Page 25 of Christmas Romance Galore!
The conversation with Holly yesterday kept playing in my mind and I smiled. Holly always managed to cheer me up, whatever happened.
Just at that moment my phone lit up — I looked down and saw I had a text from Nicola.
At 10.30 at night.
She was thinking about me as she was going to bed. Was she in bed already? Was she naked? Was she thinking about me naked? I felt a rush between my legs as I picked up my phone and swiped.
‘Hey — trying the bridal shopping thing again tomorrow. Fancy another coffee after? Really enjoyed catching up today. x’
She’d sent me a kiss — this was a new development.
‘Sure, I’d love to. Tomorrow after work?’
But even as I clicked send, I had a tight feeling knotting in my stomach, telling me this was the wrong thing to do. In the distance a red flag was being waved, but I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to see Nicola again. I wanted to hear more words drop from her lips, telling me how much she’d thought about me over the years. I wanted her to say she’d loved me too, just like I’d loved her back then.
Once she said that, I could have closure and move on.
Friday December 9th
The next day, I woke up in a happy mood, despite last night’s disastrous date. I chalked it up to experience and set about grabbing Friday by the scruff of its neck and kissing it into submission. I even managed to get a seat on the Tube, which proves if you think positively, positive things happen for you. At least, that’s what my self-help books told me.
The morning rattled by with a succession of back-to-back meetings with colleagues and clients. I ate lunch in the staffroom and checked my phone, but I hadn’t had a text from Nicola about where and when we were meeting that afternoon. I decided to leave the details up to her, play it cool, not be the chaser. I wasn’t going to get caught up in this, I’d promised Holly and I was serious. But another quick coffee to discuss her bridal outfit choices wouldn’t hurt. Was Nicola going for a full-on white bridal gown or was she going to opt for a stylish suit? Or none of the above?
Sal and I had a final meeting of the day with a new client in Soho. The company were a new start-up business dealing in uber-stylish (read, expensive) kids clothing, and they wanted to boost their internet presence and search engine optimisation (SEO) ranking. In short, they were just the sort of job I loved, because they were always so amazed when what we did worked for them.
People who’ve never had any experience of the digital space often think that marketing and SEO is made-up mumbo-jumbo — right up until the moment when their sales shoot up and they’re left with their jaws hanging open. Sal and I knew exactly what we were doing, we presented well and the clients seemed happy. Now all we had to do was get back to the office, deliver the goods and wait for them to send us the thank you email. It normally happened within a week of the campaign going live.
Sal had to dash straight off from the meeting to pick up her kids, leaving me to walk back to the office through the afternoon hubbub of a festive Friday in Soho. The pavements were already scratched from the previous night and the air was so thick with cold it almost rattled, but my grey woollen scarf was protecting me — it had been a birthday present from Holly last year. Of all the people in my life, Holly was the one who always got my presents right.
I stared in the posh French bakery and marvelled at their cakes and tarts, but I was brought to standstill in the next shop window. A bridal shop, filled with flowing white lacy gowns. And there, standing in the middle of the display was Nicola Sheen, with, I assumed, the shop owner or assistant. Nicola was dressed casually in jeans and a black leather jacket. Her fair hair shone, her face perfectly made-up, and she was wearing biker boots and a thick brown watch. In short, she looked like a dyke dream. Before I knew what I was doing, I knocked on the window.
She turned when she heard and a grin spread across her face as she beckoned me in with her hand, the shop assistant smiling beside her.
I went to go in, then stopped. Was this a good idea, helping to choose the bridal gown of my first love? My brain didn’t take long to answer.
No, it wasn’t. I ran it through a few of my brain filters, and categorically, they all agreed this was a bad idea. But I went in anyway — how could I not when Nicola Sheen was dressed in leather? I knew the rules to this game, but sometimes, rules were made to be broken.
“Perfect timing!” As I walked through the door, Nicola walked round the woman and enveloped me in a bear hug like we were long-lost friends reuniting for the first time. I caught a waft of her perfume — Calvin Klein? — as well as cigarettes. Did Nicola smoke? I had no idea. In fact, there was so much I didn’t know about her.
“Perfect timing for?” She let me go, but her hand was still hanging loose around my waist.
“Telling me what you think about the dress. You remember I was having trouble?”
I nodded.
She swept her hair out of her face and I caught a glimpse of the 16-year-old I’d been in love with all those years ago. Still the same expression of daring, still the same vulnerability that had drawn me into her all that time ago, and was threatening to do so again.
“So what do you think?”
I shook my head. “About what?”
“Coming and telling me whether or not I look like a meringue in these dresses? I mean, Sophie is brilliant, but I could use someone who knows me.”
I was just about to take issue with how much I really knew her, but Nicola wasn’t waiting for an answer — she was already off down the shop with Sophie in hot pursuit. I followed cautiously, until we got to the dressing room end, a semi-circle with three over-sized changing rooms and comfy pink sofas for guests to sit on. I sat down on one and Nicola went into the middle changing room, before poking her head out of the curtain.
“This first one, I’m not so sure about, so be honest, I don’t mind.”
I nodded. “Honesty, got it.” Even though I was pretty sure that was exactly what no bride ever wanted.
