A Girl's Best Friend Page 6

  ‘Your hair smells like a wet dog,’ he said, squeezing me tightly.

  ‘I know.’ My voice was muffled by his damp football shirt and smiles. ‘It’s a new thing I’m trying. All the rage in Milan.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re here.’ He squeezed my shoulders once more and then let me go. Without the weight of his arms around me, I felt so light I worried I might float away. ‘I’ve been feeling like shit for months.’

  I’d never been so happy to hear that someone I loved had been miserable because of me.

  ‘I wanted to say something but the longer I left it, the more I felt like a dickhead,’ he said, avoiding the broken mug and throwing himself onto the settee, arms and legs all over the place. I sat down next to him, our denim-clad knees just touching, just barely. ‘And then you went quiet and I thought it was too late.’

  ‘You didn’t answer any of my texts,’ I said, working very hard to resist the urge to clean up the broken mug. Now was not the time. ‘I didn’t think you would want to be friends again.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ He leaned back against the settee and closed his eyes. ‘I was so angry with you, Tess. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry about anything. But, you know, feelings go away eventually.’

  I pursed my lips and cocked my head thoughtfully. Did they? Just like that?

  ‘I should have been honest with you,’ I said slowly. The peace between us felt fragile and every word out of my mouth seemed heavy and dangerous. ‘About you know, about the other situation.’

  Nick. Nick Nick Nick Nick Nick.

  Charlie took a deep breath and let it out, hard and heavy.

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ he said. ‘But I understand.’

  ‘You do?’ I really hoped he had more to say on the subject because I definitely didn’t.

  ‘Yeah, I understand.’ Charlie wiped the palms of his hands over his face and I realized what he meant. Just because he said he could understand it didn’t mean he had to like it. ‘You were confused and you were going through some stuff and I didn’t exactly help, did I? Then you go off on an adventure and you meet this …’

  He paused to take another deep breath while I held mine.

  ‘You meet this bloke …’ He kicked the ‘k’ out hard. ‘And it’s exciting and fun and it is what it is. We’ve all done it.’

  And by ‘done it’ what he actually meant was that what he’d done was ‘shag your awful flatmate without telling you’, but in this instance I was prepared to give him a pass.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now,’ he said with a shrug. ‘We’ve been friends a long time, Tess. I should have called you and I didn’t, more because of hurt pride than anything else. It was stupid. I was stupid and I’m sorry.’

  I chewed the inside of my cheeks, admittedly a little confused. In my heart of hearts I had to admit it stung that he wasn’t crying himself to sleep over me, just a little bit. I’d nursed my agonizing, unrequited crush on Charlie for the best part of a decade. He got over me in less than six months.

  ‘I just want to be mates again,’ he said. ‘And Paige told me that, well, she told me you and this bloke were the real thing.’

  ‘Paige?’ I turned to look at him so fast my ponytail whipped around and whacked me in the chops. ‘My Paige?’

  ‘Yeah, when we were working on the Peritos pitch,’ he explained. ‘And I suppose, while I’m being the bigger man, I’m glad you’ve met someone. Not to be a girl about it but, you know, maybe me and you weren’t meant to be.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Even now, when I knew he was right, it was hard to say.

  Charlie rolled his eyes and smiled, looking just like my Charlie, the one I’d been in love with for so long, and my heart began to beat just a little bit faster. The last time I had been in his flat, I thought, running a hand over the settee, the last time we’d been sat here together …

  ‘So can we call a truce?’ he said, holding out his hand. ‘Go back to how things were before: Tess and Charlie versus the world?’

  Ten years I’d waited for Charlie to tell me that he loved me, and as soon as he did, I went and fell in love with someone else. Brilliant bloody timing, Brookes.

  ‘I suppose so,’ I said, taking his hand in mine and shaking it hard, sad for what could have been, happy for what was – and still confused, but more than anything else, relieved. ‘I need someone to watch the last five episodes of Breaking Bad with me, I’ve been too scared to watch it on my own.’

  ‘Your bloke not into television or something?’ he asked, his face looking like he had tasted something bitter. ‘Because you know how I feel about people who don’t like telly.’

