This is a Love Story (32 page)

duvet sports. Well, if Chloe wasn’t too upset still . . .

‘That sounds lovely,’ she responded, kicking off a pair of cute slippers. The impending storm seemed to have passed over.

From the doorway I looked at Chloe and saw her lying there with a look of contentment on her face. Maybe it was all over now.

All the drama would dissolve and become this silly thing we’d once gone through when we were young and stupid. All the hurt and

the confusion would fade into the blackness of a memory. I had found my girl. She had found her man. Simple.

‘Chloe,’ I called quietly from the edge of the living room.

‘Yeah?’

‘I love you.’

Sienna

BEEP.

It was half past two in the afternoon, a Sunday afternoon to be precise, when I got the message. The olive-branch text from Chloe.

It was a shock, to say the least.

‘Hi, Sienna. It’s Chloe. I got your number from Nick. Hope you don’t mind. Are you free for a coffee this afternoon? Xx’

So that was how I ended up in an overpriced deli with her, warming my cold hands on a latte. The place was mainly decked out

in green marble, with big glass counters displaying a feast of expensive meats, smelly cheeses and strange sticks of bread twisted like

strands of DNA. There were numerous strings of salami hanging from the ceiling behind the tills, and the staff looked like genuine

Italian food buffs, wiping their rough hands down crisp white overalls. Near the window was a gold freezer containing a plethora of

brightly coloured ice cream packed with chunks of chocolate, pecan nuts and ripples of caramel, glittering under the dimmed lights.

It was a typical trendy London haunt, selling things I could neither pronounce nor afford. It was nice, though.

Chloe was wearing a pair of light blue skinny jeans and a T-shirt with some band on it that I’d never heard of. As I knew already,

Chloe was achingly cool.

I had been a little nervous about this, fearful that she was going to start asking me about the incident in the toilet on Nick’s

birthday. The time when she overheard me telling her boyfriend that I adored him. We hadn’t spoken about it since, but she was

clearly furious at the time.

The café was packed with wealthy-looking couples, some with their children wearing miniature versions of designer labels. It

really wasn’t my cup of tea. We ordered a plate of shortbreads with little jam hearts in the middle.

‘The reason I wanted to go out just us two is because obviously I’m going out with your best friend, and I’ve heard so many great

things about you,’ she gushed sweetly, brushing some crumbs away from her top lip. ‘I don’t know you, but I’d really like to. We

work together and everything, but we hardly talk. I feel like you’re a stranger, really.’

That was sweet, I thought, as I nibbled the edge of one of the biscuits, which crumbled luxuriously. Maybe we wouldn’t discuss

the toilet incident. I really hoped we wouldn’t. I’d often thought about contacting her too, but she’d beaten me to it. I’d been hoping

we could break the ice and shift all this awkwardness that had built up between us.

‘Thank you. I’m really happy for you and Nick – he seems so chilled out now you’re together.’

She smiled, a look of real accomplishment.

I recognised that expression. It was the look a woman wears when she has discovered the man she wants to be with, the man of

her dreams. The one who inspires her to be a better person. And I can hardly blame her. For years he has been the man I want to be

with too. He’s a catch. And she is so lucky.

‘Are you OK with Nick and me, you know, being friends?’ I asked, my heart thumping hard in my chest. I believe in honesty and

I’m not afraid to ask questions like this.

She looked down into the bottom of her cup and bit her lip. She was so damn pretty it hurt.

‘I need to be truthful with you here, Sienna. I haven’t always been OK with it. At times I’ve been really mean to Nick over it,

kicked off and stuff because I was worried there was something more between you than there is.’

I didn’t say a word; I was starting to experience tunnel vision. The bustle of the people around us seemed to slow right down and I

was just looking at Chloe’s face until I got double vision. There were two of her now.

‘But he’s told me time and time again that he’s never felt anything for you like that, and that you’re just friends.’ Chloe almost

sounded as though she was sneering. I felt like she was mocking me, but I knew I was only imagining it.

