Don’t You Forget About Me (52 page)

I’m distracted by ‘Auld Lang Syne’ playing on the radio. To this day, I’ve never understood what that song means, the words don’t really make sense, but I think it’s about remembering old friends. And old boyfriends, I reflect, listening to the song and thinking about the round-robin email I received from Seb, wishing me Happy Holidays. Just like last year. Except this year I didn’t get upset, I just smiled and emailed back, ‘You too’.

Then again so many things feel different to last year, at least from what I can remember. I can’t be sure as I lost my old diary a while ago. I don’t have a clue where it went, and my memory’s dreadful, but it disappeared around the time Fiona moved out, along with the disk. Maybe it got thrown away, who knows?

There’s lots of things I don’t know. Like, did it really happen? Did wishing I’d never met my boyfriend really erase our relationship? And did I really date him all over again, only differently this time? It sounds crazy. It
was
crazy. Looking back now, I almost can’t believe it happened, and sometimes, just before I fall asleep at night, I think maybe it didn’t happen –  maybe I dreamt it all, maybe I blurred the lines between my imagination and reality.

Except, I know that can’t be true. I don’t need a diary to prove to me that something happened to me; somehow I magically got a second chance at love, but the twist was, it was myself I learned to love. It’s just a crying shame I learned it too late to be with Fergus.

The doorbell goes and I snap back. Ah, that will be the Cheese Feast and garlic bread I ordered. Hurray for Mario’s pizza delivery!

‘Coming . . .’ I yell, dislodging Flea, who gives a disgruntled meow. I hurry into the hallway. ‘Hang on, I just need to find my wallet . . .’ Grabbing my bag, I start digging around with one hand, while I grip the door with the other.

I pull it open, my head still in my bag. I must do a lighter silk lining next time; this navy blue paisley is too dark.

‘Aha, here it is!’ I look up, waggling my wallet triumphantly.

A tall figure is standing in my doorway. I notice the scuffed boots first, followed by the long limbs, then the dark suede coat. My chest tightens. Somewhere inside me a pulse starts beating urgently as my eyes peel upwards. Unruly black hair is flopping over his face, almost hiding his eyes. It’s got much longer than I remember it.

‘Fergus,’ I manage after a pause. ‘What are you doing here?’

I suddenly feel absurdly nervous. And stupid.
For god’s sake, whose stupid idea was it to wear pyjamas?

‘Oh I dunno,’ he shrugs, trying to sound nonchalant, ‘I just happened to be passing.’

My mind is racing. I can’t believe he’s here. Standing in front of me. After all this time. There’s so many things I want to say.

‘How did you know where I live?’ But all I can do is ask stupid questions.

‘I was a courier, I used to find addresses for a living—’ he begins, then breaks off. ‘OK, I confess, I used my charms on the dragon at Hemmingway House.’

‘You mean Catherine?’ I can’t help the beginnings of a smile. ‘As in our future Queen Catherine?’

‘Aye, that’s right,’ he smiles sheepishly, and for a moment we both fall silent, our minds flicking backwards.

‘But it’s New Year’s Eve. Don’t you have a party to go to?’

‘That’s why I’m here. Who else do I know who hates New Year’s Eve as much as I do? I thought maybe I could
not
celebrate with you?’

I find myself smiling. ‘I’m afraid I’m just staying in.’

‘Grand,’ he grins. ‘Don’t we have a date? “Next New Year’s Eve, my sofa or yours”,’ he reminds me, raising an eyebrow. ‘Only I don’t have a sofa.’

‘What happened to your chaise longue?’

‘It’s in storage. I moved out of the studio as I’ve been filming in Manchester mostly. I’ll have it back soon though – I’m buying a house. Nothing fancy but I think you’d like it—’ He breaks off awkwardly.

‘Wow,’ I say, pinning on a bright smile, ‘the acting must be going really well.’

‘Yeh, I suppose so,’ he shrugs modestly. ‘And I heard about your bags – well, I saw one, a girl was carrying one and I rushed over. I think she thought I was trying to snatch it.’

I laugh. ‘We both got our dreams, didn’t we?’ I say, after a pause.

‘Yeh,’ he nods. ‘Sort of.’ He pauses, stuffing his hands awkwardly in his pockets before clearing his throat. ‘Look, I wanted to say I’m sorry.’

‘No,
I’m
sorry, I was an idiot to send those emails,’ I blurt, before he can stop me. ‘It was stupid of me, I didn’t think.’

‘No, I was an idiot not to see the reason why you did.’

Now the small talk is over, the dam is broken and our feelings are pouring out.

‘I was the one who didn’t think,’ he finishes, shaking his head.

And then there’s a pause, as if we’ve run out of words. After what feels like forever, Fergus finally speaks.

‘Can we pretend like it never happened? Start over?’

