Page 47 of Wish You Were Here
‘Was I always that obvious about it?’ I say, and she smiles at me.
‘It’s a nice thing to want, Benji, but I just wasn’t ready then.’
‘And now?’ I ask, and I’m sure she starts blushing, although there is a candle on the table between us, and maybe she’s just feeling the heat from that.
‘Now,’ she replies, before she takes a sip of her Chardonnay, and then puts her glass down gently on the table, ‘I’m ready for all of it.’ And without blaming the candle, it’s definitely my turn to blush. ‘Although maybe not the dog because I have some pretty severe allergies.’
‘I wasn’t set on the dog anyway,’ I say, and she smiles at me, I smile at her, and something happens. It’s like an alchemy that grips us both, and we’re talking like we never separated, every word, look, touch on the arm, all of it feels like it’s been perfectly scripted. As if it was always meant to be this way. She tells me all about her travels and regales me with stories that seem almost unbelievable, and I tell her about my quest for love and how awful it’s been going – including being attacked by Saffy with a soft Italian cheese missile, being interrogated by Annabelle and jilted mid-date by an emotionally vulnerable Cressida. We reminisce about university, recalling our first proper date atPizza Express, and how young, silly and foolish we were. We recount the time we drove to Cornwall for a long weekend, stayed in a bed-and-breakfast in St Ives, where we tried to have sex, but the bed was so squeaky we didn’t want the other guests hearing us doing it all weekend, so we had to havesex everywhere but the bed. We talk and talk, hours slip by, we order more drinks and food, and it’s one of those nights when you almost can’t believe it’s real.
‘Poppy is married and expecting her first child?’ says Jemma.
‘That’s right, and Mum and Dad are still bonkers.’
‘They’re not bonkers. I always loved your parents. So solid and lovely.’
‘They’re an acquired taste. So, what happened in New Zealand? You said you almost got married?’
For the first time all evening, Jemma looks a little hesitant to share.
‘It was just one of those things, Benji. I fell for him, hook, line and sinker, and I thought he felt the same about me. He was a Kiwi, lived in Auckland, and we dated for six months. He asked me to marry him. I said yes, we moved in together, and I thought that was it.’
‘Then?’
‘Then one day, he told me out of the blue that he’d been seeing someone else, we were over and that was it. I was on the next plane out of Auckland.’
‘That’s shit. I’m sorry, Jem.’
‘It’s okay. Clearly, he wasn’t the love of my life, and I’m fine with it now. At the time it felt like the end of the world, and it has rather sullied New Zealand as a country for me, but I left with my head held high and with my dignity intact. I also stole his favourite All Blacks rugby shirt, so I got my sweet revenge.’
‘Good for you!’ I say, raising my glass over the table. She raises hers and we gently knock them together, and as we do our eyes meet, and in that second, I know where I want this night to end up. There is a scintillating energy between us, and as we get up to leave and head outside, it feels like we are about to make an important decision that might impact the rest of our lives. Isthis the end of the night or just the beginning? I have never been very good at reading moments like this, and I don’t want to get it wrong. I tell her I’ll walk her back to her flat, which is five minutes away, and soon we are standing outside of her building.
‘So, this has been nice—’
‘Come up, Benji.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t want to—’
‘Ssshhh,’ she says, putting a finger to my lips to stop me from talking, and then she leans forward and kisses me. Our lips come together, and it is one of the strangest kisses I have ever had because it feels so familiar, like something I have been doing for years, and yet it also has that excitement and electricity of something new. When we pull away, we stand in each other’s arms and just look at each other.
‘I’m so glad we bumped into each other,’ says Jemma.
‘Me too,’ I reply, and then she takes my hand and we walk into her building. Jemma and I are going to spend the night together. This is happening.
We walk into her flat, and we don’t even wait to have a conversation about perhaps having a coffee, before we are tearing each other’s clothes off, walking and kissing towards her bedroom, and finally we fall on the bed in the dark, semi-naked, and we pause for a moment, a shaft of light from outside shining across our faces.
‘Are you sure about this?’ I ask because it’s polite and I want to make sure.
‘Yes. You?’
‘One hundred and ten per cent.’
‘You know that’s not really a thing, right? You can’t be more than one hundred per cent sure about something because one hundred per cent is the most by definition when talking in percentages. Don’t you work in finance, Benji? I feel like you should know this stuff.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ I say, leaning in and kissing her, and our hands are all over each other, pulling clothes off, and we are about to have sex for the first time in almost nine years, and for a split-second a thought pops into my head. We have told each other so much tonight, caught up on every detail of our lives, but there was something I didn’t tell Jemma about, and that was Saskia, and I have no idea why.
20
Saskia
