Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
SASHA
Unknown number
Hello
Sasha
Fuck off weirdo!
Unknown number
I would but I’m your boyfriend now
Sasha
Wtf who is this?
Unknown number
Do you have more than one fake boyfriend? It’s Sebastian. Who did you think it was?
Sasha
Omg why didn’t you lead with that? I thought you were another loser trying to send me unsolicited dick pics.
Sebastian
Another? So that happens to you a lot?
Sasha
More than you think. Someone once tried it on the Words with Friends app. I’m here to play Scrabble, not penis.
Sebastian
This is not what I expected when I texted you.
Is this something I need to be worried about with my daughter?
Sasha
Oh. Not yet. But in the future. Possibly. Sorry.
Sebastian
She’s never using her phone ever again.
Sasha
No! No I take it back!
Don’t take her phone away because of me! Let’s pretend this never happened. Let’s start over.
Hello.
Hello. Who is this? (Hint. It’s your turn.)
Sebastian
Fine.
Hello. It’s Sebastian.
Sasha
Oh hi. What do you want?
Sebastian
I was thinking we should probably meet up and talk. Get our stories straight. Make a plan of action.
Sasha
What did you have in mind?
Sebastian
Let’s start simple. Maybe a drink somewhere public?
Sasha
I think I can manage that.
Sebastian
Great. Tomorrow 6PM?
Sasha
And so it begins…
Sebastian
Are you always this dramatic?
Sasha
Always!
“So if we’re gonna do this, we should probably get to know each other a bit better,” Sebastian says as we sit in the corner of The Kings Arms, a 500-year-old former coaching inn on the south side of the village square.
The walls are warped with age and the wooden ceiling beams are so low Sebastian almost had to fold himself in half just to get to his seat.
“I don’t know if that’s necessary,” I tell him. “It’s supposed to be fake.”
“Yes, but no one’s supposed to know that. What if people ask us about each other? What if I go order another round of beers and Fran asks me about your favourite colour and I don’t know it?”
I glance at Fran, the pub landlady, too busy reading a TV listings magazine behind the bar. “Green, and yeah. That’s a likely scenario.”
“It might happen. You never know. Mine’s blue by the way.”
“Huh?”
“My favourite colour. It’s blue. What about your favourite flower?”
“Roses. Red ones. Anyway, the point is, it’ll never happen. You’re grumpy and unsociable, and I’m a loner. No one’s gonna talk to us or ask questions. Except maybe Angela. Keep your eye on her. She’s sneaky, that one.”
Sebastian nods slowly, then, “Which one is she again?”
“Oh my god, you’ve been back here longer than me. Have you been living under a rock this whole time?”
“Yes, and it’s exactly the way I like it. It’s dark and cold, and there are no people there.”
I splutter a laugh. Okay. That was pretty funny. I’ll give him that. Maybe there’s a sense of humour hiding beneath that grumpy casing after all.
“Angela is the short blonde with the permatan who runs the Christmas committee and owns the sweet shop on Burrow Lane. Loves a clipboard and a megaphone. Knows everyone’s business whether they like it or not.”
“Ah. Got it.”
By the blankness of his expression, I don’t think he’s got anything.
“Also, now that I think about it, Nia, one of the florists from Walmsley Blooms ?” When Sebastian offers another vacant stare, I add, “Tall. Black. Gorgeous afro. Always wears yellow? She’s pretty nosy too. She’ll be watching us.”
“Huh. Good thing I’m used to being watched.”
I’m not sure what to say to that.
Silence stretches between us then, ushering in the low murmurings of the pub. Frank, who runs the local pharmacy and plays Father Christmas every year, hits the bullseye on the dartboard in the corner and shouts, “Super, smashing, great!” The table nearby bursts into laughter for some reason, and again when Fran snaps at them to quieten down.
I catch Sebastian’s gaze and we share our first moment of mutual awareness of how uncomfortable this is, the awkwardness stifling the air. Clearing my throat, I trace the scored lines and splits of wood in the tabletop, then flip the cardboard coaster over and over so I have something to do.
I don’t have many friends, but I’ve always been someone who can talk to people, even if I have to bullshit my way through. But this is painful, and I’m not sure this plan is going to work if we can’t even fake a conversation.
Not for the first time I wonder why I even agreed to this. Is it really a big deal if everyone finds out I hate Christmas?
Yes , a little voice barks back at me.
If she had one, my grandmother would be rolling around in her grave.
“You know, I have to say I’m still confused why you want to do this. The whole,” I glance to the side to check no one’s listening, “fake dating thing.”
Sebastian shrugs. “You never do something to make your grandmother happy?”
It’s an innocent question—ironic too—but my chest aches all the same. I’m trying to make her happy right now. Failing at it too.
The worst thing is, Sebastian knows this. Maybe not the full extent, but he’s not stupid.
He must not expect an answer, or maybe he realises the discomfort around the question, because he asks, “Where are your parents?”
“Um.” I blink at the rapid subject change. “They moved to the Norfolk coast when they retired a few years back, and when they’re not there they’re on a cruise somewhere. Yours?”
“Not really into cruises, but they love a beach. Separately of course. They’re divorced. Last I checked my mum was in Aruba.”
“Nice.”
We both nod, sneaking sips of our beers almost simultaneously. The awkwardness is still heavy around us, but I remind myself it’s bound to be. We’re basically starting over.
