Billy and Me (9 page)

‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘I really am,’ I say with a grin. ‘So, what’s the play?’

‘It’s a new piece by Simon Edwards called
Dunked
, at
the Duke of York’s, near Leicester Square. You’ve been there, right?’ he says as he guides me to the sofa, where we both sit down.

‘Leicester Square? I can’t remember. Possibly. Is it near Trafalgar Square?’

‘Is that seriously the only place in London you can remember?’ he asks, causing us both to laugh. ‘They have a load of premieres at the Odeon in Leicester Square,’ he explains.

‘Oh, I see … So, what’s the play about?’ I ask, keen to know more about the wonderful project that is keeping Billy in the country.

‘Well, it’s a modern piece, with a really small company – I think there’s only four or five of us. It focuses on this group of strangers and how their lives intertwine without them realizing. It’s quite dark, but I think that’s what I need to get further away from the whole teenybopper thing.’

‘Sounds interesting.’

‘It should be. I’ve never done any stage work professionally before and, although I know there’s going to be a queue of critics waiting to bash me, I hope I can prove to people that I’m not a one-trick pony, you see? I needed to do something a little bit different.’

‘I can’t believe you’re staying!’ I gush, leaning in and kissing him again.

‘Well, I thought it would make things easier for us, you know? I don’t need to take on jobs that are miles away, but more importantly, I don’t want to. I promise I don’t ever want to be far away from you, Sophie May.’

I smile at him, drinking in his declaration.

Billy’s dark chocolate eyes twinkle with excitement, as he continues to talk.

‘I want you with me every day, Sophie – to know that my days will be starting and ending with you in my arms. I’d love it if you moved to London and lived here with me.’

My mouth turns uncomfortably dry.

I’ve only ever been to London on daytrips with Mum and Dad – is it really somewhere I’d be able to call home? It’s so different from the slow, leisurely pace of Rosefont Hill – so loud and busy. So big! Could I cope with that day in, day out?

Having spent my whole life there, I feel so safe and secure with what I have in Rosefont Hill – Mum, Molly, all the locals and the shop. In London I only have one thing. Billy.

I look at his hopeful face and my head starts to spin.

Could I really do this?

‘Tall caramel macchiato, extra hot with whipped cream,’ shouts Andrezj, my new Polish boss, who, before I even have time to pick up the cup he has just placed beside me, is already shouting out the next order.

‘Grande sugar-free, soya vanilla latte.’

I falter for a second, breaking down the drinks’ names, before picking up both cups and placing them under the espresso machine. At Tea-on-the-Hill the drinks menu was simple – white or black coffee, cappuccino, hot chocolate or any flavour tea you wanted (it’s only boiling water and adding a teabag – hardly rocket science). Here it’s a different story and it’s taking me a while to get my head around it – there are just so many choices!

When Billy first asked me to move to London with him I thought he was mad, we’d only known each other a few months after all, but slowly he managed to win me round, somehow keeping me calm in the process, stopping me from freaking out over how fast things were suddenly moving between us. He’d made it sound so simple; if we wanted to see each other more and wanted to give our relationship a chance, then we’d have to live together, or at least closer. It would alleviate all the stress that not seeing each other would inevitably
cause in the future. And yes, I realize that to the outside world all this might seem quick; it is! But Billy’s view on waiting is that if we were to hold off for a few months then we’d only be doing so for those people who might judge us along the way, so why bother? One thing I’ve learnt is that Billy Buskin is a hard person to say no to.

Surprisingly, Mum was really calm about the news. I wasn’t quite sure how to break it to her after her earlier outburst, but Billy decided to tell her with me. Billy and Mum had struck up a nice friendship, which was largely down to him joining us on our Friday nights in together, something we all looked forward to. Billy would be the perfect gentlemen around Mum – kind, caring and attentive – but he’d also have her laughing hysterically with his funny ways. It felt good to have that joyous sound filling our home once again. Something we’ve not had for years. It finally feels as though a new chapter might actually be starting for us, which Mum and I are both happily embracing.

Molly, however, was a mess when I told her the news. I’ve never seen her so distraught and it was awful to see the woman I thought to be so strong in such a state. She cried non-stop for my last few days at Tea-on-the-Hill, and has made me promise to call her every day, without fail. I’m happily complying.

No one has been more surprised than me at the sudden change in my life – leaving everything that I know and am comfortable with in Rosefont Hill to move somewhere new, where the only person I know is Billy. I didn’t just drop everything carelessly and go running to
London – not quite. I had time to warn people, like Mum and Molly, and to think what would make the change easier for me. I decided that independence was key. I knew that I had to find a job, hopefully in a little boutique coffee shop or privately owned bookshop, so that I could continue to support myself and have some structure to my days. Billy hated the idea, especially as, in his own words, he can happily provide for the both of us – it was difficult to explain that the very thought of living off him and flying aimlessly through my days made me want to vomit. But he took it well, even if he didn’t agree with it.

