The One We Fell in Love With (18 page)

‘Can you give me a hand carrying some stuff in from the car?’

After a while he comes out the back to have a smoke. ‘How’s it going?’ he asks, perching on the planter box and lighting up.

‘I feel like I’m getting RSI in my right hand from using this weed-killer,’ I reply grumpily.

‘Want me to do some squirting for you?’

I give him a wry smile, but hand over the bottle. ‘Thanks. Just do the moss and the crap growing out of the cracks in the pavement.’

‘Yes, Miss.’ He squirts with his right and smokes with his left.

‘So how long has Vanessa worked here?’ I ask as I turn my attention to the planter box and start pulling out weeds.

‘She started today,’ he replies.

‘She’s very pretty.’

‘She’s alright.’ He sounds nonplussed.

I glance over my shoulder at him. ‘Not your type?’

‘I don’t have a type.’

‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ I ask with curiosity, struggling to pull up a particularly tenacious weed.

‘Not at the moment.’

‘You didn’t leave anyone behind in London?’

‘Nope. Did you?’

I humph. ‘My boyfriend got his not-quite-ex-wife pregnant, so no.’

He pauses what he’s doing. ‘I didn’t think you’d be the type to hook up with a cheater.’

‘Well, I didn’t know he was cheating on her at the time. He told me they were finished.’

He carries on squirting as I tug really hard at the weed. The leaves come off, but the roots stay intact.

‘Bollocks,’ I say.

‘Want some Weedo?’ He offers up the bottle.

‘It’s called Weedol. And no, what I really need is a fork.’ I look around for Mum’s bag of gardening tools. ‘Damn, I left the tools in the car.’ I stare with
annoyance at my filthy hands.

‘I’ll go get them for you.’

‘Er, okay. Thanks. My keys are in my bag. Side pocket,’ I direct as he reaches in and pulls them out. He throws his fag butt to the floor.

‘Can you stop doing that? We’re trying to tidy this place up.’

‘Sorry, Miss,’ he calls, unfazed.

I hope that nickname doesn’t stick. I
do
feel like his bloody teacher, sometimes.

When he returns I barely glance up, too busy with the next round of weeds, but what I do see of his face is enough to make me do a double take.

He dumps the bag by my side. ‘Are you an identical triplet?’ he asks with astonishment.

He’s holding an old photo of Phoebe, Eliza and me that I keep on the dashboard of my car. We’re arm in arm on a beach in Somerset at the age of ten, wearing identical smiles and
beaming straight at the camera.

‘Give me that,’ I snap, but a millisecond before snatching it I remember my dirty hands. ‘Put it down. Put it in my bag.’

‘What’s the problem?’ he asks, perplexed.

‘I don’t want the edges bent.’

‘I’m not going to bend the edges, Rose.’ He’s really quite patronising for someone who’s seven years my junior. ‘If you care about it so much, why have you
got it on your dash in full sun? The colour’s fading.’

‘I know,’ I say, and to my mortification I’m suddenly fighting back tears. ‘Just put it down.’

‘Okay,’ he says, startled at the look on my face. ‘I’ll put it in your bag.’

I swallow. ‘Thank you. You should get back to work.’

He does as he’s told, leaving me in peace.

Eliza

‘Well?’ Angus asks, his face expectant as I walk out of
Elvis & Joe’s.
I give him a sneaky thumbs-up along with a chuffed smile and he throws his
arms around me.

‘I was trying to be cool,’ I say with a muffled voice against his shoulder.

‘Bugger that,’ he says, drawing away but keeping his hands on my upper arms. ‘That’s amazing. When?’

‘Wednesday night, the week after next.’

‘Wow! Lunch to celebrate?’

‘Yes, I can actually eat, now.’

Stewart lined up the meeting with his dad after listening to my demo. I was so nervous earlier, I couldn’t even stomach the croissants Angus brought over to my apartment. He came first
thing this morning, armed with breakfast and a playlist of what he thought I should sing. It was very sweet of him.

‘What are you up to for the rest of the day?’ I ask as we walk.

He shrugs. ‘I don’t have any plans. I don’t have much of a life these days, I’m afraid.’

‘You’re not alone,’ I reply.

Soon afterwards we’re seated on the pavement outside a pub in the Northern Quarter, not far from
Roxy’s.
It’s been baking hot all week and it’s sheer bliss being
able to have a drink with a friend in the sunshine.