  ‘He actually hasn’t got one,’ I admitted. ‘But that doesn’t really matter, given that we’re not together.’

  Now it was Charlie’s turn to look confused.

  ‘I told you,’ I reminded him. ‘Remember when you told me to piss off and I said I wanted to make things right and you asked if it was because he’d dumped me?’

  Ah, happy memories.

  ‘Bit of a blur to be honest,’ he said. ‘I thought you were all loved up. I thought that’s why you stopped texting me?’

  I shook my head. ‘We were never really together, if I’m honest.’

  I hopped up off the settee, gathered up the pieces of broken mug and carried them into the kitchen so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. Dumping them in the bin, I turned on the cold tap to rinse off my hands, holding my wrists under the cold stream for a moment with eyes closed. I took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly through pursed lips.

  ‘I can’t really remember exactly what I said the last time I saw you.’ Charlie’s voice made me jump. I turned around to see him in the doorway, arms raised above his head, fingers clinging to the kitchen door frame and his pale, perfect arms peeking out of his shirt, his head ducked low.

  ‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ I said. ‘But probably not entirely undeserved.’

  ‘I was so angry,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t mean it, whatever it was. You know what I mean, don’t you?’

  I nodded automatically, wishing I could forget so easily. I remembered every word. Every cruel, carefully selected insult. I’d replayed it so many times, each time running it through a guilt filter, I’d probably made it worse than it really was. What I wouldn’t give to trade that searing accuracy for a comfortable blur.

  ‘I thought you were still seeing him,’ Charlie said. ‘I didn’t know it didn’t work out.’

  I wrapped my fingers around the stainless steel of the sink, the cold tap dripping in time to my heartbeat as I stood there, waiting. ‘Well, it didn’t,’ I said in a tight voice. ‘Sometimes it doesn’t, does it?’

  ‘I know that shouldn’t have made any difference,’ he went on, scuffing his toes along his floor tiles. ‘Because you have been my best friend for so long and even if I can’t remember what I said, I know it wasn’t very nice. I wanted to hurt you because I was hurt. My ego was hurt; I thought that you loved me. You said you did.’

  ‘I do,’ I said without thinking.

  He looked up suddenly.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I did,’ I corrected softly, crossing one arm in front of myself, cradling my elbow in my other hand.

  With a sad smile, he choked out a half-laugh in the back of his throat.

  ‘And how do you feel now?’ he asked.

  Drip drip drip. Thud thud thud.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I missed you.’

  Charlie looked around the kitchen, his head gently nodding up and down as he considered my response.

  ‘There have been a million times in the last few months when I’ve thought, “I wish Charlie was here.”’ I carried on talking, scared of what would happen if I stopped. ‘Or, “Charlie would think that was so funny.” But you weren’t there and it was my fault that you weren’t there. I really want us to be friends again.’

  ‘Friends then?’ He turned his golden eyes on me and there was nowhere to go.

&n
bsp; Friends. It was all I wanted. Or was it?

  I’d worked so hard for the last few months, trying to get on with my life and over my feelings for Nick, thinking Charlie and me had been a mistake. But here, now, I wasn’t so sure. Nick was gone but Charlie was here. Would it be incredibly stupid to even think about giving us a chance?

  Suddenly, Charlie burst out laughing.

  Apparently it would.

  ‘I’m so happy I’ve got my mate back,’ he said, crossing the kitchen in a single stride and wrapping me up in the least sexual embrace in human history. ‘You know, I’ve had no one to watch Vampire Diaries with, it’s been a disaster.’

  ‘Your secret shame,’ I winced as he rubbed his knuckles across the top of my head and pawed at my hair to smooth out the frizz. ‘Good to know I’m good for something.’

  Charlie looked down at me and our eyes met as he reached out a hand, his knuckles brushing my cheek.

  ‘Watch out,’ he said, opening the cupboard behind my head. ‘I’ve got an emergency pack of Hobnobs in here somewhere. I say we crack them open, make another cup of tea and get the telly on. You in?’

