Page 27 of Love at First Sight

I fancy your boyfriend, Ali. Even though I don’t want to.

By the next morning, the truth has been outed: Thom has proposed to his new girlfriend, and Henry is unsettled by Daddy getting remarried. Apparently Thom told him it was about to happen when he stayed with him a few nights ago, and Henry, has been keeping it a secret all this time, so as not to spoil the surprise. I’d be mad at Thom as it is for putting that on Henry. But he just said a few days ago that he wasn’t that sure about her, and now they’re engaged? What is it with these men?

‘So Thom texted you this morning?’ I say to Ali, who’s cornered me in the hallway. She’s keen to get me up to speed before I see Henry, who apparently confessedeverything last night. She texted me a heads-up on my way over.

Ali arches an eyebrow. ‘He did. He sent a photo of him holding her hand, ring and manicure on show, and wroteshe said yes, like he was posting to social media instead of filling in the mother of his child.’ She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

‘Are you okay?’ I dare to ask, because for as much as she talks about the divorce being a net good, surely it must sting to see your ex move on. I blocked Craig on every form of social media, and still found out through a friend of a friend that he was with a girl he used to work with not long after we broke up. A girl he’d told me not to worry about. I didn’t want to be with him, but I could still have burned his record collection with a smile when I found out.

‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I think. I don’t know. I mean, I have Vinnie – I mean Cal – so …’ She lets the sentence trail off, and I reach out to rub the top of her arm. I’m a traitor for doing so, I know I am. How can I comfort her when I’m so aware of ‘Vinnie’s’ eyes, the curve of his neck? I swallow hard, push it down and lock it in a box I will henceforth refuse to open. ‘Things are going well with him,’ Ali continues. ‘We don’t fight or argue or get mad. It’s just really …’ She holds out a hand and moves it horizontally, a gesture I take to mean plain sailing. ‘He’s a good guy,’ she concludes, for the umpteenth time. Guilt pricking at my skin, my throat hot and eyes dry, I bite my tongue.

I spend the day prepping for Dad’s engagement party in a way I wouldn’t otherwise have done if Leo weren’t coming. I am going to focus on getting through today, just forgetting everything else and havingfun. I intend to look good.

‘Interesting you’d get a wax and a spray tan for this man,’ India says, when I meet her after the gym. I’ve skipped it, obviously, because my tan has to settle and I’ve got a blow-dry booked in before Henry’s pick-up. A woman can’t do it all.

‘I’d love to say this is all for me,’ I say, pursing my lips over a soggy paper straw that after thirty seconds is officially crap at helping me drink a superfood smoothie. I pull it out, bin it, and drink from the cup instead.

India smirks. ‘But you might actually let yourself have a good time tonight?’

I shrug, trying to keep my game face on. I don’t want to ‘use’ Leo as a way to forget about Cal and his whole messed-up vibe, but as ever, you’ve got to show up for your life, haven’t you?Be more Leo, in a way. He takes his fun where he finds it, and I will too.

‘Just doing it for the story.’ I wink, and she says, ‘That’s my girl.’

I wish India was coming tonight, but it’s her mum’s sixtieth so she’s heading west to Uxbridge to celebrate.

‘And the outfit is …?’ she presses, as we pause at the part of the main road where she takes a left and I go right. I won’t see her now until after the weekend.

‘My backless yellow dress,’ I say. ‘Because fuck Simone.’

India claps her hands gleefully. ‘Oh, she’ll hate it!’ she shrieks. ‘It’s the perfect choice!’

It’s a weird flex, but because of the working out and lifting of weights, I have a really strong back and, if pressed, would say my best physical feature is … my spine. Bizarre, I know. But it’s super-indented and my back has great muscles and so backless attire is my superhero costume. And Simone will hate it because Simone hates me, yes, but she also seems to hate me more when I look nice. It’s like I’m more tolerable in sweatpants than I am in bias-cut silk.

‘Have you got them a gift?’ India asks. ‘You haven’t mentioned anything …’

My eyes go wide. ‘Shit! It never even occurred to me!’ My hand launches to my chest. ‘That’s really bad, isn’t it? What time is it? Should I grab a bottle of champagne or something, do you think?’

India shrugs. ‘I mean, your father is sixty years old, it’s not like he’s a newlywed setting up his first home, is it? Be a bit weird if you got them a milk pan.’

‘Whatever I get will be used against me, anyway,’ I point out, and I don’t even say it miserably. It’s just the sad truth. Simone complains about everything. I know for a fact she told Dad I made her feel bad because I said I didn’t like jazz – and she’s in a jazz band. That’s not even true! I said I didn’t know much about jazz, thinking it’d be a conversationstarter, not a conversation ender! It’s little things like that, undermining my relationship with Dad, that mean I don’t trust her.

‘I give it two years,’ India says, with a sympathetic smile. ‘You’ll get your dad back, Jessie. I promise you.’

She’s lying, but it’s a kind lie.

‘Maybe,’ I say.

Because Ali is due home late after being held up on set, the plan tonight is that, after school pick-up, Henry and I will go home and do the usual: unpack his bag, do some reading, eat snacks and decide on what’s for tea, et cetera. Then instead of me going home to get ready, Ali has allowed me to use her master suite to get dolled up, so when she’s back I can head straight off into town for the engagement party. I’m halfway through blending my foundation when the door goes, which is about as inconvenient a time as the doorbellcango, considering a good base blended well is the cornerstone of all make-up success.

Ali doesn’t like Henry answering the door alone, on account of her celebrity status and the fact it could be anyone. Her co-star in the last thing she filmed for the BBC had a stalker, and it continues to haunt her. I can’t imagine being afraid of your own doorbell. There are some sickos and crazies out there, it must be said.

I run down the stairs and peek through the spyglass to see it’s Cal. I take a deep breath to steady myself, as frustration and anger spike my heart rate. I’m flustered but can’t leave him on the doorstep. After all, it isn’t my house. Urgh. I fling back the door.

‘Hello,’ I say, as neutrally as possible.

‘Jessie,’ he says, voice frantic. ‘I’m so pleased you’rehere. I’m breaking up with Ali – it’s not even that serious. I’m pretty sure she’s only dating me to get back at her ex-husband. Honestly. That day at the river … I don’t want you to think I’m a dick. I can do dick-ish things, but I’m not a dick in totality. I need you to understand that.’ It all comes out as one run-on sentence, like he’s worried pausing for breath means I won’t let him finish.

I eyeball him, willing myself to steady my breathing. Apology or not, this is all too dangerous. I don’t want to know if he’s breaking up with Ali! That doesn’t mean anything to me, except that she’s going to be in a terrible mood after. I bite down on my lip and Cal waits for me to say something.

---