The Faking Game, page 12
‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he says.
Eventually Liam joins me over by the sofa.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asks me. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘Oh, no, I’m fine,’ I insist. ‘I tripped the other day and I think I’ve twinged a muscle of something. I keep getting this crampy feeling in my calf but it’s nothing.’
‘Can I see?’ he asks.
‘Erm, sure,’ I reply. ‘Sorry, I’m not just here for the medical assessment.’
‘Don’t worry, I know,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Let’s see what we’ve got.’
Liam gets down on his knees in front of me and carefully lifts up my leg, stretching it out, placing my foot on the coffee table behind him. He looks at my calf, then he pushes it in particular places to see what happens.
‘It’s fine, honestly,’ I tell him. ‘It’s just a bit of cramp, it’s probably nothing to do with me tripping.’
‘Does that feel better?’ he asks me as he massages my calf.
‘It does,’ I reply with a sigh.
‘What about this?’ he asks, his hand running up my leg.
Erm…
‘Or this,’ he continues.
As he attempts to run his hand up the inside of my thigh, I quickly shut my legs. I’m about to shout at him, to tell him that I’m not here for that, that I’m not interested in that, when a man in a suit walks in through the front door. The first thing I notice is that he’s carrying an iPad. The second thing I notice is the young couple standing behind him. Everyone looks horrified.
Confusion furrows my brow as I turn my attention to the crowd we seem to have drawn.
Their presence immediately raises my suspicion, no doubt about it, it’s just that this is clearly a new level of disturbing, so much so that I can’t even guess what is going on.
‘Mr and Mrs Powel, if you could please wait downstairs for me, I’ll get this all smoothed out,’ the man in the suit says. He waits for the couple to go before turning his attention back to Liam.
‘Liam, what the hell are you doing here?’
His voice is laced with authority, his eyes fixed on Liam. It’s clear that something is amiss, and that Liam has done something wrong. Something else, anyway.
Liam doesn’t say anything, so the man in the suit turns his attention to me.
My heart starts to race and I feel a knot forming in the pit of my stomach. Whatever is going on here, it isn’t good.
‘Did Liam tell you this was his apartment?’ the man asks me.
I nod my head.
‘Well, this isn’t Liam’s apartment,’ the man informs me. ‘Liam is a letting agent – one who has been told before about taking keys home at night so that he can try to woo girls by pretending he’s something other than a fuck-up who dropped out of med school and now he can’t even be trusted to show people around flats.’
My jaw is on the floor. They’re all the same. My God, they are all the bloody same. Every single (and not single, if we’re being real) man on Matcher is an absolute freak.
Without wasting another moment – or saying a word – I grab my things, anger coursing through my veins as I head for the lift. Liam doesn’t try to stop me – what would he say, if he did? What could possibly make this all okay?
I press the button to go down and the second the doors close, I grab my phone from my bag, find Matcher on my home screen and delete the app.
It’s gone from my phone before I’m back down on the earth.
I think that’s quite enough of that, don’t you?
15
‘…so it makes sense to use the train station as a location,’ Charlie says.
‘Right,’ I reply.
‘We’ll just use the city side,’ he continues.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Or we have people walk along the tracks,’ he adds.
‘Good idea,’ I tell him but then I realise what he’s just said. ‘Wait, what?’
‘Oh, so you are listening,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Look, we’re done for the day, you look tired. Go home, get some rest, have that fella of yours cook something for you.’
His words take me by surprise. It’s not that he’s said anything inappropriate, it’s just, well, I don’t have a fella to cook for me, unless letting agents count. Charlie must notice the look on my face.
‘Cara, is everything okay?’ he asks me. ‘You don’t quite seem yourself at the moment, and I thought it might be work stress, but I’m so brilliant at my job it’s all going without a hiccup.’
I laugh at his joke.
‘Work is great,’ I tell him. ‘It’s the only thing that’s great.’
‘I thought you’d be happy, with Millsy being home,’ he replies.
