Chapter 32
I sigh so heavily as the taxi pulls up outside my parents’ house that I actually think I up the price on the cabbie’s meter.
‘Here we are, love,’ he tells me.
I really have missed the Yorkshire accent.
There’s something so welcome about it, so friendly.
I’ve never met this man before in my life and yet I feel like I know him.
I’ll bet he drinks Yorkshire Tea, watches rugby league, drinks pints, says hello to his mates by giving them a hard slap on the back and saying, ‘Nah then, lad.’
It’s nice to see a familiar place too, my parents’ house, the street I grew up on.
You know when going home feels like coming home?
Back to where it all began, somewhere you can decompress, reset, figure out where you’re supposed to go from here.
The mothership – but not in the cringe way people refer to their mum, I mean like I’m an actual alien, and I’m returning to base to, like, I don’t know, decontaminate?
I’m sleep deprived and jetlagged. Is it showing?
I can see Mum at the window, practically tearing the curtain off the rail in her attempt to watch out for me. Seeing the taxi outside, she dashes for the front door – but not before straightening her curtains. She is expecting guests, after all.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen, eh? I’m dragging my suitcase up their driveway, on my own, struggling because I collected it from baggage claim with a broken wheel.
To think, I’ve spent a week enjoying first-class travel, five-star hotels, drivers taking me wherever I needed to go. And now I’m here, alone, struggling.
I thought this was going to be so different.
I thought I would have Jordan with me, handsome as ever, excited to charm my parents in that way only he can do, getting to know them a little before we all went to the wedding as one big happy family.
Serves me right, for getting ahead of myself, for letting my imagination run away with me.
I felt so hopeless and demoralised after Ben, I never thought I’d dream again, so it’s been nice, to not only act like everything was going to be okay, but to believe it too. I guess I was kidding myself.
Oh, and I’m so knackered. I didn’t sleep at the airport.
Obviously. I sat awake in my impossibly quiet hotel room overlooking the runway, watching the planes take off and land, trying to decide if that glow in the distance was the Manhattan skyline.
If it was, it felt like looking into a snow globe.
A bubble. Its own little world – and Jordan’s still in there somewhere.
Probably hating me. Probably trying to work out how I could be so stone cold, to sleep with him, all while being part of the coup.
Paige really played me. She spun her tragic story – months of being cheated on, a brutal divorce, trying to save her business and mend her heart at the same time – and I, in my soft, sad, squishy, too-trusting state, just…
believed her. She told me she’d accidentally deleted a few clauses in the contract – and I believed her.
She told me all that horrible stuff about Jordan, and, all together now… I believed her!
I joked about corporate espionage, like I was being cute.
But really? I helped her try to swap out a legit, legally sound contract with one that would give her the whole company, leaving Jordan with nothing, totally screwing him over.
Can you get in trouble for something like that?
Legal trouble, I mean. Morally I feel well and truly bankrupt.
The worst thing is that Jordan actually cares about Matcher. He talks about connection, love, helping people. And Paige? She just wants to keep capitalising on the chaos. The hook-ups, the ghosting, the never-ending parade of dick pics.
Ugh, and I helped her, because I needed a job, and I felt bad for her.
Thinking about it, it’s probably why she hired me in the first place.
She didn’t need an expert in espionage, she needed someone sad and skint.
Someone who would do whatever they were told without asking questions.
She didn’t need a super sleuth, a criminal mastermind.
She needed someone na?ve, desperate for a job, who would do her bidding for her.
The fact I was heartbroken didn’t hurt either.
And now I’ve not only put Jordan’s company at risk, but I’ve betrayed his trust. It could have been so easy. He liked me. I liked him. We were both finally ready to move on, to trust again, and I’ve blown it. He’ll probably never trust anyone again, and I’ll never trust myself.
Mum opens the front door before I get to it, almost taking it off its hinges. You can tell she’s excited. She’s all dressed up – Dad too.
‘Here she is,’ she says, arms open. ‘Oh, love, it’s so good to see you.’
I force a smile.
‘Hi, guys,’ I reply.
‘Welcome home, kid,’ Dad says.
They both come out to hug me, full of warmth and welcome, but then they realise I’m alone.
Mum peers behind me, scanning the taxi as it pulls away.
‘Wait, where is he?’ she asks, her smile dropping. ‘Where’s Jordan?’
I give her a tired smile.
‘Hello, Mum. Dad. Lovely to see you too,’ I say sarcastically.
She catches herself.