Even before moving here I started applying online for jobs, but heard nothing back. I was still searching for something by the time Billy handed over a key to his flat. Even after several weeks, not a single interesting job presented itself, meaning I had to take the first job that became available … which is how I have come to be wearing a bright orange apron and baseball cap, with a great big commercial logo emblazoned on the front. That’s right, folks, I’m now working at Coffee Matters. It’s quick, it’s frantic and there’s hardly any satisfactory customer interaction, even though we have hundreds more visitors in an hour than we’d have had in a week back home. Therefore, it’s basically the same job, minus the baking, polite chatter and any of the perks. I just have to keep reminding myself that it’s a temporary measure that keeps me financially and physically independent. Obviously, I haven’t told Molly about my new job. Not yet. I haven’t plucked up the courage, as I know how disappointed she’ll be.

‘Sorry!’ I say to the lady tapping her perfectly manicured fingernails on the counter top, letting me know that I’m taking longer than she finds acceptable to get her order to her. ‘What are you waiting for?’ I ask, politely, not letting her lack of patience irritate me.

She huffs and puffs out her lips in desperation.

‘A grande sugar-free, soya vanilla latte?’

‘Ah, righto! I’m on it,’ I say as I pick up the carton of soya milk and flash her a smile. ‘I’m new here, you see. It was my first day yesterday, so I’m still trying to get to grips with everything.’

‘Right …’ she says with a lack of interest, looking down to play with her watch, which immediately shuts me up and hurries me along.

Hours later, after feeling like a machine churning out drinks all day to ungrateful customers, I sigh with relief when I spot Billy outside, wearing a black trilby with dark glasses in an attempt to hide himself and blend in with the hordes of tourists on the streets. It’s finally home time. I look in Andrezj’s direction for confirmation that it’s OK to go, to which I just get a nod of the head and a grunt. I grab my bag and leave.

‘Ah, there you are!’ Billy says, as he wraps his arms under mine and lifts me off the ground. ‘So, how was it?’

‘Absolutely fine!’ I say, smiling, not wanting Billy to worry about me at work, especially as he wasn’t keen for me to take on the job in the first place. He’d be mortified if he knew how miserable I actually was, and insist that I pack it in straight away.

‘Really?’

‘Absolutely! How were rehearsals?’ I ask, changing the subject as I grab his hand and drag him in the direction of home. It has surprised me how close everything is in London; I always thought it was all so spread out but in actual fact, seeing as we live in the heart of the city, we can actually walk places with ease. I’m chuffed that I haven’t been spending hours battling with the different tube lines and so on – I don’t think I’d have been so keen on that.

Billy is now in his fourth week of rehearsals alongside Ruth Banks, James Arterton and Ben Drake. The mammoth difference between working on stage and film has alarmed him, which saw him majorly concerned last week as to whether it was something he was talented enough to do. I honestly thought he was going to walk, he was so down about the whole thing. However, after a big chat with the director he seems much more positive – apparently, Billy was experiencing some sort of ‘actor’s wall’, which is similar to writer’s block, I imagine, where nothing seemed to be working with his character. Once he knew it was common to feel crap at that point in the rehearsal process, he began feeling far more relaxed about it, making him much nicer to be around!

‘Great, it’s all starting to make sense at last.’

‘That’s good!’

‘I’m quite looking forward to putting it in front of an audience now and seeing what they make of it.’

‘There’s not long to go!’

‘Less than a week.’

‘Blimey.’

‘So, what shall we have for dinner tonight, Miss May?’

I’m about to answer when a guy with a huge camera jumps out twenty yards in front of us and starts snapping away in our direction. Billy’s hand tightens around mine as we both slow our walking hesitantly, unsure what to do or which direction to turn in. I can feel my eyes widen as I make sense of the situation. He is a paparazzo and we’re in the process of being papped.

I’m in my Coffee Matters uniform.

Before I can protest or even break into a smile to make light of the situation, the middle-aged man, wearing ripped jeans, scruffy trainers and a creased t-shirt, jumps on top of the motorbike sitting next to him and speeds off, leaving us to just stare after him.

‘Shit!’ I blurt out as Billy just turns to me, looking stunned. I hastily pull off my apron and cap. ‘Why didn’t I take these off before I left work? I was still in my apron, for God’s sake! I look like the world’s biggest loser!’

‘No, you don’t!’

I don’t say anything, I just raise my eyebrows at him, letting him know that I know he is spouting rubbish. I look a state – this is far worse than being caught with some flour on my face.

‘Seriously, Soph, you look cute. Anyway, they probably won’t even use those pictures, they’ll just end up clogging up the bloke’s computer memory, forcing him to delete them,’ he claims with a shrug.

‘Billy, your girlfriend works in Coffee Matters …’ I
explain to him slowly. ‘As if that won’t be turned into some sort of story? They’re going to have a field day with that!’

Billy looks down at the floor and bites his lip. I knew he didn’t want me to take the job on, probably for this exact reason, and he just didn’t know how to say it without offending me or sounding snobby. Therefore, it’s unfair of me to make him feel bad for something that is clearly not his fault.

