Lindsey Kelk 5-Book 'I Heart...' Collection (150 page)

‘Oh. And I thought they spoke English,’ she said into a napkin. ‘Did you study music? Did you do well?’

So it was going to be the Spanish Interrogation of Alex over fish and chips. I squeezed his knee under the table, but he just patted my hand and shook his head. He was so good at this. How come he was so good at this?

‘I studied architecture, actually, and yeah, I graduated top of my class.’

I knew that. Starter for ten.

‘Class means year,’ I interjected quietly.

‘I went to RISD − that’s in Rhode Island. It’s a couple of hours out of New York. It’s a pretty good school.’

That one I didn’t know. Lose five points. Although I did know Seth Cohen applied to go there on The OC, so that was something.

Mum was nodding her approval, Dad was nodding into his booze, and Jenny just seemed to be nodding off. So far she’d managed to eat about three chips and her fish was untouched. I was giving her three minutes before I took it. Sharing chips with my mum, my arse. I was Hank Marvin. Jet lag, obviously. Not just general greediness.

‘How do your parents feel about the music thing?’ Mum wasn’t giving up. ‘I can’t imagine I’d have been very pleased if I’d sent Angela to university to study law and she’d come home to tell me she was running off to join the circus.’

‘I don’t think it’s exactly the same thing,’ I remonstrated, jumping in to defend Alex before he could come up with a response. ‘Not that I wouldn’t have been an excellent circus performer.’

‘You did spend most of Year Ten wearing clown make-up,’ Dad chuckled to himself. I tilted my head to give him a glare. Oh, he was happy with that one. ‘And Year Eleven. Remember when you wore pigtails for six months straight?’

‘They were very popular,’ I said clearly and loudly. ‘It wasn’t just me.’

‘My folks weren’t crazy about it,’ Alex said, ignoring the sideshow. Probably best. ‘But they understood. And I guess we thought the band would just be a fun side project until we got real jobs, but then we all moved to Brooklyn together and things sort of took off.’

‘You lived with those guys?’ Jenny scrunched up her face. Which was now laid on her forearm, on the table. ‘With Craig? Ew.’

‘Just for a little while,’ Alex said, trying not to laugh. ‘Living with Graham had some benefits − he’s a pretty good cook. And it was that or go home to my folks.’

‘And what do your parents do?’ My mum was on a roll.

‘My dad is in real estate and my mom does a bunch of mostly charity stuff,’ he explained. ‘She used to teach but now she’s retired.’

I had a weird feeling that these were things I was supposed to know about my fiancé already. Alex never talked about his family. I knew he had a brother, and obviously I knew he had parents, but they weren’t a regular topic of conversation. And by that, I meant he never, ever talked about them.

‘And do you think you’ll be doing music for a lot longer?’ I could see my mum was trying really hard to keep an even expression, even though I knew the idea of telling her friends she had an architect for a son-in-law was much more appealing than saying ‘musician’. ‘Or … not?’

‘I think it’s something I’ll always do,’ he replied, hastily swallowing his food. ‘But there’s other stuff I’d like to try. I am incredibly blessed to be able to make a living out of playing music, but it’s a huge commitment. Weird hours, lots of travel. I think it would be super-hard to be playing full time and raise a family.’

My mum, my dad and I all coughed in stereo, but when we came up for air there were three very different expressions around the table. My mum had the glazed-over look of love in her eyes, my dad gave the impression he was going to be sick, and I didn’t know what to think. Or say. Or emote.

‘Of course.’ Mum reached across the table and rested her hand on Alex’s wrist. He did not pull away. Or cry. ‘That makes sense.’

Alex nodded, smiled and stuck a fork into his fish. ‘This is really good, by the way,’ he said, lifting it to his mouth. ‘Almost as good as Angela’s cooking.’

‘She learned everything she knows from me,’ Mum sang happily. I glared at my dinner. That was just offensive. ‘Well, it’s very nice to have you here, Alex. It is quite a relief to know Angela has found someone with his head screwed on.’

‘Because my head isn’t?’ I asked. ‘I’m sensible.’

‘I don’t think you can argue that someone who has a degree in architecture −’ Mum gestured towards her new favourite person − ‘is a less sensible person than you.’

