Chapter Twenty
We return to the room with a carrier bag full of delights. Amongst the two cheap bottles of white wine, James grabbed Jaffa Cakes, cheesy Doritos and went rogue with some Space Raiders. I grabbed a pot of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, cookie dough flavoured, a pack of strawberries and a jumbo-sized bag of Skittles. On the walk back I realised I didn’t have a spoon to eat with, so James snuck into the fish ’n’ chips shop again to steal me a wooden one. Clambering back onto the bed, we settle under the covers as James switches on the ancient box TV across from us.
It hums to life, doing that thing where the screen fuzzes grey. James presses some more buttons until we get Channel 4 on, just in time to watch a dating show about country and city people taking turns to live each other’s lives. One of the contestants is talking about how she finds her partner on the show adorable. It’s all a bit soppy for my liking.
“They won’t last,” James says.
I just laugh, half-agreeing. “He is sort of adorable though.”
He gives me a look. “Like me?”
“Ha. You’re not adorable.”
“What!? This is news to me.”
“Your hair leans into adorable when it’s super floppy, but your attitude is mostly mean and arrogant. Sorry, I mean confident .”
James snorts, completely unfazed by my comments. “You actually are quite cute though.”
“I’m not cute!”
“If you were a character in Winnie the Pooh , you’d be Piglet.”
“Piglet!?”
“You’re small, brave, colourful and you like jam sandwiches. And sometimes you get angry but you’re never scary.”
“I’m not convinced those are Piglet’s characteristics. Does he like jam sandwiches?” I say, then ponder. “How do you know I like jam sandwiches?”
James takes a sip of wine from the bottle, munching on a crisp before pressing his lips together guiltily. He doesn’t need to say anything more. I fold my arms across my chest with a jokey scowl. “YOU!”
“What?”
“You’re the kitchen bandit who steals my sandwiches?”
James munches slowly on another crisp.
“Oh my god! You cretin!”
“They’re just so cute,” he laughs. “You wrap them up in brown paper and they’re never the same jam. You mix it up. My favourite is the sweet chilli one.”
I sit there gawking at him. “It is not ok to steal people’s lunches, James.”
“I don’t. I steal yours. Specifically, I might add, when you insist on asking questions at the end of long meetings that mean my lunch break for the day vanishes.”
I blink. Actually, that sort of does add up. I remember how it was always when I was going to have a rushed lunch, because meetings overran, that I found my sandwiches had disappeared. “You never bring your own lunch?”
“No way. I’m not that organised. I spend at least fifty quid a week on Pret.”
“That’s so bad.”
He grins across at me, a small dimple forming in his cheek. I bite my bottom lip to prevent myself from smiling too. It’s annoying really. His smile is quite infectious. And although I’ve just found out he’s been stealing my sandwiches for the past few years on our busiest days, I can’t hate him for it. It’s too small. We just survived walking across the Highlands without our phones and limited supplies.
James shuffles slightly, his shoulder pressing alongside mine. Come to think of it, should we be more concerned about the bed-sharing arrangement? I know we’ve shared a tent the last three nights. And things happened. But that doesn’t mean to say this isn’t an inappropriate situation considering we’re colleagues.
“I meant it though,” James says out of nowhere.
“Meant what?”
“That I think you’re cute. You’ve always been sort of cute. Annoying. Frustrating. Argumentative. But cute.”
I swallow down his compliment before I know what to say. He sounds sincere. I’m not sure whether cute is really the vibe I’m going for. Blood rushes through my veins and my brain starts to hum, because, oh god, Gloatman is giving me compliments, and after last night’s shenanigans I should probably divert this fast. I don’t know if I trust myself anymore.
Butterflies take flight in my stomach. Nope. I definitely do not trust myself.
“Ilikeyournose,” I say so fast it comes out as one word.
“My nose?” James says, reaching up to touch it.
“Yeah.”
He frowns inquisitively. “Why? It’s my worst feature.”
“It’s perfectly imperfect. Like you. In the office you always look like you’re about to walk down a runway for Moss Bros. Always so done up. But your nose breaks through the image. The little bump. It’s perfect.”
James drops his hand, our gazes locked, unsmiling. Our breathing is heavy. I look away first, pretending to watch the TV but I can still feel him watching me, a slight groove forming in his forehead as if he’s considering what I’ve said.
“You know I said the other day I didn’t have long-term plans at Starr?” James asks softly.
I look back, feeling the heat of his gaze soak through me like an old whisky. “Yeah?”
“It’s not entirely true. I don’t want you to think I’m just going to pack up and leave. Partly, I do enjoy some of it. But mostly, I’m too afraid of finding myself skint again. I have nightmares about it. Being broke really weighs on me. Having strange people knocking on your door, calling your home line at weird hours until you have to unplug it for sanity, the emails and letters, it breaks you.” James takes a calming breath. “I just want you to understand me. Understand why I do the things I do and say the things I say. Where my ideas come from.”
“I get it,” I say.
“And I know you haven’t had it easy either, Fliss. You had to deal with your parents and the fallout of their separation on your own. You didn’t have siblings who understood, to some extent at least, what you were going through.”
I feel the threat of tears building behind my eyes. Somehow, between James opening up about work and his family, and the way he’s acknowledged my baggage, his words have wrapped around my heart and squeezed.
“I didn’t have it anywhere near as bad as you. It can just be lonely sometimes, that’s all. I thought I’d outgrow that feeling. As a teenager it was hard to manage the emotions but I’m thirty now and sometimes I still wish I had a sibling to call up and moan about my parents with. To share the responsibilities as they get older.”