I pull him to me and bury my head in his chest.

‘I’m sorry. It’s not your fault,’ I say.

‘Baby, you don’t need to work!’

‘Shush you. I do,’ I say, as I pull his face towards mine for a kiss.

‘But baby, it’s not what you want to do. At least let me take care of you until something better comes along,’ he pleads.

‘I wouldn’t dream of it!’ I say, pulling away from him and tugging at his arm so that we can continue walking home. ‘The hilarious thing is, of course, that Andrezj specifically said that staff are not permitted to take aprons or caps home with them … that’ll teach me!’

The next morning when I leave for work I grab my mobile phone (something I’ve been using more than ever now that I’ve moved to London – it’s my lifeline to my old life) and find I have five missed calls from Molly at the shop and one from Mum. I unlock it by swiping my finger across the screen and listen to the voicemails Molly and Mum have left.

Molly’s is short and to the point. ‘Orange doesn’t suit you. That is all,’ she says tartly, before hanging up.

Mum’s message explains Molly’s outburst, although, needless to say, I already know what she was referring to. ‘Soph, just a little warning, Mr Tucker took the papers up to Molly this morning because you’re in a couple. Don’t think she was impressed with the whole Coffee Matters thing … I thought you were going to tell her? Anyway, don’t worry too much about it. I think she’s just still a bit down about you going. Plus she said the new girl Sally is useless. Give her a call. Speak to you later. Love to Billy. Love you. Bye!’

I decide to bite the bullet and call Molly straight back, knowing the longer I leave it the more agitated she’ll get.

‘Hello, Tea-on-the-Hill, how may I help?’ says a voice I don’t recognize, who I decide must be the Sally Mum mentioned.

‘Hello, is Molly there, please?’

‘Yep, can I ask who’s calling?’ she squeaks.

‘It’s Sophie.’

‘Ohhh. I seeeee,’ she says, elongating the words, letting me know she’s aware of who I am. I wonder what Molly has told her about me. ‘How are you finding London? Full of glitz and glamour?’

‘Erm … yeah, it’s great. Sorry, is Molly there?’

‘Sure,’ she sighs, seemingly deflated.

Molly is on the phone within seconds.

‘Coffee Matters?’ she squeaks. ‘Coffee-blooming-Matters?’

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but laugh.

‘I know, Molly, but it’s not forever. I tried all sorts of places, but nobody had any jobs going.’

‘There must have been something else,’ she insists.

‘Honestly, Molly, do you think I’d voluntarily work there if I had any other option?’

There’s silence from Molly on the other end. I know she won’t stay mad at me, but she’ll still want me to know that she’s disappointed with the fact that I’ve left her wonderful, homely boutique of a teashop to work in what she sees as a heartless corporation which churns out loveless products.

‘Is it as awful as I imagine?’ she finally asks in a sympathetic tone, taking me by surprise.

‘Far worse. No one cracks a smile and the only words exchanged are orders or complaints.’

‘Complaints? Who’s complaining about you, dear? Did I not spend eight years teaching you everything I know?’ she says, stunned, making me laugh.

‘There’s just so much choice. Plus everyone is in such a rush.’

‘Well, it’s to be expected I guess, everyone just wants their early morning fix. They don’t have the luxury of time.’

‘Exactly, they aren’t there to make friends and they’ve got places to be.’

‘More fool them, then.’

‘Yep.’

‘I didn’t mean it, you know,’ she says suddenly.

‘Mean what?’

‘About orange not suiting you … you look lovely in the pictures. Tired, but lovely.’ Typical Molly, I think, honest but fair.

Walking into work that day I’m asked thousands of questions by my colleagues thanks to the pictures in the papers. I think they all received quite a shock when they opened their
Metro
newspapers on the way into work this morning and saw the new girl’s face inside. Therefore, I’ve abruptly gone from the new-girl-who-no-one-wanted-to-talk-to to the most-fascinating-person-who-ever-existed. It’s alarming to see the change in them.

Surprisingly, Andrezj is the most intrigued by the situation and keeps firing questions at me throughout the day, regularly getting disgruntled with my answers as he starts to realize I’m still the extremely normal girl who he employed a few days ago.

‘Your boyfriend is God, though, so why are you here?’ he asks, in his thick Polish accent, while helping me to gather up dirty mugs from the tables (it was a one-person job yesterday, but suddenly requires two people now I’ve awoken their interest in me).

‘Because …’

‘Yes?’

‘I want my independence.’

He tuts and rolls his eyes, wiping his long brown hair out of his face.

‘What?’ I ask.

Although part of me is cautious about what I say because he is a stranger, who hardly spoke to me before
knowing about Billy, I still enjoy the feeling of talking to someone new, which, given my history, is a miracle. It’s as though being with Billy has given me a topic I feel comfortable talking about; perhaps it has given me something to hide my own shortcomings behind, making me feel more confident.