As his eyes search out mine, I feel a tug deep inside, but I know for certain I can’t.

‘No,’ I shake my head firmly.

‘No?’ He looks crushed.

My chest tightens as I think about everything we’ve gone through together, about all the good things and the bad things, and it’s like Gramps says: never wish any part of it away. However painful, our memories and the times we spent together have made us
us
, and I don’t want to erase a single thing.

‘Let’s just carry on where we left off,’ I say quietly.

For a moment his brow furrows, as if he’s trying to figure out what’s going on, then his face softens in understanding. ‘And where would that be?’

‘Hmm, well, let’s see . . .’ I pretend to think. ‘Well we’ve met, got to know each other, and then we had the big row . . . so . . . what comes after the big row?’

His mouth twitches and he raises an eyebrow. ‘The making up?’

Our eyes meet, and we both break into giddy, nervous smiles. As finally, after all this time, after everything that’s happened, he reaches out and wrapping his arms around me, pulls me towards him.

Desire
, that’s what I felt on his roof terrace, I suddenly realise, feeling him next to me. That sensation I couldn’t put my finger on. It was desire.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ I say, and he pauses. ‘From now on we have to be totally honest with each other.’

‘OK, well in that case I have something you should know,’ he says, suddenly serious.

‘You do?’ I feel a prickle of panic.

‘I’m in love with you, Tess Connelly.’

I feel a rush of happiness. ‘Well, it’s funny you should say that. I’m in love with you too.’

Then, with him holding me tightly, we fall back against the door. And as it closes behind us he bends down and, with his warm mouth on mine, kisses me like I’m his leading lady.

Believe me, this is something I’m
never
going to want to forget.

Acknowledgements

As always, huge thanks to my agent Stephanie Cabot, my editor Isobel Akenhead, and everyone at Hodder for all their hard work, enthusiasm and commitment. Behind every new book is a team of people working hard behind the scenes and I am forever grateful to have the best team there is.

Sadly, during the course of writing this book, I lost my dad and I want to thank all my wonderful friends whose outpouring of love and support got me through the darkest of times: Sara, Rachel, Beatrice, Rhian, Dana, Chris, Bev, Katie, Kate, Mishky, Pete, Matt, Saar, Charlie . . . to name but just a few. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, I am so lucky to have you guys.    

And finally, to my amazing mum and my sister Kelly – I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you for being there every step (or should that be ‘word’) of the way. For your strength, your unconditional love and your unwavering belief in me as a writer.

We make a good team. Dad would be proud.

About the author

Alexandra Potter is an award-winning author who previously worked as a features writer and sub-editor for women’s glossies in both the UK and Australia. In 2007 she won the prize for Best New Fiction at the Jane Austen Regency World Awards for her bestselling novel,
Me and Mr Darcy
. Her novels have been translated into seventeen languages and her latest novel,
You’re the One That I Don’t Want
, is being adapted into a film. She now lives between London and Los Angeles and writes full-time.

Also by Alexandra Potter

You’re the One That I Don’t Want

Who’s That Girl?

Me and Mr Darcy

Be Careful What You Wish For

Do You Come Here Often?

Calling Romeo

What’s New, Pussycat?

Going La La

First published in Great Britain in 2012 by

Hodder & Stoughton

An Hachette UK company

Copyright © Alexandra Potter 2012

The right of Alexandra Potter to be identified as the Author of the

Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any

means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be

otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that

in which it is published and without a similar condition being

imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance

to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 978 1 444 71212 4

Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

338 Euston Road

London NW1 3BH

www.hodder.co.uk

ALEXANDRA POTTER

Me and Mr Darcy

He’s every woman’s fantasy
. . .

After a string of nightmare relationships, Emily Albright has decided she’s had it with modern-day men. She’d rather pour herself a glass of wine, curl up with
Pride and Prejudice
and step into a time where men were dashing, devoted and honourable, strode across fields in breeches, their damp shirts clinging to their chests, and
weren’t
into internet porn.

So when her best friend invites her to Mexico for a week of margaritas and men, Emily decides to book a guided tour of Jane Austen country instead.

She quickly realises she won’t find her dream man here. The coach tour is full of pensioners, apart from one Mr Spike Hargreaves, a foul-tempered journalist sent to write a piece on why Mr Darcy’s been voted the man most women would love to date.

Until she walks into a room and finds herself face-to-face with Darcy himself. And every woman’s fantasy suddenly becomes one woman’s reality.

ALEXANDRA POTTER

You’re the One That I Don’t Want

How do you know he’s The One?

Are you getting butterflies just thinking about him?

Have you dreamt of marrying him?

Do you just
know
?

When Lucy meets Nate in Venice, aged 18, she knows instantly he’s The One. And, caught up in the whirlwind of first love, they kiss under the Bridge of Sighs at sunset. Which – according to legend – will tie them together forever.