Page 15 of Love at First Sight

‘Two more minutes, bubs,’ Ali says, tapping a nail on the marble worktop. ‘You promised.’

More grumbling.

I make myself a herbal tea, and when Henry is finished with his breakfast, pick up his bowl and stick it in the dishwasher. I think Ali knows I’m waiting for the gossip from last night – her fourth hot date with Vinnie. I’ve told her all about the man I danced with by the river, so it’s only fair I get updates on her love life too. They met at a café when they were sat at tables next to each other, both waiting for other people who were late. Isn’t that such a great meet-cute? These things happen to Ali, though. The world offers itself to her regularly. I had one good afternoon with a man and I’ve officially lost my head over it, it’s that rare.

As soon as Henry has gone upstairs to get dressed – a recent development, doing it himself, and one he takes great pride in – she turns to me, her dazzling smile on full display.

‘Go on then,’ I say, gagging for it. ‘How was the big date? Still going well with Vinnie?’

Ali lowers her voice and says, ‘Very.’ She purses her lips, trying to temper her excitement. I make a motion with my hand that says,I need more. ‘He’s just a nice bloke, you know? I mean, I don’t want to rip his clothes off, and we still haven’t slept together. Heavy petting, yes. Sex, no. But, he listens to me, he’s down to earth, and so knowledgeable about food it’s unreal. We went to a tiny Filipino restaurant and ate like kings! I just get the feeling this has potential. Proper potential. He’s a good egg. And after Thom, I need it. I need a nice guy.’

‘Hmmm,’ I agree. In private I do think Ali and Thom are both as much to blame as each other for the divorce, but to say any more would be to compromise loyalties. I have chosen my side. They used to argue like hell and then make up with passion, in a cycle that got more and more frequent until it felt like monsoon season on the Indian subcontinent: one minute the sun could be shining and then, bam, the heavens of an argument would open. It was exhausting to bear witness to, so Lord knows how it felt to be a part of. Although, truly and honestly? I got the feeling they both kind of got off on it.

‘So, the sex thing,’ I probe, because when Ali is in a gossiping mood I like to roll with it. She can pull up thedrawbridge to conversation with the click of a finger, leaving me feeling really freaking stupid sometimes. But when she’s chatty and happy, you have to indulge. ‘You’re good with no sex for … how long?’

‘Indefinitely?’ she says. ‘I know it’s weird, but even four dates in I’m like, okay, cool, friendship is a good place to start from. I’m not worried. After sex everything always goes horribly wrong anyway, and I lose my power, and it makes things messy. I feel in control this way. I don’t want to lose my head over a man ever again.’

I’d give everything to lose my head over a man and have it reciprocated, but I don’t say this. Ali only likes to talk about Ali, in the main. But there he is, in my thoughts again:Cal, Cal, Cal. It’s unhinged.

‘Anyway,’ she continues, wafting her hand. ‘I have to win this divorce. Thom’s been photographed with some ghastly pretty young thing thatVoguehave called a One to Watch, which is irritating beyond belief. I’d kill to be married again, you know – before he is, I mean. He’s so smug, so … Urgh! Just talking about him makes me mad!’

‘I know, I know,’ I say, reaching out to put a hand on her arm. I give her a squeeze, and she looks at me gratefully.

‘I know it’s boring to bang on about,’ she says. ‘It’s just so incredibly important to me that by the time we’re doing press forLiarsthe headline is how I have rebuilt my life for the better. People eat that up – actresses getting heartbroken and coming back stronger – and I can spin something about it matching the trajectory of my character, too.’

Liarsis a Netflix adaptation of the bestsellingThe Liars Are All Around Usby J. L. Keyes. Landing the lead was a major coup for Ali – I’ve never seen her want a role so badly. And she’s been in a great mood as she’s worked on it, happy and easy-going. God, when she was stuck on that period drama and her role got cut but she was still under contract, it was hell. For seven months she was moody and mean, frustrated at her two hours in make-up every morning and having to wear uncomfortable corsets to essentially sit beside a less talented actress with more screen time than her.Liarshas been the polar opposite of that.

‘Well,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait to meet him. Although, you know, if you weren’t engaged to somebody else by the time you start doing press …’

I don’t finish my sentence, because Ali gives me a look, as if to say as somebody outside of the industry I couldn’t possibly understand. And there it is – for the blink of an eye she treats me like a friend, and then I’m quickly reminded of my place. I fall for it every time.

