‘WHAT?’
Amy’s knife and fork clattered to her plate before falling to the floor.
‘I know,’ I said, reaching down to pick them up and smiling broadly at our table neighbours. ‘He was at Spencer Media when I was there. But he didn’t see me.’
‘What was he doing there?’ she demanded. ‘Is he stalking you? Oh my God, he’s stalking you. This is so romantic.’
Typical response from the girl who thought Fifty Shades was the most romantic film she had ever seen. I decided to leave out the part where I was actually the stalker for now.
‘He was probably just there for work,’ I reasoned. ‘He is a journalist, they do have magazines there.’
‘No, he’s definitely stalking you,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me until now. What happened next?’
‘I didn’t know what to say,’ I looked at my friend, hoping I’d know what I wanted to do after spending all afternoon obsessing over our encounter. But I hadn’t got a clue. ‘To him or you. He was gone before I could say anything.’
‘God, if only there was some way to contact him,’ Amy said, blowing her hair up out of her eyes. ‘I mean, if only someone would invent some sort of telecommunications device you could use to send him a message. Damn this dark age of communication we live in.’
She took her phone out of her handbag and hurled it at me across the table.
‘Call him!’ she shouted.
‘Very funny,’ I said, fumbling to catch her phone before it could assault anyone at the neighbouring tables. ‘I know, I could email him.’
‘Or text him,’ she added. ‘Or Facebook, tweet, WhatsApp, Snapchat, Viber or Instagram him.’
‘I bet he isn’t even on half of those,’ I sniffed as she held her hand out for her phone.
‘Oh, you bet?’ Amy said. ‘As if you haven’t internet stalked the shit out of him. Even I’ve found him on Twitter and, dear God, have you read his blog? What a pretentious tit.’
‘I know he has a Twitter,’ I said quickly. She was right, his blog was terrible and even though he hadn’t updated it all summer, I had read every single entry. ‘But he doesn’t tweet.’
Amy grinned. ‘Now who’s the stalker?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I just check in sometimes. I like to know he’s OK.’
And by sometimes, I meant almost every day.
‘And maybe I followed him a bit.’
‘Of course you did,’ she replied, all matter of factly. ‘Why wouldn’t you?’
‘Because that would make me a mental?’ I suggested. ‘It did feel like I was losing the plot, a bit.’
‘It would make you human.’ She reached across the table, dipping her sleeve in butter, and took my hand in hers. ‘And you haven’t lost the plot, you’ve fallen in love. That’s what happens, Tess. What happened next?’
‘He was having lunch with his friend.’ I cringed at the memory and tapped around my eye lightly. It was still quite sore. ‘And they were talking about me. He said he thought we were going to be something but that we’re not because I’m no different to the others and we’re all the same.’
‘That cockwombling weasel.’ Amy’s eyes burned. ‘I’ll kill him. I’ll do worse than kill him. I’ll skin him alive. I’ll sign him up for the Justin Bieber mailing list. I’ll—’
‘Amy, it’s fine,’ I said. ‘It threw me a bit though.’
‘Well, yeah,’ she replied. ‘But he clearly didn’t mean it. He was having lunch with his friend, you said?’
I nodded.
‘Then that totally explains it,’ she scoffed. ‘Trying to save face in front of the dudes. He’s hardly going to tell his mate that he got all over-emo and left a drama queen note about his poor broken heart, is he?’
She had a point. ‘I suppose,’ I agreed half-heartedly.
‘The fact that he’s still talking about you says enough really,’ she went on. ‘If he didn’t give a shit, why would you even cross his mind? Why would he bring you up? Men don’t work that way.’
It wasn’t like I had a lot of experience in the ways men worked but it was certainly true that Charlie stopped bringing up his exes in conversation as soon as they were out of the picture, especially when he felt as though he was the wronged party.
‘He was acting the big man, Tess,’ she reasoned. ‘But enough about him, are you OK?’
‘No,’ I replied, pushing my hair behind my ears. I’d washed and dried it properly since my afternoon adventures and my big, bouncy curls were completely at odds with how I felt inside. ‘It was so surreal. He was right there in front of me.’
