One... The Collection: Three fun, flirty novellas, page 3
‘People do drugs here in Marram Bay,’ I point out. ‘But, no, I don’t do drugs, and yes, Mel, the nightlife is great. There is more choice than there is here.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with here,’ Angie reminds me. ‘And this is Mel’s boyfriend’s pub, don’t forget.’
Wow, I really can’t say the right thing, can I?
‘Do you ever get caught up in any drama, like people fighting in the street or dramatic breakups in fancy restaurants?’ Mel asks, clearly not offended.
I can’t help but laugh.
‘No, my life wasn’t all that exciting,’ I tell her. ‘Sorry.’
‘Why on earth would you leave?’ Angie asks.
‘The cost of living,’ I reply. ‘And, well, this is my home. It’s good to be home.’
Angie eyeballs me suspiciously.
‘And free,’ she points out.
‘I guess,’ I reply with an awkward laugh. ‘But I’m going to find a job here, get my own place, and see about settling back in.’
I mean, I’m not certain that’s what I’m going to do, but it’s all I’m willing to tell her.
I spot the mysterious Mr L walking across the pub and my heart skips a beat.
‘I’ll be right back, I’ll just nip to the loo,’ I tell them, standing up.
‘No worries,’ Mel replies.
Oh, God, what am I doing? I’m stalking him now? Who am I, Joe from “You”?
I guess I am because I follow him around the corner and up the stairs. Bloody hell, this place is like a Wetherspoons, it’s a genuine trek to the loos.
He goes through a door marked "toilets," so I pick up the pace, only to find myself in a corridor full of doors, so I’m guessing the loos are individual now.
There’s no sign on the door next to me, but there’s a bit of tape, as though a sign might have fallen off. I decide to go in there for a few minutes, then walk back out, hoping to bump into him on the way back downstairs.
I walk through the door, into a small room with one cubicle and one sink. I head to the cubicle, pushing the door, only to realise it’s locked. It makes a loud clatter as I try it.
‘Someone’s in here,’ a voice calls out. Yep, it definitely sounds like Mr L. Perfect.
Panic hits me, and I bolt for the door, clumsily crashing into it. A loud snapping noise follows. I look down at the floor and see a splintered piece of wood and a paper sign saying to ensure the doorstop is in place at all times, because the door gets stuck. Oh God.
I try the door, but it won’t open. This is so embarrassing. Why did I stalk him into the actual toilet? And now I’ve trapped us both in here. He’s technically a hostage at this point.
I hear a flush and a few seconds later Mr L emerges from the cubicle.
‘Hi,’ he says with a cheeky laugh. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
He washes his hands, smiling at me in the mirror as I try to find the words.
‘The door is jammed,’ I blurt out. I didn’t look very hard for the right words, it turns out
‘Oh?’ he says.
‘You're welcome to try and open it, I won’t be offended, but I can't get it open,’ I tell him.
Mr L tries the door and shakes his head.
‘Oh boy, that is stuck.’
‘Can you call the pub for help?’ I suggest. ‘I left my bag with my friends.’
He looks sheepish.
‘I left my phone on my table too,’ he tells me.
Shit. I start to feel the walls closing in.
‘I’ve just learned, in the most inconvenient way, that I’m a little claustrophobic,’ I inform him – I’m technically informing myself too, I had no idea.
I slide down the wall, sinking to the floor, unsure what else to do.
‘Don’t worry,’ he reassures me, sitting down next to me and placing an arm around my shoulders. ‘Someone will come up soon and either open the door from the outside or realise we’re stuck and get help.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply, but I am really panicking. If he wasn’t so hot, and I wasn’t trying to play it vaguely cool still, I would probably be really embarrassing myself right about now.
He squeezes my shoulder gently.
‘Hey, what's your favourite movie?’ he asks me, his tone more upbeat.
‘Titanic,’ I tell him, my voice wobbling.
He laughs.
‘Titanic? No wonder you're claustrophobic,’ he jokes. ‘That film would give anyone ideas.’
I can’t help but laugh too.