  ‘I am,’ I agreed, trying to shake off the tension that apparently only I felt. ‘But only if you’ve got the Hobnobs. Otherwise you’re going back out to Tesco in the rain.’

  He rifled around behind the dinner plates for a moment before producing a bright blue package. ‘Milk chocolate Hobnobs at that,’ he said, tapping me on the head with the packet. ‘Best Sunday night ever.’

  ‘Best Sunday ever,’ I replied, happy, sad, and with a Hobnob craving like you wouldn’t believe.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Morning.’

  ‘Nnueeughh,’ I groaned, my face buried deep into a pillow that I immediately knew was not my own.

  ‘You’ve always been such a delight first thing in the morning,’ Charlie said as he opened the living room curtains. I rubbed my eyes with tight, tired fists. ‘Nice pants.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, rolling myself up in his quilt and promptly falling off the settee. ‘God, I feel rubbish, I should have gone home.’

  ‘I’m not sure sleeping on my settee is why you feel rubbish,’ he said, tapping an empty bottle of white wine with his foot. ‘But you were in no fit state to go home, madam.’

  ‘And apparently you were in no fit state to give up your bed for a lady,’ I replied, clambering back up onto the settee, curling my legs up underneath myself and pressing my head back into the pillow. ‘What a gent.’

  ‘You refused,’ he reminded me. ‘You said you didn’t need to be patronized, you were perfectly fine on the settee and you wanted to be closer to the toilet in case you threw up.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’ I looked across into the bathroom and saw the toilet seat up. ‘It’s coming back to me now.’

  ‘And you said I’d have to carry you and, honestly, I couldn’t be arsed,’ he said, stretching upwards and tapping his fingertips on the ceiling. His T-shirt pulled up around his flat belly, showing off a trail of brown hair that disappeared under the waistband of his shorts as well as some abs I definitely didn’t remember seeing before. His no-biscuit regime was clearly paying off.

  ‘I should get to work,’ I said, sitting up and trying not to cry. Charlie’s settee was not the place to get a good night’s sleep. ‘If you’re late, Ess makes you wear the Hat of Shame.’

  ‘Hat of shame?’ Charlie asked, flicking at his phone, a look of concern on his face.

  ‘It’s a bright pink baseball cap with the word “cock” embroidered on the front.’ I tried to run my fingers through my curls but last night’s rain, sleeping in a plait and a night on the settee had worked together to create one giant dreadlock. Wearing the hat might actually be preferable.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re working as an assistant to an arsehole.’ He leaned over the back of the armchair to give me a sad look. ‘I know you’re a complete martyr when it comes to work but at least at Donovan & Dunning you were getting somewhere.’

  ‘I worked eighty hours a week and I was the first person they made redundant when the shit hit the fan,’ I replied. ‘Yes, totally getting somewhere.’

  ‘But this is better?’ he asked. ‘Fetching and carrying for a wanker?’

  ‘This is how it is,’ I told him. ‘You know how people say, “you’ve made your bed, now lie in it?” This is my bed. This is me lying in it. You have to start at the bottom, Charlie.’

  He made a humming noise and tucked his phone away in his back pocket. ‘You say it like you don’t have any options, but you do. You could get another job in advertising tomorrow.’

  ‘Firstly, who would want me with a six-month gap in my CV? And secondly, I don’t want to go back into advertising,’ I said, almost surprising myself with my certainty. ‘I love photography. I’m a photographer.’

  ‘You’re also a brilliant creative director,’ he replied simply. ‘And I’d have you.’

  I pressed my lips into a tight, silent line.

  ‘I mean, I’d hire you,’ he clarified. ‘I’m serious, I was thinking about it when I woke up. I interviewed someone for creative director last week but it’s not too late. You could still take photos on the side and you wouldn’t have to do all this assisting shit. You’re better than this, Tess.’

  I methodically worked my fingers through my hair and pretended he hadn’t just made me the most spectacular offer.