Just friends. I felt a sharp stabbing pain in my stomach as I imagined him holding her close at night and telling her that I wasn’t a

big deal. Maybe they even laughed about it. About me. But what did I expect? Of course that was what he was going to say. That

was all he felt. I’d always known that, but hearing it hit me hard.

I suddenly thought about Ben and felt guilty that the disappointment had cut into me like this. ‘Of course, Chloe. You should

never feel worried about Nick and I. He’s a pain, anyway,’ I joked, touching her arm and giggling.

‘God, I know!’ she shrieked through hysterical laughter as all this energy ebbed from her. Love-fuelled energy, no doubt.

‘He has all these really annoying habits, Sienna.’ She leaned in and began to whisper. ‘He always puts his head in his hands on

his lap when he feels stressed or happy – or anything, really. And he doesn’t wash up enough, and – oh, this is brilliant – he farts in

his sleep!’ With this she tilted her head back and started to wipe away a little tear of joy. A bunch of bracelets round her wrist

jangled against each other like wind chimes.

I wondered if she really knew him well. Did she know what his favourite book was? How he likes to iron his boxers and put them

in colour order? That he has a strange penchant for honey and banana on toast? Maybe she knew him better than I did now. Maybe I

didn’t really know him at all any more . . .

I imagined them getting married, and me somewhere in the congregation with a large black hat on, as if I was in mourning. And

how the vicar would ask if anyone had any lawful impediment, and I would have to keep my lips sealed for fear of shouting out that

he was the love of my life, and somewhere along the line there had been a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.

A cold feeling rushed over my body and I felt detached from the room. It was as if I and the chair I was perched on were rushing

backwards, away from the shortbread and the coffee and the Prada handbags, into some unknown world. I felt sick, just like I had

that day in the gym.

Come on, Sienna. Wear the dress. I imagined pulling the green gown from my wardrobe, stepping into it and carefully zipping it

up my back. I tried to feel tall and beautiful and proud of who I was. A strong, confident woman.

‘Sienna, are you OK?’ Chloe’s voice brought me back and I realised I had been staring at her forehead in silence for quite a long

time.

‘Yes, sorry, I’m fine.’

But I wasn’t. The feeling just wasn’t going away. A gut-wrenching sensation, cold and tingling all over, like thousands of tiny

needles were biting into my skin. ‘Actually, Chloe, I’m not feeling too well. I have to go.’ I shot up suddenly, the coffee cups

clattering loudly as I bashed the table with my knee. Oh shit, I didn’t want to make a scene. I just wanted to get out of there.

‘Sienna, honey. I hope you’re OK?’ She reached out her arm, but it was too late. I was pushing past what seemed like rows and

rows of prams all pressed together in a wall. It was like they were speaking, laughing, taunting me.

I felt guilty about leaving her there – she was such a nice, sweet girl. It wasn’t her fault she’d fallen in love with Nick, anyone

would. But I felt like poison and if I spent any real time with her, I would make her dangerous, just like I was. A bad person who

loved other people’s boyfriends.

I rushed through the streets and turned corners like they were the pages of a book I was desperate to finish. Street signs were a

blur. Faces had no features. People spoke but no sound came out. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe I should get some help.

Someone, please help me.

My heart was pumping and my legs felt like jelly. I just needed to get away from there. As I pounded the concrete in my high-

heeled boots I imagined what it would be like to just get the train to Heathrow and fly somewhere and not come back.

I needed to talk to someone, anyone. I jumped on the tube and went to Covent Garden. There were even more people there,

thicker, deeper swathes of strangers to wade through. I started to run all the way to that strange dancewear shop I’d visited all that

time ago. As mad as it sounded, I thought I could talk to that crazy lady. Maybe she would understand.