‘At least we're on dry land, right?’ he reminds me, and I nod. ‘And no water is coming in. Not unless someone turns a tap on.’
I relax a little, laughing at his joke.
‘What's your favourite film?’ I ask.
‘The Godfather,’ he replies.
‘Don't all boys say that?’
‘Yes, but I mean it,’ he says with a smile. ‘You can learn a lot about family and loyalty from it.’
‘I just moved back in with my parents, and it’s a bit like moving in with the mafia,’ I say, feeling relaxed enough to crack jokes.
‘I can appreciate that. My mum can be a handful,’ he says. ‘And my dad left us when I was younger.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ I tell him sincerely.
‘It's okay. It was a long time ago,’ he replies. ‘A real man makes his own family.’
I snort.
‘Is that a sort of Titanic reference?’ I check.
The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. I exhale deeply, feeling more at ease.
‘How was your vile-looking blue drink?’ he asks curiously.
‘It was nice,’ I reply. ‘Like a trip down memory lane. I only had a few sips, but I think my tongue might be blue.’
‘Let’s see,’ he says, leaning in closer.
I poke out my tongue, leaning in too. He looks at it and smiles, then he looks me in the eye.
Slowly, I put my tongue back in my mouth. Are we having a moment right now?
I leave my lips parted slightly, sort of hopefully. He starts to lean in, and just when we’re about to kiss, the door bursts open.
‘Oh my god, there you are!’ Mel says. She gives Eric a slap on the arm. ‘You need to get this door fixed. If I hadn't wondered where Leah was, she could have been stuck in here all night.’
A few seconds ago, I don’t think I would have minded.
As Eric begins to apologise to Mr L, Mel hooks her arm with mine, dragging me off. ‘Eric owes us champagne for this, and we're going to sit in the private room, just us girls. It’s the least he can do,’ she tells me.
I go with her but secretly I just want to spend more time with Mr L. And now I'm kicking myself because why on earth didn’t I ask him his name? I feel so weird, calling him Mr L, even if it’s only in my head. Ah well, I’ll just have to find him later and ask. Suddenly, living back home doesn’t seem so bad.
Chapter Six
Waking up suddenly, I sit up straight in my bed. I must have been having one hell of a bad dream to wake up with such a start. I also have a horrible headache, right across my forehead – I didn’t think I’d drank nearly enough Kapops to land myself a hangover. Perhaps they don’t pair well, with prosecco, and however many bottles of champagne Eric gave me to apologise for locking me in the loos.
My eyes. Something is wrong with... oh, no, wait, nothing is wrong with my eyes. I’m wearing an eye mask, because of course I am.
I don’t even know if it’s morning yet. I suppose if it was my mum would have woken me up by now. Either way, I think I’ll go back to sleep while I can.
The second my head touches the pillow I feel a sharp pain in my forehead, followed by a very quiet but very real giggle.
‘Is that…’ I sit up, pulling my eye mask from my face. ‘Rory!’
‘Good morning, sis. Good night last night, was it?’
In my older brother’s hand is the basket full of multi-coloured glass pebbles that have sat on my dressing table since, oh I don’t know, the start of the new millennium.
Before I have a chance to reply he throws another one at me, hitting me right in the middle of the forehead again.
‘You moron, I have such a headache,’ I snap at him, right as my mum pops her head inside my bedroom door.
‘Leah Helen Porter, you promised me you wouldn’t have a hangover this morning.’
‘But mum, I–’
‘And be nice to your brother, it’s not his fault I asked him to wake you.’
Rory laughs to himself as our mum heads back downstairs.
‘Do you have to start this shit so early in the morning?’ I ask him.
My darling brother repeats every word I just said in a voice that I imagine is supposed to be my own. For some reason, he sounds like a cockney geezer though, and I do not.
‘Where has your Yorkshire accent gone?’ he jokes accusingly.
‘It’s right here, telling you to piss off,’ I reply. ‘Seriously, Rory, I’m not feeling well, can you leave me alone?’
‘Sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere enough, but then he grabs a pen and starts drawing a dick on one of my posters.