I sigh.
‘It’s not worth getting into the ins and outs of why but, just between us, Millsy and I broke up, a while ago actually, but it’s not proving all that easy to deal with because we’re actually still pretending we’re together, so we don’t ruin Christmas, and I’m trying to make myself move on, but all of my Matcher dates so far have been nothing short of a nightmare – some of them documentary worthy – it’s just so bloody completely horrendous and I’ve had e-fucking-nough.’
I stop, if only to breathe.
‘That’s a lot,’ he points out. ‘A lot to take in, a lot going on.’
‘Tell me about it,’ I say. ‘Sorry for blurting it all out at you.’
‘You’re technically paying me,’ he jokes. ‘Listen, I sense that you don’t want to talk about your break-up, so I won’t, but can I give you a bit of advice about Matcher?’
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘Don’t use it,’ he insists. ‘It’s not good, for anyone involved, unless you’re after a hook-up or something specialist.’
I laugh.
‘No, neither of those things,’ I tell him. ‘I already deleted the app from my phone.’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘If you’re going to use anything, there’s a website I’m using at the moment, called Love @ First Site.’
‘Seriously uncool name,’ I point out.
‘Well, if you want to find love, you can’t be afraid to be uncool,’ he replies. ‘It promises – as you would guess – that your true love will be the first person they match you with. I know it sounds cheesy, but trust me, I’ve heard some success stories. It goes a lot deeper than Matcher, to find the right person for you. Worth a try maybe?’
‘I’ll look into it,’ I say sceptically, but with a smile. ‘Thanks.’
My stomach growls so loud we both hear it.
‘Do you want to go grab some food?’ he asks me. ‘I feel like a dick about my dinner comment now.’
‘You’re not busy?’ I reply.
‘I’m a nerd,’ he replies. ‘What am I ever busy with that doesn’t have a pause button?’
I laugh.
‘I would love to, in that case,’ I say. ‘What do you fancy?’
‘What’s that place you always talk about?’ he asks.
‘Thin Aire?’ I reply. ‘You want to go there?’
Thin Aire is mine and Millsy’s place. A contemporary bar and restaurant and an iconic piece of the Leeds skyline. It’s the place we met so it means a lot to us and I couldn’t tell you the last time I went there with anyone other than Millsy. I suppose going there with Charlie could be good, I could get the first time without Millsy over with – I imagine I’m going to have a lot of first times without Millsy and it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.
‘Yeah, let’s do it,’ he says.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ I reply.
Thin Aire, a rooftop bar with breathtaking views of the River Aire, perches atop an astonishing eighty-metre-tall office building. It’s made almost entirely of glass, with floor-to-ceiling windows encircling the bar, allowing an uninterrupted panoramic view of the city – I don’t think there’s anything you can’t see from up here.
It’s the kind of place where the lights are low and the prices are high, a place where everyone thinks they’re cool, although I’m not actually sure it’s all that exclusive these days. ‘Cool’ is very much one of those things that only matters if you buy into the idea. Still, they make amazing arancini, and that’s cool in my book.
‘Table for two?’ the hostess greets us.
‘Yes, please,’ I reply.
‘I think I can squeeze you in,’ she tells us. ‘Follow me.’
She guides us through the busy room, so I guess she really is squeezing us in, but as she leads us to our table, I spot something that knocks me sick.
There, at the table just a few metres away, is Millsy. And next to him is Tally, leaning in close as they laugh together. They seem so at ease, so comfortable in each other’s presence. I feel hurt, not just because they look so cosy, but because this is supposed to be our place, mine and Millsy’s, and here he is with someone else. I suppose I’m doing the same – or am I? They really do look close…
I can’t bear the thought of them noticing me, of seeing the hurt etched across my face, so I scurry past them to our table, which is thankfully out of their eyeline.
As I settle into my chair, my eyes fixed on the menu, I try to distract myself.
‘Are you okay?’ Charlie asks, noticing something is up.