“We have a WhatsApp chat specifically for bitching about Mum’s antics,” James says with a snort. “It’s called ‘Lads Chat’ so she doesn’t pry.”
I wish I had that. I wish I could trade some of that emotional workload I have to juggle for Mum to someone who fully gets it. Someone who feels the same way. It would be like taking a load off my shoulders.
As if he can read my mind, James reaches across slowly, tucks a damp strand of hair behind my ear before gently running his fingers across my cheek.
“What about you? Any confessions?” he says.
I laugh just as a tear escapes. James catches it with his thumb.
“I honestly do want someone to share a mortgage with.”
A huge smile splits across his face. “And I thought women were supposed to be the romantic ones.”
“It’s just really impossible to get a mortgage on one salary these days.”
“You’re right. It’s the modern-day marriage.”
“They should celebrate it more.”
James drops his hand, sighing as he returns to staring at the screen. At some point he must’ve muted it. I feel the need to be honest with him in this silence, the dragging anxiety surfacing from the lack of noise between us for even a second. And besides, he was brave enough to tell me.
“There’s something else too. I do want my own house. A place to build a life. But, also, I want recognition. I know it’s sometimes a bit over the top and maybe I need to look inwards and work on that. But I want to feel like I’ve achieved something worthy. I want people to look up to me. Is that wrong?”
James considers this. I gulp at the intensity of his dark blue eyes. The sun has started to fade outside the window, casting the room into darkness, the light from the TV forming colours on his cheeks.
“No,” he says. “It’s not wrong.” He frowns as if he’s pondering over it. “I think people already do feel like that with you, Fliss. Your team are very protective over you. And I know this because Connor is dating Amy.”
“What!”
“Oh, yeah. And what’s the guy with the bright blond hair called again? I think he does graphic design.”
“Benji?”
“He’s with Mohammed.”
“No… The sneaky…”
“They don’t tell you because they look up to you. Not because they’re afraid. They genuinely want to be like you. But clearly, they’ve got great taste, hence their reasons for secretly dating salespeople.”
I scoff. “I wouldn’t call that great taste.”
James just grins. It says, you practically threw a strop last night when I stopped you from taking it further . I’m glad when he doesn’t actually say the words. Blood rushes into my cheeks.
“I’m sad they don’t feel like they can tell me though. I’m jealous your crew tell you.”
“Sales and marketing people are different. My crew overshares on a dangerous level. Your people are more reserved.”
“I guess,” I say, though I think he’s just trying to make me feel better. Maybe it is something I should work on.
“But look, don’t let your need for recognition take away the things you deserve. Just because Michael says you’re amazing, doesn’t mean he’s providing the goods. First thing Monday, I want to see you in that office negotiating your salary.”
I sigh. “But what if he says no? What if he fires me?”
“Honestly, Fliss? Is that the sort of place you want to work?”
I press my lips together. “After this week shouldn’t we both quit?”
“I have no idea what’s going to happen on Monday.”
“What do you mean?”
“Exactly that. I don’t know what I’m going to do. How I’m going to feel. How I’m going to manage this.”
The way his gaze intensifies as he says this, I understand what he’s telling me. He’s not just talking about work. He’s talking about this. Us. Whatever it is that’s going on here. I swallow again, a lump forming hard in my throat.
“I don’t really want to think about Monday.”
James takes a deep breath. “Me neither but it’s going to come around and… I don’t… I don’t want to hurt you. If…”
“It’s fine. I get it. I feel the same way.” And I do. I don’t know what this week has done to me, but I’ve never felt so disconnected from the world. It’s been like an out of body experience, picking me up and placing me in a universe I can’t escape from through a black mirror. I’ve felt connected to this man whom I usually hate. We’ve had something. Sparked a flame.
“I’m not an idiot. I’m not as breakable as you think I am,” I practically whisper.
“I never thought that.”
“Then stop trying to be gentle about this.”
“Ok… Fine. I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me.”
I frown. “What?”
“You’re going to hate me again on Monday when we go back to being who we really are. I’ll make your blood boil with an email and then you won’t speak to me.”
“Then let’s make a deal.”
“A deal?”
There’s two parts of me now. One side is terrified. It wants me to run downstairs and beg Marie to let me have another room. A safe place where I can’t hurt my heart. The other side is a flame, flickering dangerously close to a match. It’s daring me to take a leap. To push myself out of my comfort zone.
“Let’s promise that tomorrow we go back to normal. Not our fighting normal. But we take a step back, reassess. If what’s happened this week is just a case of us being in an insanely intense situation, then neither of us get hurt. Our hearts shouldn’t be on the line along with our careers.”
“Fliss…”
“You don’t think that’s the best thing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just let us have tonight. We can see this out. And tomorrow we’ll go back to colleagues. No mess. No pain. No drama.”
James sighs, squeezing his chin. “That’s what you want?”
I think about what it would be like for us to extend this thing we’re doing beyond Scotland and all I can see is a trail of pain. I see us fighting. I see hearts getting broken. So, I nod.
James nods too.
“Alright, deal,” he says. “Then what now?”
I feel my heart quicken in my chest. It’s almost completely dark in our room now except for the light flickering on the TV. The sound of our breathing fills the room. James doesn’t move as I slide closer towards him. His face drops into a serious expression as I turn, placing one leg across his, sitting astride him. His fingers move slowly, carefully to my hips, sliding between my leggings and vest as he takes hold of me, shuffling to be more central.
“Then this,” I say, leaning down to kiss him.