I lie back down, my head hitting the pillow a little harder than I had planned, because there's absolutely no point trying to stop him.
'What do you want, Rory?' I ask, assuming he’s here for a reason, not just to annoy you.
'Mum asked me to wake you when Sunday lunch is ready.'
‘Then why don’t you do that,’ I reply.
‘Erm, I am,’ he says with a laugh.
I grab my phone from next to my bed to check the time.
'Oh my god, it's half two! Why didn't anyone wake me?'
'Hey, I tried. Nine, by the way.'
'What?' I reply.
‘Nine. That's how many of those stones I had to throw at you before you woke up.'
I roll my eyes.
'Technically I was already awake when you threw the last one.'
'Yeah, so I didn't count that on. Come on, you know me better than that.'
I can't help but laugh.
'You are a ridiculous person,' I tell him.
I’m a little tetchy today, sure, although Rory does annoy me at the best of times. The reason I’m a little irritable is because I’m kicking myself. Last night, after I was freed from the toilets, and Mel and Angie took me into the function room, all I could think about was the mysterious Mr L, but by the time I went back into the main room of the pub to find him, he was nowhere to be seen. Mel obviously didn’t recognise him, because she never said anything when she saw him – I don’t even think she looked at him – and believe me when I say that I walked multiple laps of the pub, looking for him, including returning to the toilets, but there was no sign of him. Hopefully it’s his local, and I’ll see him the next time I go in, but even so, I’m annoyed at myself. I mean, come on, I thought to kiss him before it occurred to me to ask him what his name was.
'Get out of my room, I need to put clothes on,’ I tell Rory.
'Okay, but if I were you, I'd dress nice,' he warns me.
'Why, do we have company?'
'No,' Rory replies, totally straight-faced. 'You just look like shit.'
Chapter Seven
I'm at Mel's house, sitting on her living room floor, surrounded by beauty supplies. Angie is on the sofa, scrolling on her phone, waiting for the two of us to get ready. I did think I had turned up ready but, no, Mel doesn’t agree. Mel who is currently buzzing around, preparing her waxing kit, while I try to find the right words to say to get her to back off. Unsurprisingly, saying “no” didn’t work.
‘Leah, trust me, you’ll feel amazing once it’s done,’ Mel says as she stirs hot wax with a wooden spoon.
‘Mel, I really don’t think I need a full-body wax,’ I insist, sitting up straight.
‘Trust me,’ Mel insists again. ‘We’ll start with your eyebrows and work our way down. I'll even do your toes if you need it.’
Do my toes need waxing? I don’t think I’ve ever looked at them that closely.
It’s been two weeks since our first night out, which means it’s been two weeks of Mel practising her beauty services on me.
‘Okay, how about we just do my legs?’ I suggest, negotiating, because the thought of having my bikini line done here in the living room, in front of Angie, sounds horrendous.
‘Well, alright, we’ll do your legs,’ she tells me. ‘You won't regret it. You’ll want the rest done. You’ll be begging me.’
I don’t doubt that last part.
Maybe freshly waxed legs will bring me luck tonight – maybe tonight might finally be the night I bump into Mr L again. It’s been two weeks since we got locked in the toilets together, and I’ve spent every moment since trying to find him. It’s ridiculous, and now I really do feel like Joe from “You”, hanging around at the pub, keeping an eye out for him. I even turned to Google, to see what I could find, because realising that not only is that crazy, but I don’t have enough info to begin with. He hasn’t been back to the pub, at least not when I’ve been there. I know almost nothing about him – just a bit of his name and his love for "The Godfather" so, unless the local cinema hosts a screening of it, I’m not sure where else I can hope to bump into him.
‘Alright, first strip,’ Mel announces excitedly, snapping me out of my thoughts. She applies the wax and places the strip on my leg. ‘Ready?’
‘No,’ I say, bracing myself.
Mel yanks the strip off, and I scream.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck – why is that so painful?’ I cry out.
Angie looks up from her phone, amused.
‘Do you want something to bite on for the next one?’ she asks.
