Page 17 of Enemies to Lovers

That was the most awkward fifteen minutes of my life. If Kate is going to point out that I should absolutelyfeel this way, she doesn’t – but I suspect that’s only because one by one everybody else files down to the breakfast table and so we don’t get a private audience. Jamie continues to swim. I continue to try and mentally rationalise how maybe he didn’t hear me – and fail. I know he did. I might not like him, but even I don’t want to be the person responsible for making him feel crap. His ego can probably withstand it, but it isn’t right. That’s not who I am, saying those things.

‘Here,’ says Alex as he arrives at the table, throwing a book down in front of me and narrowly missing my plate. ‘I think you’ll like this. It was on the shelf by the board games.’

I glance down, jam toast halfway to my mouth. As I chew, I turn it over in my hand.Poems I Think You’ll Like, the title says. ‘Ha ha,’ I reply, swallowing.

‘Legit!’ Alex claims. ‘They’re funny. Is “irreverent” the word? Anyway. You read a shit-ton, don’t you? Enjoy.’

He crinkles up his nose. I crinkle mine back.

It’s loosely agreed that we’ll spend the day at the villa today, by the pool, with potentially a little late-afternoon walk down to the beach to stretch our legs. Alex and Dad load up the water pistols and Kate assumes a position on a giant inflatable swan, with Laurie clearing the table and Mum making a shopping list for whoever goes to the supermarket later. Jamie is still swimming. It’s been for ever. I think he’s mad atme. I’m getting a feeling. If he is, I think it will be the first time in history I’ve got a reaction from him. Unfortunately, though, I’m so ashamed of myself that I can’t enjoy it. I pick up my book of poems and slink off inside.

In the living room it is cool and quiet. I curl up on one of the tiny two-seater sofas and sip my third coffee of the morning, flicking through the book.

One poem by Wendy Cope catches my eye. It basically says if you don’t want to get riled up by a man you should avoid him, or get to know him better. It makes me smile. My love life isn’t exactly extensive, but I will say that the cure for almost every crush I’ve ever had has been getting to know the guy. It’s like, the more you learn the less there is to make up in your head about them. I take a photo of the page and send it to Hope.

Me

Saw this and thought of you

Hope

Because now you know me, you’re over your crush on me?

Me

My crush on you will never be over

Hope

I feel exactly the same, gorgeous

How’s it going over there? With J***e?

Me

It’s … going. We avoid each other mostly.

I reread the poem. In the first year of my undergrad degree there was a girl in halls who was really weird with me, and then one night a few weeks in she got really drunk and I found her in the toilets crying. I gave her a tissue, helped her get home and after that we became friends. She told me later that she’d judged me harshly, that she’d thought I was a stuck-up geek who only cared about impressing the teachers. I told her that was kind of true, but we were close enough by this point that she could see the other stuff about me, too: why I cared so much, where it came from. We’ve drifted since then – I’ve drifted from everyone since the breakdown – but if Rachel and I figured out a way to coexist by getting to know each other, then maybe this Wendy Cope is right. If I flip the Jamie script on its head, it could be a sort of exposure therapy. Huh.Exposure therapy.I had that thought the other night as well – that him being here is one hell of a way to confront what happened.

Me

EXPOSURE THERAPY?!

Do I need to spendMOREtime with Jamie, and so release his hold on me?

Hope

Yes! Exactly! Exposure therapy!!!

Cure yourself of any and all emotion towards him by getting to know him, so he can disappoint you as a man and cease to be of any interest at all. It’s foolproof! Yay, Wendy Cope.

I smile, sending back a GIF of Bluey doing a happy dance.

‘Funny text?’

I look up. Kate. She’s leaning against the door frame and looks uncharacteristically serious.

‘Yeah, actually,’ I say. ‘My friend Hope has given me an idea for something.’

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