The Bucket List to Mend a Broken Heart (22 page)

‘Well, we haven’t got round to talking about how cyclists wax their leg hair off,’ says Ben, totally deadpan. ‘I can’t believe you got my
Karate Kid
reference.’

‘I can’t believe you just told me
you wax your legs,’ I say, wrinkling my nose. ‘How do women cope with that? The pressure for the woman to keep her legs stubble-free, you wouldn’t want your man with less stubble than you.’

Ben lifts up his leg and rolls up his trouser leg.

‘Look, hair. Gone are my racing days when I used to remove it.’

For some reason I stroke his leg hair as if to check that it’s real, before I realise that
that’s totally weird. There have been a lot of boundaries overstepped tonight.

I quickly remove my hand and go back to the photos.

‘What about this one?’ I say, changing the subject as quickly as possible so that we don’t dwell on the stroking incident.

‘What for?’ asks Ben.

‘For the Facebook post. I thought perhaps this one, and maybe the one of the Needles – the one that doesn’t feature
the peeing – and one of me at the finish.’

‘They’re as good as any of them.’

I login to Facebook and I see my notification tab is red. I click on it and my stomach instantly flips. One new notification from Joseph Small. My fingers begin to shake as I double click on it. The photo that Sian took last night of Marcus, Bianca and me at the festival comes up and there is a grand total of fifteen
likes. I hover over the list of names, and there amongst them is Joseph’s.

He’s seen the photo.

He’s liked the photo.

Bloody hell.

My heart’s racing and I’m having difficulty breathing. I try and tell myself that it’s just a like. Yesterday I liked that my old school friend Becky had granola and berries for breakfast. It doesn’t mean anything.

It’s not a declaration of love, but I can’t help
the corners of my mouth creeping into a smile. It’s confirmation that he’s actually looked at one of my photos. He’s seen me out socialising.

And, unlike today’s photos, I don’t look too bad. I’m ignoring my glassy-eyed stare and smudged mascara, but my cleavage looks amazing – that’s all he’ll notice, right? It’s screaming at him to look at what he’s missing. And he’s bloody seen it! And liked
it!

‘Everything OK?’ asks Ben.

I’d forgotten he was here. I’m so lost in my Facebook bubble where Joseph liking the photo is as good as a step away from him proposing marriage.

‘More than OK. Look, Joseph liked my photo,’ I say, grinning like I’ve got a coat hanger jammed down my throat.

‘That’s, um, great,’ says Ben.

He doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s great. He clearly doesn’t understand
the significance of a like and its relation to the impending rekindling of romance. Or maybe his cynical heart is prohibiting excitement.

I get to work uploading the photos from today’s trip, hoping that now I’m on Joseph’s radar he’ll be wowed by my cycling feat.

The music of the
Antiques Roadshow
fills the air and Ben stands up.

‘Right, then, I think I’m going to head off.’

‘What, now?’
I say, barely taking my eyes off the screen.

‘Yep. I’m beat.’

‘Oh, really? I thought we were going to watch
The Blacklist
?’

‘Yeah, but I think the early start has caught up with me. Another time,’ he says, slipping his backpack over his shoulder and unlocking my back door.

He’s practically out of the door before I can put my laptop down and prise myself off the sofa.

‘Thanks for everything,
Ben,’ I say, leaning on the door for balance as he walks down the stairs into my garden.

‘That’s OK, I had a great time,’ he says, without looking back.

He unlocks his bike and I can’t help thinking that something’s changed. Where’s the easy-going Malteser-blowing Ben that was here half an hour ago?

‘See you later,’ he says, wheeling his bike out of the gate.

‘See you,’ I repeat, waving to
him as he leaves. He’s already swung his leg over his bike and ridden out into the alley.

I hear a ping and know instantly it’s a Facebook notification. I manage to forget about my aching limbs and rush over to the laptop as quickly as they’ll allow me.

It’s a comment from Sian.

‘
I can’t believe you did that after last night! Well done you! I still feel rough.
’

I bet she does – she had loads
more cider than me.

I wonder if Joseph’s seen my new photos yet. He’s not on Facebook 24/7 like Sian seems to be, but you never know. I could have posted at the exact same time that he was on.