‘You look better,’ I declare. He’s had a haircut, but that’s not it. He seems happier, healthier, a far cry from the ghost of a man who found me busking not even two
weeks ago.

‘I feel better,’ he replies, leaning back in his chair and grinning.

‘I can’t believe you let Rose cut your hair last night.’ I noticed he’d had a haircut when he arrived on my doorstep, but I got a sharp shock when he casually admitted
that Rose did it when they’d both had a few drinks. ‘I guess she’s responsible for fattening you up, as well.’

He laughs. ‘She’s a good cook,’ he agrees. ‘She was out for most of yesterday evening, though, so I had to make do with a ready-meal.’

‘Oh, poor you,’ I say sarcastically. ‘Where was she?’

‘Hanging out with Toby, the boy she works with at the bakery.’

‘Boy? How old is he?’

‘Barely out of his teens. Rose is worried that he’s having trouble at home.’

‘Is she doing her lame duck routine again?’ Angus doesn’t respond to my snidey comment, but seriously, why
did
she give up nursing if she cares about looking after
people so much?

‘Which bakery does she work at again?’ I ask, trying to sound more pleasant as he tells me.

‘It’s called
Jennifer’s.
It’s in Sale, around the corner from the Town Hall.’

‘Does she like working there?’

‘You know, you could just ask her these questions yourself.’ He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table, regarding me pointedly.

‘Forget it,’ I grumble.

He smiles at me. The sun is bouncing off his pint and onto his face, making his mottled green and brown eyes dance in the light.

I aim for nonchalance with my tone. ‘Well, I’m glad it’s working out for you. If she’s why you’ve perked up—’

‘It’s not just her,’ he interrupts, pausing before adding, ‘I’m glad to have you
both
in my life again. I wasn’t sure I ever would.’

I can’t hold his gaze for long. I take a sip of my cider and crunch on a chunk of ice.

He smiles a small smile. ‘You seem a bit better, as well.’

If I do, it’s because of him.

‘But you’re still too thin,’ he adds.

‘Maybe I should move in with you and Rose,’ I say acerbically.

His smile widens.

‘Never again,’ I warn, before he gets any ideas.

We sit and chat for a couple of hours, eventually heading back to my apartment so I can get ready for work. Michelle is hanging out on the sofa, watching TV, but she goes to her room when we
appear. I frown after her – she didn’t need to make herself scarce.

‘Coffee?’ I ask.

‘Sure.’ Angus comes and stands in the doorframe, watching me.

‘Do you work every night at
Roxy’s
?’ he asks.

‘Pretty much. I need the money.’

He nods thoughtfully. ‘Doesn’t leave you much room for a social life, though.’

‘I don’t need one.’

‘When was the last time you went on a date?’ he asks.

‘Oh God, here we go again.’ I stare at the ceiling. ‘I’ve got other things to worry about right now than men.’

‘Rose wants me to set her up with one of the guys from my work,’ he continues, not put off by my tone.

‘Are you going to?’ I ask casually, hoping the answer is yes.

‘I told her I wouldn’t,’ he replies with a grin, and I can picture him hamming it up in his overprotective big brother role.
I bet Rose loved it
, I think meanly.
‘But there is one guy that I think she might like,’ he surprises me by saying.

‘Really?’

‘I don’t know if she’s serious about meeting someone, though.’

‘Is she alright?’ I find myself asking.

‘I think she’s been lonely,’ he replies honestly. ‘She says it’s nice being around someone her own age again. I think it must’ve been hard at times, being
with your mum all the time.’

I nod and change the subject.

The following week drags by. I keep hoping Angus will call, but he doesn’t, so on Thursday I call him myself and ask what he’s up to on Saturday. Saturday is a big
busking day for me, but I don’t want to go any longer without seeing him, so I’m willing to jack it in.

I’m crushed when he tells me that he’s going away with his mum at the weekend – they’re visiting old friends in Brighton.

‘But I’m coming to your gig next week,’ he tells me. ‘Obviously.’

‘Okay, that’s good,’ I reply half-heartedly.

On Wednesday night, six days later, I’m the most nervous I’ve ever been before a gig. It’s been months since I last played to an audience at a social club and
Elvis &
Joe’s
is a far cry from that sort of venue – it’s easily the nicest place I’ve ever performed. But that’s not why I’m on edge. Nor is it because I’m
worried about who will be watching or whether I’ll remember my words. I know my songs inside out and back to front, and it doesn’t matter how many people turn up because I’ll be
as comfortable with fifty as I would be with five.