‘Sorry! Hello, of course. Give me a cuddle,’ she says. ‘It’s just, well, where is he? I’ve got the guest room all ready, I’ve made lasagne…’
Oh, God, I can’t do it. I can’t tell them. Not now. Not yet. It’s only been twenty-four hours since I was bragging about bringing him. How the hell am I supposed to tell them that I’ve fucked it up already?
‘He’s stuck in Leeds,’ I lie quickly. ‘He’s got meetings, loads of them, he’s working on something new. He’s still hoping to get here in time for the wedding though.’
Now, why would I go and say a thing like that? Giving them hope. Maybe I’m trying to give myself hope, which is a special kind of stupid.
‘Oh,’ Mum says, clearly disappointed.
‘Did you tell people he was coming?’ I check, casually as I can.
‘Yes,’ she replies. ‘Auntie Eleanor, Hannah – and I know your gran is excited to vet him.’
I smile, even though it feels like a punch to the stomach.
‘Great,’ I reply.
‘Well, the lasagne’s almost ready,’ she says, still peering at me like I might produce Jordan from inside my suitcase, like this is some sort of fake-out. ‘And the guest room is all ready for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I say sincerely. ‘I’ll nip up, dump my things, freshen up quickly.’
‘Don’t be too long,’ she says with a smile. ‘We’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed having someone to sort the Sky box,’ Dad calls after me jokily. ‘Your mum’s recorded 108 episodes of Emmerdale . We’re running out of space.’
‘I told you, I’m going to catch up at some point,’ I overhear her reminding him as I head upstairs.
I head into the guest room, which used to be my bedroom, and while it’s changed a lot as far as the décor goes, you can still see the ghosts of my childhood, if you know where to look.
The hot-pink walls are long gone, replaced with something neutral and grown-up, but you can still tell I was here. Like, that little dent in the plaster, over there, from where one of my friends threw my Aqua CD like a frisbee, hitting the wall, making a ding.
It could be fixed though – filled, sanded, painted over properly, like it never even happened. But they didn’t. They left it there. Even with a fresh coat of paint, the damage shows, like an old war wound, a brave face painted over it.
Is that me now? Damaged. Brushed over, but trying to look okay. Putting a brave face on, but being undeniably damaged. I’m being dramatic, I know, but I’m having a pity party, so if you could leave me to it…
Time for dinner, I guess. I don’t want my mum or dad realising that anything is up, and I’m worried they’ll see straight through me. At least I have a good excuse. I’m tired, I’m jetlagged, I’ll be fine tomorrow – well, that’s what I’ll tell them.
Downstairs, Mum is serving up giant portions of lasagne with a side of focaccia. I don’t know if I’m starving or feeling sick or what. I’m all over the place. It does smell good though.
‘Perfect timing,’ she tells me. ‘Take a seat.’
I do as I’m told. I should try to eat something.
‘Come on then,’ Dad says, handing me a glass of red wine. ‘Tell us about New York, make us jealous.’
I force a smile.
‘I’ve had such a great time,’ I tell them.
‘It’s a fascinating city, so alive, so full of energy.
The office was so much bigger than the one in London, with views of the skyline, surrounded by other tall buildings, I can’t even describe it.
It’s almost like there are layers and layers of the city, from the floor to the sky.
Life doesn’t simply exist on the ground. ’
Dad laughs.
‘I’m surprised you came back,’ Mum teases.
‘And miss the wedding of the year?’ Dad jokes.
‘I’ve met some really interesting people – some cool locals,’ I continue. ‘I had the best meatballs from this little Italian place called Giorgio’s, where Giorgio himself served us.’
‘We’ll have to plan a trip,’ Dad says.
‘I’ve always wanted to go,’ Mum adds. ‘Is it like it is on TV?’
I smile to myself. As much as it hurts, it’s nice to think about what Jordan did, taking me on a silly Sex and the City tour.
‘It really is,’ I reply.
Mum reaches out and puts a hand over mine.
‘I’m so glad you had a nice time, darling,’ she tells me. ‘You deserve something good after… after what happened. After everything.’
As she smiles, I notice her eyes welling up.
‘I’m just so pleased you’ve had a nice time, you’ve got a job you enjoy, and you’ve met a nice man,’ she says. ‘That’s all – ignore me.’
And now I’m filling up but they’re not happy tears. It’s like I’m in mourning.
‘Give over, you two,’ Dad teases. ‘You’re putting me off my lasagne.’
I eat a mouthful of lasagne to avoid having to say anything.
Eventually we carry on chatting and eating, them asking me questions about the city, me trying to answer without blubbing.
They both seem so happy for me, so proud of me.
It’s making this feel so much worse because I really did almost have it all, didn’t I?
A cool job, a good man, a heart that wasn’t broken.
And I lost it. Just like that. In a New York minute.