  ‘That sounds really amazing,’ I said, overwhelmed by the sudden vision of myself striding into a meeting with nice clean hair and a lovely pair of shoes on my feet instead of balancing on a chair, covered in sweat, wearing a pair of dirty trainers. ‘But like I said, I’m a photographer now.’

  ‘I’m serious, Tess,’ he repeated, squatting down on his uncomfortable armchair, elbows on his knees. ‘I’m not saying you don’t love photography and I’m not saying you’re not good at it but I’m offering you something else. You’ve had six months out and maybe you needed a break. There’s no shame in saying the photography thing didn’t work out as a career and keeping it as a hobby. You could be a director. If you wanted, you could be a partner, we’d be a team. The business is really starting to take off.’

  It was something I’d wanted for so long. I’d worn my corporate blinkers for years with partnership the only goal in sight and here it was, being dangled in front of my face. And it was tempting. Going back to the beginning, a month before I turned twenty-eight, starting back at the bottom? Less appealing.

  ‘Think about it,’ Charlie said. ‘I told the bloke I interviewed I’d let him know after Christmas so he can sort everything out with his old job in the new year. That gives you time.’

  ‘I will,’ I promised. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ he said, clearly a little bit offended. ‘Don’t think you’ve got to stick this out because you don’t want to admit you made a mistake. Tea?’

  I nodded and waited until he had disappeared into the kitchen before I gave him the finger. Did he really think I’d made a mistake? Did everyone?

  I knew that going back to advertising would be easy and working with Charlie would be fun, but what I didn’t know was whether or not it would make me happy. Nick always said I was too worried about the things I thought I should do, rather than the things I wanted to do. This definitely felt like a ‘should’. But since when was I taking Nick Miller’s advice?

  Pulling the blankets up around my chin, I grabbed my phone to check my messages. There was a late night text from Paige, asking if I wanted to get a drink. A message from Kekipi attached to a photo of him and Domenico singing karaoke in some dimly lit dive bar and seventeen texts from Amy, half written exclusively in Emojis, the other half more or less unintelligible swearing but the general gist of them was that I should get my arse on a plane to New York ASAP.

  ‘Maybe I should be Amy’s assistant,’ I called through a yawn. ‘She’ll be queen of the world in six months at this rate.’

  ‘Maybe this Al dude is her Mr Miyagi,’
Charlie shouted back. ‘She’s going to be the fashion equivalent of The Karate Kid.’

  ‘Karaoke kid, more like,’ I muttered, flicking through her Facebook posts. Kekipi and Domenico were not alone in that bar. ‘I don’t really see Al as the wax on, wax off type.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Charlie stuck his head out of the kitchen. ‘He made a big impression on you.’

  ‘He did,’ I admitted. ‘He’s a really great man, you’d like him.’

  Growing up, it hadn’t really occurred to me to miss my dad. My mum remarried a couple of years after they got divorced and he was never more than an occasional visitor after that. Brian, my stepdad, was a total champ, but the fact of the matter was always there: he wasn’t my real dad. Whether I knew it or not, I’d missed out on something. Al, or Bertie Bennett as most of the world knew him, was the kind of granddad everyone wished for. A kind, generous, gentle man armed with all the wisdom of old age combined with the same curiosity and preference for neon T-shirts as your average six-year-old. Al was the kind of person you needed in your corner, only you didn’t know it until you met him.

  ‘Hasn’t he got a job for you somewhere in his empire?’ Charlie asked. ‘Personal photographer to the Bennett estate?’

  ‘It’s not like I haven’t thought about it,’ I admitted. ‘But I don’t want to take the piss. He helped me out loads by getting me in to work on his book. I can’t expect him to hand me a job every time I’m on my arse.’

  ‘Don’t be afraid to ask people for help,’ he said after a moment’s consideration. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  ‘I do need help,’ I told him as the kettle whistled for attention in the kitchen. ‘I need help getting to work in an hour and I need help explaining to Amy why I’m not going to New York for Christmas.’

  ‘First one’s easy, I’ll get you an Uber,’ Charlie said, setting a cup of coffee down in front of me. ‘And don’t understand the second one. Why aren’t you going to New York for Christmas?’

  It was a fair question.