A ripple of excitement passes over me. He could be looking at the photos right now. I put the laptop back on the table and let my imagination run wild.

I might not be able to move properly, but this plan
to get Joseph back just might be working after all. And right now that kernel of hope is enough to make me want to finish the rest of the list as quickly as I can.

Chapter Fifteen

Three weeks and three days until D-Day. Three days since Joseph liked my photo at the festival, but no more likes or comments since.

‘I think they’re going to look fantastic,’ says Linz as we walk back into the office.

I’m designing exhibition panels for a local museum and we’ve just come back from a client meeting there. I’d taken Linz along at Rick’s insistence, but for
once I didn’t mind. Unlike our time at the printer, she stayed in the background and seemed to actually understand her role as a shadow.

‘Thanks. I’m really pleased that they liked the designs.’

‘How could they not,’ says Linz, trowelling it on thick.

It’s a bit unnerving because she’s done nothing but compliment me all day. She hasn’t tried to suggest any improvements or cast her young, fresh
eye on anything, and it feels a little unnatural.

It pains me to say, but I’m actually finding her quite likeable today.

‘Hi, ladies,’ says Fran, as I get back to my desk.

‘Hey, Fran, all right?’ I say.

‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. How was the museum?’

‘Good, thank you. They liked the designs, and they’ve finally finished working out their layout so I’ve got the final measurements for the panels.
In just a few tweaks I’ll have the final drafts done today.’

I can’t help feeling pretty upbeat.

For the first time in I can’t remember how long, I feel on top of my work. My enthusiasm doesn’t seem to be limited to when I’m in a client meeting; I’m genuinely enjoying it.

I don’t know whether it’s because I’m still buzzing from my cycle ride at the weekend or whether it’s because Joseph liked
the photo of me, but either way it’s good for business.

I unpack my iPad and the notes from the meeting before picking up my phone and walking over to the coffee station.

As I wait for the kettle to boil I bring up Facebook. I wait for it to update itself, holding my breath as the notification button turns red. Ever since Joseph liked the photo of the festival at the weekend I’ve been checking
to see if he’s liked any more of my photos.

Two notifications. My heart races as I close my eyes and wish that it’ll be him. But alas, it’s my cousin and an old school friend liking my cycling photos.

I click on Joseph’s page, to see if there is any evidence that he’s replaced me. I hate the not knowing – I’m worried that I could be doing this for nothing.

He was tagged at a pub for lunch yesterday
with Marcus. No surprise there, we often went to the same one on a Sunday for lunch. He really is a creature of habit.

My mind suddenly goes into overdrive as I wonder if there’s a way I could speed up my plan. Maybe I could use his habitual nature to my advantage and bump into him. It couldn’t hurt, could it?

‘Boo,’ says Giles, bringing me back to the office with a jolt.

‘Oh,’ I say, looking
up and trying to work out where I am. Damn Facebook app.

I shove the phone into my pocket and make a cup of tea.

I’m walking back to my desk, when I see Rick bounding across to our table.

‘Abi, have you uploaded those files from the meeting yesterday yet?’

My cheeks immediately burn as I realise that I’d completely forgotten.

Rick and I had a meeting with the council events department yesterday
and they gave us a memory stick with the project information on. I was supposed to put it on the shared drive. I’d put the stick in my desk drawer before lunch and then completely forgotten about it. The lure of the duck wrap from the sandwich shop down the road had been too hard to ignore.

‘I didn’t,’ I say honestly. Rick is a fan of honesty. ‘I’ll do it now.’

I slide open my drawer and look
for it.

I dig through the tangled mess of elastic bands, Blu-tack and paperclips. I really must tidy this up, I think to myself as I find odd change and biro lids.

I can feel Rick impatiently looking over my shoulder.

‘It was right here,’ I say, confused about where it could have gone. I haven’t opened the drawer since.

I pull open the paperwork drawer beneath it, in case it somehow fell through
the solid bottom, but with that being tidier it’s easy to see that there are no memory sticks in there.

‘I hope you haven’t lost it,’ he says, sighing. ‘It took us ages to get a meeting with them and I can’t go back and ask for them to give us the files again.’

‘Well, it can’t be lost. It has to be here.’

‘What’s going on?’ asks Linz, walking over. ‘Hi, Rick.’