‘I get it. The first time I saw Dave after we broke things off was strange.’ She looked down at her empty plate, pinching her delicate features together. ‘They really should have the decency to stop existing when they skedaddle, shouldn’t they? But no, there he was, walking around town, wearing a T-shirt I’d never seen before. That was the main thing that weirded me out. That he had this new T-shirt on. Even though I’d been the one to end things, I felt totally offended that he was going on with his life.’
‘Is it still hard?’ I asked, watching as she wrinkled up her nose and her eyes glassed over for a moment. ‘Do you still miss him?’
‘No …’ She didn’t sound sure. ‘Maybe. If I think about it, I suppose it is. He’s in London, having a baby, I’m in New York, working. It’s all changed anyway.’
She shook herself off, blinking away the tears in her eyes, and took a quick swig of her cocktail.
‘Anyway, enough about Boring Dave and his shit T-shirts,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to what we were really talking about. How did you feel when you saw Nick?’
More shrugs from Team Tess. It was no wonder I’d turned to photography to express myself, I am useless with words.
‘You miss him though,’ Amy stated, not a question. ‘I know you do.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. Now that I’d seen him in the flesh, there was no hesitation. ‘But it’s complicated.’
‘Then call him,’ she said, her eyes wide and kind. ‘You’ll never know how he really feels unless you ask him. He’d probably be mortified if he knew you’d heard all that shit at lunch.’
‘But what if he—’ I started, only for Amy to reach across the table and clamp a hand over my mouth.
‘I’m going to stop you there,’ she said, hitting me lightly on the top of the head with a pepper grinder. ‘My Tess doesn’t live with “what ifs”.’
It was news to me.
‘She doesn’t?’
‘Not any more,’ Amy confirmed. ‘You’ve got to call him. Please? It can be my Christmas present.’
‘Then what will I do with those Topshop boots I bought you a month ago?’ I asked as her face lit up. ‘Remember the ones you had to have and “accidentally” ordered on my credit card?’
‘Oh yeah,’ she said, eyes on the ceiling. ‘I forgot about those. And no, I’m having them. And you’re calling him.’
‘What if I text him?’ I bargained as the waitress carefully set our drinks on the table. I’d been mentally composing messages all afternoon. Now I’d seen him, now I knew how he felt – or how he claimed to feel – I couldn’t imagine actually talking to him. But texting could be OK. How did anyone get together before texts were a thing? ‘And you don’t leave my side until he replies?’
‘Done.’ She picked up her glass and clinked it against mine. ‘And if he in anyway disappoints, hurts or fails you, you can keep the Topshop boots and I’ll chop his balls off, box them up and put them under the tree for you.’
‘I have been very good this year.’ I gave Amy a half-laugh, half-sob, relieved that I’d made a decision, excited that I was going to text him and already terrified of what his response might be. ‘And balls are so versatile.’
‘I’ve heard they’re all the rage for spring–summer,’ Amy replied, pulling down the hem of her neon-pink sweater to reveal half an inch of her bright yellow b
ra. ‘I think they showed them at Chanel.’
‘And who can argue with Chanel?’ I asked, looking down at my not-in-any-way-revealing blue stripy top.
‘No one,’ she answered. ‘Did you see where that waitress went? I physically need dessert before we write this text message.’
I sipped my drink and thanked my lucky stars. Pudding and Amy Smith. The only two things on earth that were 100 per cent guaranteed to make everything better.
‘I can’t believe I’m going to meet James Jacobs,’ Kekipi said, sitting in the back of a black Lincoln town car with his hands pressed against his mouth. His brown eyes were alive with excitement and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him this excited, not even when we stayed up until 3 a.m. so he could make sure he got Taylor Swift tickets.
‘You’ve met a million famous people,’ I reminded him. ‘What’s so special about this one?’
The look on his face suggested I’d just made a truly terrible joke about his mother’s sexual proclivities. Which I would never do – because he would have done it first.