‘Yeah, no, I mean… I think I need the loo,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be right back.’
‘No worries,’ he says.
Thankfully the toilets are nowhere near Millsy and Tally, so I can walk there like a normal person, not leaning forward, going as fast as I can, with my hand over my face.
I sit in the cubicle for a moment, just having a moment on my own, reminding myself to suck it up. It’s just a restaurant, just a dinner, and I’m doing the same thing. Just dinner with a colleague. I’m doing the same thing.
I wash my hands and head for the door, only for it to open for me. I step aside, to let the person who opened it through, and it had to be Tally, didn’t it?
She stops me with a knowing look, one that suggests she knows what a complicated situation we’re all in.
‘Oh, hi,’ I say.
‘Hey,’ she replies. ‘I thought I spotted you. Are you on a date?’
‘Oh, no, no, not at all,’ I babble. ‘I’m here with Charlie, from work.’
‘Relax,’ she reassures me. The corners of her mouth turn up as she leans in and lowers her voice. ‘I know you guys are separated. I also know it’s a secret but, don’t worry, I’ll play my part.’
Her words hit me like a punch to the stomach. Millsy has told her the truth, and I can see the blossoming connection between them, and while I’m not exactly sure what is going on, I don’t have a good feeling about it. I force a polite smile and head back out into the restaurant.
Gosh, what a mess. But hang on a minute, why am I skulking around in the shadows, embarrassed, when Millsy clearly isn’t feeling the same? He’s here, unashamedly, sitting at a table where everyone can see him. Why do I feel so differently? Is it because he’s over me, and I’m not over him? How has he done this so quickly, I don’t understand. I’m trying my best to make moves to move on, hoping that if I try at some point it might start to feel normal, but it doesn’t. I hate it. I absolutely hate it.
I suppose there’s always Love @ First Site – the website, not the idea that some rando man is going to take one glance at me and fall head over heels in love.
My mind darts back to the night Millsy and I met, here in this bar, when I was stood up by a Matcher date and found myself sitting all alone at that table over there. For some reason, I caught Millsy’s eye. He came over, chatted to me, helped me come to the gentle realisation that I had been stood up by my app date. And then for some reason he stuck by me, he invited me out with him and his friends, took me under his wing and then… well, you know what happens next.
It’s like that old corny chat-up line: do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again? Perhaps that’s what I need to do, I need to catch his attention again, and I could start here, tonight, by walking past him right now, sashaying like I don’t have a care in the world.
Hmm, except I do have lots of cares in the world, and I’m not sure I know how to sashay but perhaps that’s what I need to do. I need to show Millsy why he loved me in the first place. Wow, why did he ever love me in the first place? What exactly is it about this awkward nerd – who is once again scurrying through the bar with her hand over her face – that he ever found all that attractive to begin with?
Perhaps figuring that out is the key, but not tonight. Tonight is for hiding and eating arancini. And then tomorrow, well, tomorrow is family Christmas. And won’t that be fun.
16
Family Christmas Dinner Day is here – Merry Christmas to all who celebrate.
Kind of like with my gran’s festive afternoon tea party, there are pros and cons, the pros being spending time with the family I like and the food, and the cons being Auntie Mary et al. Actually, today is going to be worse than the afternoon tea party, because today we’ll not only have Millsy and Tally here, but all of the boys from Auntie Mary’s side of the family. I can handle the babies, Vince and Sal, because they’re on my wavelength, but Uncle Paddy and Tommy do my head in.
At least it’s just pre-Christmas, not the real thing, so when it inevitably goes tits-up for some stupid reason (because, let’s face it, it will) then at least it won’t feel like the day is ruined. It’s almost like a practise Christmas, in extreme circumstances, with guests that can stress-test the best of us.
I arrived earlier today, here to help my mum with the cooking, and I like to think I’ve been doing a good job – I couldn’t imagine cooking Christmas dinner without my mummy, though. Long may her cooking every meal for everyone continue.