Between being too tired to argue and wanting my mum to like Alex more than she liked Eamonn Holmes, I let it go. I wanted to run upstairs and show her my Gloss presentation. I wanted to show her last year’s tax return that I’d completed all by myself. I wanted to explain that I knew how to get from Sunset Park to Central Park on the subway inside half an hour without changing trains more than twice. I was sensible. I was smart. But this wasn’t the time to point this out. Beside, there was deep-fried fish to be eaten and every vinegary mouthful tasted like heaven. I was two years clean on battered cod and that wasn’t something I was OK with.

‘Actually, I have something for you guys,’ Alex said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out three shiny keys and placed them on the table. ‘I figured you should have keys to our place. Just in case.’

Now he’d gone too far. Keys? To my house? They had better be fakes. They could open the White House for all I cared as long as they didn’t fit the lock to our apartment.

‘That’s very thoughtful,’ my mum said as my dad snatched them up and stuck them deep in his pocket before I could nick them back. ‘Really, Alex, that’s lovely.’

‘Well, you’re always welcome, obviously,’ he said, loosening his tie a little. All the better to throttle him with. ‘Angela’s home is your home.’

I almost bit my tongue. My home was their home? News to me. Their home was my home, of course, but not the other way around. Bloody hell. Someone was getting a slap at bedtime.

‘Uh, Angela.’ Alex snapped me out of my rage trance and pointed across the table. At some point, Jenny had crossed the line from a bit tired to full-on passed-out and her head had rolled off her arm into her dinner. Nice. Nothing like a bit of fish in your hair to really set off a look. But just looking at her reminded me how tired I was, and in the blink of an eye, I could barely stand to blink my eyes.

‘I’ll take her up to bed,’ I volunteered. ‘I’m shattered as well, to be honest.’

‘Right.’ Mum jumped up from the table and took up her hostess action stations. It was her happy place. ‘Angela, you and Jenny are in your room and Alex is in the spare room. I’ve put out extra towels in your bathroom. The pink ones are for you, the white ones are for Jenny and the blue ones are for Alex. There should be everything you need − I got extra toothbrushes and things—’

‘Wait.’ I paused in my attempt to hoist Jenny’s face out of the plate of grease. And accidentally dropped it back in. ‘What do you mean Alex is in the spare room?’

‘Angela, it’s cool,’ Alex said calmly, appearing at the other side of Jenny. ‘Thanks Mrs … Annette. Super-thoughtful.’

‘No, really. You want us to sleep in separate rooms?’ I wasn’t sure what I was more upset about. The idea of another night away from Alex or sharing a room with Jet-lag Jenny.

‘Angela, don’t be difficult,’ Mum sighed as she started to clear away the half-eaten food. ‘You’re in your room, Alex is in the spare room.’

‘You do know that we live together? And that we’re engaged?’ I leaned forward, both palms flat on the table. In my head, I looked all confrontational and Jeremy Kyle-ish, but in reality, I probably looked like I was just trying to hold myself up. Because I was. ‘Do you think we’ve got separate bedrooms at home?’

‘Angela,’ my dad chimed in with his official ‘warning’ voice.

‘Because we haven’t.’ I ignored it. ‘And not just because we can’t afford a two-bedroom apartment.’

‘Angela.’ The similarities between my dad’s warning voice and Alex’s warning voice were spooky. And slightly unnerving. The two of them were at opposite ends of the kitchen, one raising an eyebrow and carrying an unconscious New Yorker in his arms while the other sat at the table nursing his glass. Mum was busy stacking plates in the sink and practising elective deafness. Things really were just like old times, except I didn’t feel like I’d gone back in time by two years; it was like I’d gone back in time by twenty.

‘Oh, sod it. I’ll see you in the morning.’ I folded my arms and added under my breath, ‘You bastards.’

‘I heard that,’ my mother shouted as I pushed past Alex and stormed up the stairs. I was almost as mad with him as I was with them, but if they wanted to treat me like a teenager, I would behave like a teenager. I was this close to locking my bedroom door and turning the loudest album I had owned at fourteen, Spiceworld, up to full blast. Instead, I headed straight for the bathroom and punched a bale of pink towels. How come Jenny got the white ones anyway?

I turned on the cold tap and held my wrists underneath. I needed to calm down. Clearly I was overreacting. Clearly being back in my childhood home was making me behave like, well, a child, but looking back at me in the mirror wasn’t a fourteen-year-old running on Pepsi and cheesy Wotsits who couldn’t control herself but a twenty-eight-year-old running on fried food and fumes who should know better. I turned off the tap, pressed a cool hand to my forehead and picked up a white towel to dry off.

OK, I was still feeling a little bit contrary, but I was ready to apologize. In the morning. It was so time for bed.