Even in my flustered state I
don’t fail to notice the eyelash-flutter she gives our boss.

‘Hi, Linz. Abi here has lost an important memory stick.’

‘I haven’t lost it,’ I say grumpily. ‘It’s got to be here somewhere.’ I remember so vividly putting it away. I sigh.

I’ve scoured the drawer and it’s definitely not there. I’m so worried, I can’t even get excited that I’ve found half a packet of Starburst at the back.

I look
around my desk in desperation, lifting files and notes to look underneath, just in case I’d absentmindedly taken the memory stick out to transfer the files.

‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asks Linz.

I look at where she’s reaching down to the floor. She comes back up in what looks like a version of the
Legally Blonde
bend and snap move. But for once Rick doesn’t seem to have noticed. He snatches
the memory stick out of her hand.

There’s no denying it’s the right one as it has the council logo on it.

‘You really should be more careful with these types of files.’

‘I don’t know how it got on the floor,’ I say, scratching my head. Was I really too busy thinking about the duck wrap that I didn’t put it away securely? ‘I’ll pop it on the drive now.’

I hold my hand out, but Rick snaps his
fingers protectively around it.

‘It’s all right. I’ll do it. Wouldn’t want it to go missing again. Thank you, Linz, for finding it.’

Rick walks off and I’m left with Linz standing beside me, beaming, like an expectant puppy waiting for her reward.

But I’ve got no treats coming her way. I growl slightly in her direction and she goes off, ponytail swinging, to her desk.

‘Could have happened
to anyone,’ says Fran, poking her head through the gap in our partition. ‘Maybe one of the cleaners knocked it off your desk.’

I bite my tongue. It wasn’t on my desk. I know it wasn’t.

‘Although it would have to be Linz that found it,’ says Fran. ‘As if she’s not the golden child already in Rick’s eyes. She’s now playing the hero.’

I nod. She’s got a point – of all the people to find it.

So much for my good mood. I was just starting to feel like I was getting back on Rick’s good side after my working from home letter, but now he’s pissed off at me again.

My phone rings and I sigh as I answer it.

‘Hello, Design Works, Abi speaking.’

‘Abi, hi, it’s Lucinda here,’ says a woman whose voice I don’t recognise. I mentally flip through my work Rolodex but I can’t think of any Lucinda.

‘You know, from Spanish class?’

‘Oh, Lucinda,’ I say. I do know. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks.’

‘Been practising?’ I say, feeling guilty that I haven’t picked up my textbook since last Wednesday’s class.

‘I made Thomas have a Spanish evening. I cooked my best tapas to get us in the mood, but to be honest, we ran out of conversation after about five minutes. It was fun at first – we made up
new identities, but after hello, what’s your name, where do you come from and what do you do, we sort of exhausted our vocabulary.’

I laugh. Lucinda’s one of the absolute beginners like me.

‘You’re doing a lot better than I am,’ I say, feeling relief that the college is having an open evening tonight and therefore we don’t have a lesson.

‘So,’ says Lucinda, snapping into what sounds like professional
mode. ‘I’m calling about the design work we talked about last week. I think I’ve persuaded Thomas to go ahead.’

‘That’s great news,’ I say. I’d forgotten all about that chat. We’d been talking in the break about the boutique hotel she and her husband run on the seafront, and how they’d just finished a big refurbishment. She’d casually mentioned that they were going to need to remarket it, and
I’d passed her my business card. I hadn’t given it another thought. I’d mainly done it because I’m always desperate to get rid of my cards – I don’t want to be that sad loser with a massive stack of them if I ever leave.

‘How do we go about it then?’ she asks. ‘It’s all a bit new for us – the last time we did leaflets I did them myself at Pronto Printers.’

I cringe, glad that she can’t see my
wrinkled expression. I know that Pronto Printers do a perfectly good job of design templates and I can’t blame businesses for using them, because they are very cost-effective, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t grate on me a bit.

‘Right, well here we do things a little differently. We’d have to set up an initial meeting to establish your brief and talk through what you want. You know, if it’s
just leaflet design or whether you want us to do a whole package including rebranding and website.’

I try to remember the sales patter that the account managers would come out with, as it’s not my usual forte.