Festive spirit is filling the air already, mingling with the yummy scents of roasting turkey, cinnamon-spiced cranberry sauce, and the freshly baked mince pies Mum made this morning. The kitchen itself is a cosy chaos of pots and pans – but it’s a chaos that we have fully under control. Mum has even put fairy lights on the pan rack, and given me and Oliver matching festive aprons, which feel like lovely extra touches.
My mum, the family master chef, is like a conductor in the kitchen, giving me and Oliver jobs to do – except she’s like a conductor who plays most of the instruments in the orchestra too, because I don’t feel like I’m doing all that much, and Oliver is doing even less. Most of his tasks seem to involve tasting things. Mum effortlessly glides between the cooker and the island, so gracefully, and without a drop of anything on her snowman apron. I, on the other hand, had spilt a cup of tea down mine before the cooking even started.
While we’re all busy in here, my dad has managed to turn the seemingly simple task of lighting the dining room fire into a two-hour affair. My mum shakes her head every time she looks out of the window and sees that he’s still in the garden.
‘I wonder if he’s lovingly carved each piece of firewood by hand instead of simply chopping it with the axe,’ she says in amusement, a twinkle of exasperation in her eyes.
The thought of my dad meticulously shaping firewood brings a smile to my face. That man will do anything to get out of doing what you want him to, even if it’s harder work.
‘You know, it’s blatant sexism,’ Oliver says through a mouthful of carrots – it’s hard to tell if he’s joking when he’s eating. ‘The woman is cooking, the man is chopping wood.’
‘So insightful, sitting on there on the worktop, eating the carrot your mummy cut for you,’ I tease him.
‘Is that why you’re not helping?’ Mum asks through a laugh as she sets the turkey down to rest next to him.
‘Oh, no, not at all,’ he quickly insists. ‘I’m not not helping because I’m a man. I’m not helping because I’m just a baby.’
He says this in a silly, baby voice.
‘A baby in his mid-twenties,’ I point out with a smile. ‘But, little baby brother, have you ever thought that maybe you could help to break the system by lending a hand with the food?’
‘Ah, but we do actually want it to be good,’ Mum teases. ‘You didn’t have to eat the food tech concoctions he brought home with him. He’s safest as a taste tester.’
‘I make a mean beans on toast,’ he says to himself, shrugging casually, as he pops another carrot in his mouth.
Amazingly, as the clock strikes the hour, everyone seems to pull up outside at once. Gran is already here, Mum picked her up earlier, but now we’ve got Millsy and Tally in one car, Auntie Mary and Uncle Paddy in theirs, and finally, there’s Flora, Tommy and the kids.
Oliver, keen to show he can be helpful, goes to greet Flora as she steps out of her car, burdened by a mountain of bags filled with the baby essentials she takes everywhere she goes – I’m sure I can’t even name half of the things she has in those bags. He takes charge, relieving her of the bags, not that he’s all that strong himself. You can see the weight of them making his eyes go bloodshot.
I go to greet Millsy and Tally, only for Uncle Paddy to call out to us before I get to open my mouth.
‘Joe, come here, carry this wine for your future uncle,’ he says. He directs Millsy to the large box of wine he brought, nodding towards the back seat of his car. ‘Make sure you take the seatbelt off.’
‘Duty calls,’ Millsy tells us with a sigh.
‘You can just stick the box in the utility room,’ I tell him. ‘Go in through the side door, you know what this lot are like for taking twenty minutes to walk from a car to a building.’
‘I remember losing a restaurant booking over it,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Back in a minute.’
‘Hi,’ I say to Tally.
‘Hey,’ she replies.
‘Are you looking forward to your first Christmas dinner?’ I ask.
She pulls a face at me.
‘Cara, you know we celebrate Christmas in the US, don’t you?’
Oh, wonderful, she thinks I’m an idiot.
‘I know that,’ I say, without a hint of emotion. ‘I meant your first of the year. It was supposed to be a joke.’