“What about Charlotte’s mum?” I ask. “Were you married? Are you on good terms?”
I’m genuinely curious about this one, strangely enough. I know she doesn’t live in Walmsley, and it was Charlotte’s choice to live with her dad, but I’ve not seen the woman once. The only reason I know what she looks like is because I googled Sebastian one time. The search result was filled with intrusive paparazzi shots of them together, and they didn’t really look happy in any of them. But then who would?
“Is this what people talk about on dates now,” he wonders. “Their past relationships?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Jesus.” Sebastian takes another swig of beer, either for Dutch courage or to delay the inevitable, I’m not sure. He finds me waiting expectantly, and sighs.
“We never married. I thought about proposing after Charlie was born because that’s what you think you should do. But then I found myself looking at rings online and thinking, ‘What the fuck are you doing? You don’t want this.’”
“I get that. It’s taken me a long time to drown out the noise of other people’s expectations, mostly that I should be married with kids already.”
“You don’t want that?” Sebastian asks, seeming curious now.
“It’s not that I don’t necessarily. But I’ll get to it when and if I’m ever ready. And if it doesn’t happen, that’s fine too. What about you?”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti marriage. But I never want to commit to that just because it’s expected. Though I realise how fucked up that sounds because having a kid is a bigger commitment. I’m always going to be in Carla’s life and vice versa. But marriage never felt right, and I know Carla felt the same. It’s a good thing because we split when Charlie was barely a year old.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. We would’ve made each other miserable if we’d stayed together for Charlie’s sake, and after growing up with two parents who should’ve divorced years before they did, I promised I would never do that. We had a good run, and I don’t regret anything. My daughter is the best thing that ever happened to me, and Carla is now happily married. I’m happy for her too.”
His sincerity makes me smile, and for the first time I find myself softening towards him. It’s hard to stay mad once you’ve peeled back the layers of a person and taken a good look at the mechanics inside.
“What about you?” he asks then.
“Me?”
“Yeah. I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”
“Ha, you wish.”
For a split second his grin is filthy. “I do actually.”
He’s full of shit, but I laugh anyway. “I’m pretty dull to be honest. I’m happy to be alone most of the time. I prefer my own company. It doesn’t make for lasting relationships. My ex told me I didn’t need him enough.”
“Ah. Men do like to be needed.”
“But when does it become too much, is what I’d like to know. There’s a fine line and if you cross it you’re needy and clingy. I’d rather not bother. Save myself the hassle.”
“So you’re just gonna be alone for the rest of your life?”
“Maybe. Would that be so bad?”
“Not if it made you happy. But I think everyone deserves to be loved, and to feel love at least once in their life.”
“Even if I don’t need that love as much as others?” I ask quietly, desperate for the answer for some reason.
Sebastian stares at me, searching for a long time. “Even then.”
Two days later, Nia strolls into my shop wearing a dress the colour of sunflowers, striking against her dark skin, and a huge bouquet of red roses propped in the cradle of one arm. She wiggles her eyebrows, sporting a delighted smile, her expression steeped with I know something you don’t know .
Except I do know because I’d been expecting this. Or maybe not expecting, but anticipating.
Sebastian seems like the kind of man who throws his whole mind and body into something, a lingering consequence from his time on the rugby field no doubt. If we’re fake dating, then he’ll make sure everyone knows it. Or believes it at least. He got the ball rolling with our little fake pub date, and now it’s time to escalate.
I have to admit it’s the first time I feel like this whole thing could be kind of fun.
It’s a distraction, at the very least.
“Special delivery for a special girl,” Nia says, handing me the flowers. “His words, not mine.”
“Wow, this is so sweet of him,” I gush, hand on heart. This is an act and it’s time to play my part. “I told him he doesn’t have to get me anything.”
“He was very insistent on wanting the best for you.”
Ha!
“I’m sure he was.”
“So tell me, how long has this been going on?” Nia props one elbow on the counter and rests her chin on her fist. “You’re the talk of the town.”
“Already?”
Damn. That didn’t take long. Maybe it won’t take much to sell this.
“Oh, you know how it is around here,” Nia says.
Unfortunately, I do.
I make a show of smelling the roses, beaming against the petals, and my tone is the right amount of lovesick when I say, “It’s all quite new actually. Took us both by surprise, I think.”
“Love does that.”
I don’t feel too bad for lying because that didn’t feel like a lie. If you’d told me last month I’d be fake dating Sebastian King, I would’ve laughed my ass off.
“We’re still figuring things out,” I add.
“Well, don’t take too long. That man’s a catch.”
When Nia leaves, I dig out a vase from the stock room upstairs, fill it with water from the tiny half-sink in the toilet, and put the flowers on display on the front counter. Once it’s arranged to my liking, I grab my phone, take a photo and send it to Sebastian.
Sasha
Got a flower delivery today. Thank you.
Sebastian
Only the best flowers for my best fake girlfriend.
Sasha
They’re my favourites too. You remembered.
Sebastian
Do I win fake boyfriend brownie points?
Sasha
Let’s not go too far.
Nia said we’re the talk of the town btw.
Sebastian
Already?
I laugh out loud at that.
Sasha
That’s what I said! Either way, the flowers worked.
Sebastian
What can I say? I know what I’m doing.
At least one of us does.