No, what I’m nervous about is seeing Angus again.

I wish I felt as at ease with him as Rose does. She’s always been so relaxed in his company, and no doubt she’s feeling even more so now that they live together.

It still grates on me that she gets to see him every day, not that this is anything new. When they lived in London, Rose hung out with Phoebe and Angus all the time. I used to feel so left out,
but I just couldn’t imagine being part of that group, not with how I felt about Angus.

I don’t really understand how Rose can be comfortable with Angus if she has feelings for him.
Does
she still have feelings for him? Has she
ever
been in love with him?
Knowing Rose, it was just an infatuation, another silly crush. She always was a hopeless romantic.

But what if she does love him? And what if her feelings are one day reciprocated?

The thought makes me want to throw up.

‘You look nervous,’ Michelle says, entering the small backstage area where I’m waiting. I’m due to go on shortly.

‘I’m fine,’ I insist as she passes me a glass of water. ‘Thanks.’ I take a large gulp.

‘There’s a good crowd out there,’ she tells me, impressed. ‘All of the tables are full.’

‘I’m sure they only came in for the food,’ I say. Not that it matters. It’s nicer to play to numbers, despite what I said earlier. ‘Have you seen Angus?’ I
ask casually.

‘Yep, he’s here,’ she replies. ‘He’s got a few mates with him.’

‘Aw, really?’ My heart swells and she smiles at me.

Once I’m sitting on a stool on the darkened stage with my guitar plugged into an amp, I scan the room. My eyes find Angus almost immediately. He’s moved forward from the bar and is
standing a few metres away with a beer in his hand. He raises it up to me, and as he smiles, my stomach somersaults.

Then the lights above the stage go on. I lean closer to the mic as the crowd noise dies down. Joe doesn’t do announcements, he said, so I have to introduce myself. I’ll say a few
more words later, but right now I just want to get down to business with one of my quirkiest songs.

‘Hi everyone. I’m Eliza Thomson and this song is called, “Don’t Forget Your Toothbrush”.’

I strum my guitar and start to sing.

‘You were amazing!’ Michelle enthuses as I step down from the stage. She’s come around to the side to meet me and I’m so grateful for her support. My
responding thank you is heartfelt.

Joe appears and opens the backstage door, jerking his head towards it.

‘I’ll just go and lock up my guitar,’ I tell Michelle, glancing over my shoulder. I can’t see Angus.

‘That was a very nice set,’ Joe says as the door closes behind us. ‘I can’t believe we haven’t had you in before.’

‘I’d love to come back,’ I reply with a cheeky grin.

He chuckles. ‘I’m sure we can arrange something. Give me a call in a couple of days or pop in if you’re in town. We’ll set something up.’

‘Thank you!’ I try to resist hugging him.

I put away my things and freshen up, swapping my T-shirt for one that isn’t sweaty from being under the stage-lights. My hair is quite long at the moment and I’m wearing it in a
single plait that drapes over my left shoulder. I need to get around to cutting it. My thoughts make the easy jump towards Rose, who recently cut Angus’s hair for him.

I wonder if she knew about this gig. Did she in any small way want to come? As soon as I think the thought, I push it out of my head. I’m not about to go getting sentimental.

Michelle is waiting near the door when I return to the bar area.

‘Do you know where Angus is?’ I ask, cutting to the chase.

‘He’s at the bar, getting you a drink,’ she replies with a smile.

‘Come on, then,’ I urge.

‘Hey!’ he says when we find him a moment later. He sweeps me up in a hug and crushes me to his hot, slightly damp body. He feels incredible. ‘That was great,’ he
enthuses, pulling away. ‘Best gig I’ve ever seen you do. Are you happy?’

‘Yeah. I think so. Yes.’

‘Here, I got you a beer.’

‘Thanks.’ We chink glasses.

‘Which is the guy you think Rose might like?’ I ask him a little later, furtively studying his friends.

‘Evan, there.’ He nods at a dark-haired, medium-height bloke wearing a white shirt and navy blazer.

‘You reckon?’ I wrinkle up my nose.

‘You don’t think she’d go for him?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Maybe. Yeah, actually, she probably would.’ He looks a bit too safe and middle-of-the-road for me. ‘What was she doing tonight?’ I ask.

‘Just watching telly,’ he replies casually.

‘You didn’t think about asking her to come?’