I turned one more corner and raced up to the shop window, but the door was closed. It looked dark inside. That was odd, I

thought, while I caught my breath. After a few seconds I noticed a crumpled piece of white paper taped to the window. I pushed my

nose against the glass and started to scan the wobbly handwriting.

Dear Esteemed Customers,

The Tarasov family would like to thank you al for your custom and kindness to our dear aunt over the years.

We regret to announce her death on 16 October after a brief bat le with cancer.

Thanks again for al your support.

Mark Tarasov

I read the notice again and again and let out a deep sigh. My fingers were pressed against the glass and a tinge of condensation

was gathering around them. I slid all the way down the window, leaving a sweaty trail with my hands until I collapsed on the dirty

ground.

Ten

‘Come on fel a, now don’t be shy.’

Nick

Sienna’s favourite singer in the whole wide world is a man called John Legend. Generally, I find her taste in music appalling. So

much so that going through her iPod is enough to put me off my food. But with Legend, I can make an exception. His voice is so

incredible, you question if it’s actually possible for a human being to create such a sound.

I once wondered if he was a robot created in the dingy studio of some record label where they held the world’s living musical

greats hostage with string and duct tape and siphoned vials of their talent into little test tubes. The voice of John Legend consists of

dulcet tones so velvet in musical texture that you almost lose the ability to walk. I swear my pants fell down listening to his album in

the kitchen once. He must be a hit with the ladies, that’s all I can say . . .

Not only does he sing like it’s his last chance, he also plays the piano – and my God, does he know how to handle one of those. I

bet he can tinkle out a concerto while flossing his teeth and trimming his toenails.

When I found out he was coming to London, I booked tickets.

‘Chloe, do you want to go and see John Legend?’ I asked, leaning back in my chair and peering into the hallway. I could see her

moisturising her legs over the bath with a towel around her middle. She looked like something from an advert, her skin had that glow

to it.

‘Urgh, God no. Why don’t you take Sienna?’ echoed her reply from the bathroom.

‘OK.’

Had I been hoping that would happen all along? I knew Chloe would think John Legend was totally uncool.

‘Si, have you got a sec?’ I whispered down the phone, excitement filling my chest.

‘Yes, sweets, what’s up?’ she replied. I could hear her dad talking to someone in the background.

‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’

‘What?’

‘I’m taking you out on Thursday night, you and me. You are free then, right? Please say you are?’ I pleaded, fiddling with a

coaster on my study desk. It was a see-through plastic one with a photo of Ross and me man-hugging each other on a booze-fuelled

night out.

‘Oh, that sounds exciting, Nick!’ she responded before putting a hand over the receiver and checking that someone would be

around for her dad.

‘Yes, count me in! I’m really looking forward to it, whatever it is,’ she giggled, putting the phone down.

I was so pleased she could come. Our relationships meant we had spent little time together recently. This would be our chance to

have some fun, like we used to before life got so complicated.

The week went really quickly, and while work was hectic all I could think about was Thursday night. I just knew she would love

it, and things had been quite full on with her father lately, so she needed someone to do a nice thing for her. I had the kind of

relationship with Sienna that just inspired me to be a better person.

It was a sticky summer evening when I waited for Sienna outside the Brixton Academy. The back of my T-shirt was a tiny bit

damp from the tube journey and I sought an escape from the heat by running a cold can of Coke over my forehead. Ticket touts

were wandering around, cigarettes hanging from their mouths, trying to sell tickets to people who already had them. I couldn’t help

but feel they were missing a trick there.

Five minutes melted into ten, then fifteen. Sienna was late, and she’s hardly ever late. I started to worry. What if something had

happened to her dad? I was wondering if I should call when I suddenly heard my name being shouted from a distance. I looked up

to see Sienna running towards me, her hair streaming through the wind, a gorgeous smile on her face. She was wearing skinny jeans

with a pair of hi-top Converse trainers and a tight black T-shirt. Even this simple outfit made her look like a model. Mind you, she

would look like a model with a bin bag on; it had nothing to do with the clothes.