I shake my head vigorously.
‘No, I can’t do this,’ I tell them, finding my voice. ‘I’ll stick with my mostly stubbly legs, thank you very much.’
Mel looks disappointed but nods.
‘Fine, fine. Some people can take it, some can’t,’ she says. ‘How about I do your make-up instead? I’ve been practising my smoky eyes, and I have a lip stain that will go perfectly.’
I sigh with relief. Anything but more waxing.
‘Okay, sure,’ I say. ‘Just… gently, please.’
Mel smiles triumphantly.
‘It’s going to look fab, trust me,’ she says, grabbing her make-up bag. ‘And tonight is the night we’re going to find you a man, any man, to go home with. Honestly, you’ve been home two weeks, single-me would’ve had at least five men by now.’
I don’t trust her at all. Not with my make-up or finding me a man.
As Mel starts on my make-up, I close my eyes and try to relax. Anything is better than the waxing.
Thank God I didn’t let her near my bikini line.
Chapter Eight
We’re at The Ghost – again. Well, there aren’t many other places to go (not where Mel gets free drinks) and I am actually obsessed with looking for my dream man, who I am starting to think I dreamt, because in hindsight he does seem a bit too perfect to be true. Actually, scratch that, if he was perfect then he would have been wearing a name badge.
Mel and Angie have gone to the toilets – no doubt to talk about me and how they’re going to get me a man tonight – so I’m currently on my own. When Mel said she was going to give me smoky eyes she wasn’t kidding, I look like a goth, and my lip stain is an intense shade of red, almost like blood, and it still feels so wet on my lips, I’m scared to touch it.
It’s absolutely packed in here tonight, and I don’t have much luck with getting served at the bar, so I’ve no choice but to order a drink from Tim, Angie’s husband – Angie’s husband and my ex.
‘Can I have a Kapop, please.’
‘What flavour, gorgeous?’ he asks.
‘Whatever the green one is, please.’ I remember my lips. ‘And a straw.’
Tim has been weirdly flirting with me ever since I got back. Only in a small way, and not with any sort of intention, I think it’s just the novelty of me being his ex and suddenly reappearing.
‘This is on me,’ Tim says as he hands me my drink, but before I have the chance to say anything he opens his mouth again. ‘Actually, I don’t get paid until the end of the month, but I’ll give you the money for it then.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say with a laugh, handing him some money.
‘So, you got dumped, eh?’
Wow, good news travels fast. That must have come from Angie, who got it from Mel – I wonder how much my mum told them.
‘Bye, Tim,’ I tell him, grabbing my drink before wandering off through the crowd. No way am I going to sit here chatting to my ex about what a mess my love life is.
I take a sip and, oh my God, green flavour tastes like toxic waste. I cough and splutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to stop myself from spewing out a cloud of Kapop like some kind of crappy fire eater.
I make my way across the dancefloor, waving through the crowd, clutching my drink carefully. I can see Mel and Angie at the other side of the room so I set off in their direction, only for someone to collide with me, knocking my bottle from my hand. I stumble, almost losing my balance, but a firm grip catches me by the hand, keeping me upright.
‘I’m so sorry–’ he begins, but his voice trails off. He looks at me, his eyes widening in recognition. I stare back, my heart skipping a beat as I realise who it is. Oh my God!
‘Si?’ I blurt, almost breathless.
I can’t believe it. It’s really him. It’s Si, my brother’s best friend. He still looks just as I remember, but even more handsome now that he’s matured. He’s in his forties now, with laugh lines around his piercing blue eyes, a bit of grey threading through his dark hair on the sides, and a rugged jawline that seems even more defined. He’s wearing a black jacket over a t-shirt, paired with jeans and trainers. Ugh, I’m still getting cool guy vibes from him, even now we’re grown up.
‘Leah! It’s so good to see you. I almost didn’t recognise you,’ he says, a genuine smile spreading across his face.
‘I could say the same about you,’ I reply. ‘You look great.’
He chuckles, looking down at his hands – suddenly his expression changes.