‘James Jacobs is an icon,’ he replied. ‘And James Jacobs was on Downton Abbey. I’ve never met anyone who was on Downton Abbey, this is a life goal realized.’
‘Well, I appreciate you coming to help out,’ I said, bouncing my camera bag on my knees and tapping my toes up and down. ‘I know how busy you must be with the wedding.’
‘Oh please,’ he said, straightening his hair. ‘I can have a hundred weddings. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to oil up James Jacobs?’
‘We’re not oiling up anyone,’ I pointed out. ‘He’s going to be fully dressed for the whole thing.’
‘Spoilsport,’ he muttered.
He had let his hair grow out since I’d last seen him and the extra length suited him. All these months away from Hawaii had taken an edge off his golden skin but the gently curling waves gave him a certain softness, and then I realized what it was. He looked happy. Falling in love suited him. In love with his fiancé Domenico, that was, not James Jacobs.
‘Maybe you can help the stylist,’ I relented. ‘I’m sure we can engineer some semi-nudity as a thank you for helping me out. I really appreciate you helping me, I know it’s a boring job.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not really going to be much help, am I?’ he said, pushing his glossy black waves into place. ‘What is it I’ve volunteered for anyway? Other than to make sweet, sweet love to my celebrity crush?’
Really, I should have known better.
‘How is your fiancé?’ I turned to look him straight in the eye. ‘So nice of him to leave everything behind in Milan and follow you to New York. Monogamy working out well, is it?’
‘Oh, splendid,’ he said, smiling in the face of my sarcasm. ‘He’s the love of my life.’
‘Apart from James Jacobs?’ I asked.
‘Oh, Tess.’ Kekipi gave me a pat on the shoulder. ‘I would sell my grandmother for a go on James Jacobs and I fully expect Domenico would do the same. As long as he filmed it and let me watch, I would completely understand. I’m very excited to marry him and that’s one of the reasons why.’
‘Relationships are confusing,’ I sighed, watching the townhouses trail away and a grey, frozen river take their place as our car sped down the west side of Manhattan.
‘Speaking of which …’ He never missed a good segue. ‘Miss Amy tells me you and Mr Wilder are on speaking terms again.’
I nodded. ‘Yep. We’re friends again.’
‘I see,’ he purred. ‘Friends.’
Turning my attention out of the window, I concentrated on the sights that sped by, beginning to regret my decision to bring Kekipi along on the shoot.
‘And I also heard you happened upon a certain Mr Miller.’
‘When did she tell you all this?’ I asked. ‘We were together all night.’
‘She texted me when you were in the toilet,’ he replied, taking a bite out of a bagel. I had declined Genevieve’s offer of breakfast to go when the nerves Amy had asked after had showed up and brought all their friends with them. ‘And she said you sent him a text message?’
‘Then I’m assuming she also told you he didn’t reply,’ I said, looking at my watch. ‘And still hasn’t, twelve hours later.’
And every minute that went by was killing me.
The rush of anticipation, every time my phone buzzed, followed by the crushing realization that it wasn’t from him. Every minute that passed by I felt less and less like he was going to respond. The only obvious explanation was that he had got so cold the day before his hands had fallen off and he was in hospital, waiting for replacements so he could text me.
‘How long has it been exactly since you last spoke?’ Kekipi asked.
‘A while,’ I replied. If by a while, he meant one hundred and forty-one days.
‘Then I think we can give him a bit longer than twelve hours,’ he said, patting my knee. ‘Have a little faith. It is Christmas, after all, goodwill to all men and all that jazz.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to wait until Easter if I want to crucify him then,’ I muttered. ‘When is that exactly?’
‘What did your text say?’ he asked, ignoring me. ‘Amy wasn’t specific, the swine.’
‘Just, you know, hi.’ I tried to give the impression that I couldn’t remember word for word what I had written but given that Amy and I had spent nearly forty minutes crafting the perfect breezy, noncommittal but totally genuine and heartfelt message, clearly that was a lie. ‘I think I said I was in New York and that it would be great to see him if he’s in town. That kind of thing.’
‘That kind of thing, right,’ Kekipi echoed. ‘And what exactly are you hoping he’ll say?’