Ali slurps the last of her coffee and puts the mug down on the breakfast bar. It doesn’t ever occur to her to put it in the dishwasher herself. I don’t even think she knows I do it for her – it just gets done. Not that I mind too much. It’s not a big deal to stack a few dirty things in the dishwasher and switch it on. And I don’t mind unloading it when it’s finished, either. It’s fine. It takes five minutes. Henry helps.

As I tidy up, with Ali upstairs getting ready for her day and Henry putting on his shoes, I think about howlevel-headed but invested Ali seems and how much I want that for myself. A proper match. I might have pooh-poohed the Whole Foods poster idea at first, but I find myself desperately willing it to work now. India sent a mock-up over last night. It’s quite simple, just saysCal! We had the greatest date. Call me! From Jessie, and then my number. I felt sick looking at it, because it’s the biggest romantic swing I have ever taken, but I told her if she thought it was fine, she could go and put them up. I can’t go anywhere near Whole Foods, obviously, or the posters – because I am mortified at the audacity, and half think I’ll end up going viral online for being pitiful and creepy. If India does it all, I can feign total ignorance and wash my hands of the whole thing if it doesn’t work. And if it does … well. The good fortune of that is too much to contemplate. I texted Leo earlier, to apologise for not making it to his gig. He sent back a smoothno worries treacle, and that’s that. I knew he wasn’t really interested; he was just flirting because he does it so well. Oh, I don’t know. It feels so desperate to hope to hear from Cal, but what have I got left aside from hope? It’s damned rare to connect with somebody like that, and I should know. I’ve been single for three years, and only started dating properly eighteen months ago. But then, as a New Year’s resolution I took a break, because somehow I got to date four with three different blokes, all of which went great and then ended with that awful text:So, I’ve decided to get back with my ex …For the cheap seats in the back, let me repeat: Three. Different. Men. Once would be understandable, two bad luck. But three? That feelslike a sign. There must be several happy couples across the capital who have only reconnected because of me, because men have gone out there to sow their wild oats and decided that, actually, the better the devil you know. Perhaps that’d be a good business as a side hustle.Send your ex to date me, and he shall come crawling back!

Terms and conditions apply.

6

‘But what do the posters actually say?’ Dad asks later that morning, over a long-overdue brunch after Henry’s drop-off. I guess today is my lucky day – probably because Simone’s on tour with her band in Plymouth. I thought Dad would find the posters funny, but he mostly looks concerned. India put them up first thing and said the staff at Whole Foods were over the moon to facilitate a romance. I feel … woozy. Half hopeful, half bonkers, half nauseous. And yes, I am aware I cannot be three halves.

I shrug. ‘They’re nothing special. Just hastily assembled in a Word document in big Arial print. India has taken point on it. I’m only along for the ride.’

‘Hmmm,’ Dad grumbles.

‘I don’t know,’ I say, shaking my head and scooping up shakshuka with some crusty grilled sourdough. ‘It’s pretty harmless.Cal, call me. And then it has my number.’

Dad almost chokes on his sausage. ‘You’ve pinned your number up all around the supermarket?!’ he wheezes. ‘You’ll have every Tom, Dick and Harry ringing you!’

I take a breath and admit: ‘Well, I have had some strange texts this morning, yes. Three. Although I have a weird feeling they’re all from the same person, eventhough they’re different numbers, and none of them are my guy. But so what? It’s easy to block them. Easier than it is on social media, anyway. I didn’t want to give people access tothat. I have actually thought this through, you know.’

Dad shakes his head. ‘I don’t know, Jessie, this is all a bit …’

‘I swear to god, if you saydesperate, I’ll flip the table,’ I groan, pointing at him with my fork.

‘I just think,’ Dad says, slicing into an egg so that it oozes over his plate, ‘that if he’d wanted to give you his number he would have done. He wouldn’t have been so …’

‘Distracted by a suicidal woman?’ I say, incredulous. I’m really annoyed Dad is responding this way. It’s all right for him, with a fiancée half his age. ‘Dad, I cannot emphasise enough how magical an afternoon we had, and then in contrast how much of a bomb the woman was to it all. But what could he do? He was so amazing with her, he couldn’t blow it at the last minute by being like,Hey, I know you wanted to end it all because life is hard and you think nobody loves you, but I just have to give this chick here my number, okay?I mean, Jesus, if he had done that, he wouldn’t be the kind of bloke I’d want to date anyway!’

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