is where I assume he must live, is called Kensington Market, and it’s a comfort that it’s at least got a familiar name. It’s not far from the Niagara Falls, and I’ve imagined it looks lovely, although in February the weather is even worse than here.

‘What if there’s a storm and the flight is cancelled?’ I say, as Sophie pulls past the traffic lights and heads towards the exit for the M25.

She’s frowning at the road as a white van pulls in front of her, and she smacks her palm on the horn as she slams on the brakes. ‘Arsehole!’ she yells, flicking him the Vs as she accelerates past him. ‘Sorry, what did you say, M?’

‘I just said, what if there’s a snowstorm and I can’t get there?’

She glances at me, a frown creasing her head. ‘There won’t be. Now stop worrying and start getting excited.’

I try to do as I’m told.

* * *

The flight is uneventful. I eat my meal, read a book and watch a forgettable film. In Toronto airport I sail through security quickly and easily, collect my bag and am in the back of a taxi within an hour of landing. It feels like a miracle. I wonder whether it’s serendipity. I smile to myself. What a fool I am.

It’s only 8p.m. by the time I collapse onto my bed at the hotel Kirstie has booked, but the time difference makes it about 1a.m. for me, and I’m absolutely wiped out. I didn’t see much of the area as we drove through it in the dark – there hasn’t been snow yet, the cab driver told me, but it’s bitterly cold, and everyone seems to be staying inside. But here in the hotel it’s cosy and warm, and I find myself drifting off before I’ve even unpacked, dreaming of snow and waterfalls, and dog walks and falling in love…

* * *

I wake up with my heart pounding, unsure where I am. It’s not dark in the room because I left the bedside lamp on, but my mind is momentarily blank and panic rises in my throat. I haul myself up to sitting, and by the time I’m propped against the pillows and realise I’m still fully dressed, I’ve remembered.

I’m in a hotel in Toronto.

I’m here to see Matt.

Oh my God. I’m in a hotel in Toronto and I’m HERE TO SEE MATT!

I glance at the clock. It’s still early, just after six, but that means today is the day. Kirstie has arranged for us to meet at a coffee shop called Fika at midday, so there’s only six hours to go. I’m not ready. I don’t know what I’m doing here.

I pick up my phone. There are tons of messages, mostly from Sophie and Kirstie asking if I’ve arrived, then, later, more worried ones asking if I’m okay. I tap out replies to them, telling them I’m perfectly fine so they see them when they wake up. Then I check my other messages.

There’s one from the dog walking app from months ago because I’d forgotten to cancel my subscription, and another from a Canadian phone company. And that’s it. There’s nothing from Matt, and I can’t work out whether this is a good thing – that he’s still meeting me and hasn’t cancelled – or a bad thing. Should I ring him and check he’s still coming?

But I’m not sure I can face it.

I swing my legs out of bed and pad to the bathroom and run a hot, deep bath. I sit and soak for a while, a cup of tea to hand, and use all the expensive toiletries. This hotel must have cost Kirstie a small fortune, and I vow that one day I will pay her back and then some.

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