That he’s sorry and he loves me and he wants to try again, I answered in my head.
‘I don’t know,’ I answered out loud. ‘There’s no point thinking about it because he’s not going to say exactly what I want him to say, is he?’
‘Probably not,’ he agreed. ‘Have you thought about what you’ll do if he doesn’t reply at all?’
‘Murderous Godzilla-esque rampage in downtown Manhattan?’ I suggested. ‘But you know, wearing a Santa hat so it’s nice and seasonal.’
‘Can it be after the wedding?’ Kekipi asked. ‘We’ve spent a freaking fortune.’
‘Go on then,’ I promised, as we slowed down and turned onto a narrow cobbled street, still sparkly and white. New York was like a Christmas snowglobe come to life. ‘I have to tell you, I’m pretty bloody excited about this wedding. My expectations are high.’
‘Your expectations have nothing on what we have planned,’ he assured me. ‘Wedding of the century – of the millennium, even. It’s going to be a great big gay Hawaiian-Italian Christmas spectacular. Did Domenico tell you he wanted Kylie to play the reception?’
I shook my head.
‘I nixed it of course, too much of a cliché,’ he said. ‘We’re going much classier.’
‘Who did you get?’ I asked, a little bit sad not to be able to live out Tiny Tess’s Locomotion fantasies.
‘Amy lobbied pretty hard for Justin Timberlake but there was something about a restraining order?’ he asked, plucking my phone out of my hand as I checked it one more time. ‘Anyway, it’ll be a surprise. I’m taking your phone away. You need to concentrate and you can’t do that when you’re waiting for a man to send you a message that will no doubt be infuriatingly vague even if it does come.’
‘You’re right,’ I admitted, Business Tess taking over. ‘I need to concentrate on the job and the more I think about Nick, the harder that’s going to be.’
‘Good girl.’ Kekipi grinned, straightening his hair. ‘You concentrate on the job and I’ll concentrate on James Jacobs’s wang.’
I flashed him a stern look as the driver opened the car door onto the snowy street.
‘And look after your phone and be a fabulous assistant,’ he added. ‘Professional to the end, of course.’
‘Of course,’ I r
eplied, staring up at the big black building where we were supposed to meet Cici, excitement for the shoot bubbling up inside me. ‘I didn’t doubt it for a second.’
‘I wonder what he’s wearing,’ Kekipi pondered, jumping out behind me and striding straight into the studio. ‘Do you think he’ll sign my butt? As a surprise for Domenico?’
Professional to the end.
‘Oh look, you showed up.’
Cici was already in the studio, a cup of coffee the size of her head in one hand and an iPad in the other. Angela had sent me an email explaining that because her art director was stuck in LA, Cici had graciously offered to step in. Lucky old me.
‘Are we late?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she replied.
I looked at my watch: we were twenty minutes early.
‘But I’m kind of surprised that you showed up at all. So thanks for that.’
‘This is Cici?’ Kekipi whispered over my shoulder. I nodded, gripping my camera bag tightly. ‘She’s a delight,’ he said. ‘Permission to spend the day insulting her with very clever asides that go right over her head?’
‘Permission granted,’ I whispered back.
‘Cici!’ Kekipi opened his arms for a hug and was greeted with a look so filthy, it made me want to pop home for a shower. ‘I’m Kekipi,’ he said, lowering his arms to his side. ‘I work for your godfather. We haven’t met but I know your sister somewhat.’
‘Then why are you here?’ she asked, not even slightly impressed. ‘Aren’t you his butler or something?’
‘Or something,’ he replied coolly. ‘I’m assisting Tess today.’
‘Fantastic, another amateur,’ she said with a dramatic sigh, beckoning the two of us through the reception and into a large empty space. ‘If we could all pretend to be professionals, that would be awesome.’
‘What a proper, good old-fashioned bitch,’ Kekipi said, giving her outfit the once over. ‘Under any other circumstances, I’d like her.’
‘Under any other circumstances, I’d kill her,’ I replied. ‘But I really want this job to go well. These shots need to be amazing.’