Dragging on the cord that switched the bathroom light off as I came out of the door, I bounced straight into the brick wall that was Alex’s chest. Pressing a finger against my lips, he walked me backwards into the bathroom and locked the door behind us. Surprised but still not entirely awake, I perched on the side of the bath and stared at him in the dark.

‘What?’

‘What?’ he repeated in a whisper. ‘What? Really?’

‘Yes.’ I was pouting. I hoped it was too dark for him to see. ‘What.’

‘Don’t pull that face at me, Clark.’ He crouched down in front of me. ‘What’s gotten into you?’

‘Me?’ I was trying to whisper but my voice seemed to be set on fishwife hiss. ‘You’re the one who’s so far up my mother’s arse I can see you when she opens her mouth. What’s with the keys?’

‘It’s a gesture,’ he replied, placing a hand on my knee. ‘I want them to like me and you’re not helping. Or maybe you are. I feel like they like me a whole lot more than they like you right now. And they’re not going to appear on the doorstep next week − calm down.’

‘Don’t tell me to calm down,’ I said, pretending I couldn’t feel the warmth of his palm through my jeans. It was off-putting. ‘Because they bloody well will. Just to be awkward.’

‘No one’s being awkward but you,’ he said in a stern voice. It was oddly sexy. ‘I know you’re tired and I know you’re stressed, but you’re gonna regret it if you fuck up this week. You haven’t seen your family in two years, Angela − don’t make this a bad time. They’ve missed you and I know you’ve missed them.’

I looked back at the towel bales and sniffed.

‘Yes you have.’ He nudged me and smiled in the darkness. Damn those blindingly white American teeth. ‘So tell me what’s up.’

‘Everything’s just so weird.’ My voice sounded tiny even though it echoed around the tiled walls. ‘I’ve been gone ages and nothing’s changed. Nothing at all. They’ve even got the same soap.’ I pointed at the fresh white bar on the side of the sink. ‘But it’s all so weird because things have changed, haven’t they? I feel like I’ve walked into a reality show or something.’

‘Things here might not have changed so much,’ Alex answered after a second’s consideration. ‘But think about it. You have.’

Huh. That sort of made sense.

‘Two years isn’t such a long time if you’re living the same life you’ve been living for the last fifty. Even the last five. But when you up and move to another country and change every little last thing, it’s gonna seem kinda wacky when you come back to the place you left behind,’ he went on. ‘Especially when you come back and throw two arsehole Americans into the mix.’

I didn’t want to smile but I couldn’t help it. So this was why I was marrying him. My mum was right. He was sensible.

‘It’s like putting Mickey Mouse in a Dickens novel, right?’ He squeezed my knee, pushing for a laugh. And he got it.

Alex reached up to push the hair back from my face. His fingertips rippled through my roots, sending shivers right through my body. I could have sworn I was a fat lap-cat in a previous life. ‘So you’re going to get some sleep and wake up in the morning all shiny and new, right?’

‘Am I?’ I wasn’t quite convinced.

‘Yes, you are.’

He pushed up on his knees and slipped his hands around my face, pulling me in for a long, soft kiss. In the dark, with his warm body against mine, we could have been anywhere in the world, and that’s when everything suddenly made sense. Alex was my home. Now I’d got that, nothing seemed quite so strange.

Waking up in my bedroom the next morning was confusing. Waking up next to Jenny was even more confusing. Looking at my phone and seeing that it was almost midday was less confusing. I had been tired.

With a groan I rolled onto my side and threw my legs over the edge of the bed. The events of the day before came back to me in slow motion − the airport, the supermarket, Louisa, Louisa having a baby, Alex, Jenny. Me behaving like a complete child. Alex was right. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that I was pissed off. Maybe if I hadn’t run into Mark, maybe if I’d had more sleep on the plane, maybe if I wasn’t so stressed about the meeting. This week wasn’t going to get any easier if I was just going to be a complete cock.

Freshly showered, freshly made up and wearing a fresh aqua-coloured Nanette Lepore sundress and brown leather flip-flops, I ventured into the kitchen with a smile on my face only to find it empty. Sighing, I pushed some loose strands of hair that had already escaped from my perky ponytail out of my face and put the kettle on. Tea. Tea made it all better. Because even if it was after twelve, it was too early to hit the cocktails. Unless − I looked over each shoulder − I made a quick screwdriver. It was Sunday, after all. I’d be brunching myself blind if we were at home right now and brunch meant a Bloody Mary at the very least.