Chapter Twenty-Two
‘You’re putting all your eggs in one Kit-shaped basket.’
We’ve been to Piano Quays three more times in search of Kit, and three more times we’ve walked away without finding him, and it’s clear Jonah is getting fed up with the hunt.
We’ve tried repeating the Friday night open mic night, have rolled up on weekdays for bottomless brunches and cabaret performances, but each time we’ve left the bar without even a hint of this elusive man.
I tuck my phone between my ear and shoulder so I can flick through a rack of floaty, floral dresses. ‘I am not putting all my eggs in one Kit-shaped basket.’
‘How many dates have you been on since you decided to track him down?’
I shrug, even though Jonah can’t see me as I’m in the shopping mall and he’s on his way home after a performance in a school hall for ‘friendship week’.
In a perfect world, I would be organised and prepped for the events that have been on my calendar for months.
But this is not a perfect world. Far from it.
And I am not prepped for my cousin’s looming wedding.
In a matter of days, Keisha will be exchanging vows with her beloved and I have neither a gift nor an outfit to wear, and I don’t think my combats and flannel shirts can be vamped up enough to do the job.
I should have shopped online for the gift at least, but I’ve left it too late and now I’m trawling the shops for something – anything – that I can present to the newlyweds.
Why they couldn’t be one of those couples who snub the very idea of thoughtful presents and demand cold, hard cash is beyond me, and they couldn’t even be bothered to prepare a list for guests to choose from, so I’m losing my mind as I ricochet from one shop to another, leaving empty-handed but full of despair.
And hunting for an outfit isn’t going any better either. I’ve tried on a million dresses and none of them suit me; most make me look dumpy and all of them make me look ridiculous because I’m not girly or elegant and that is what these formal dresses require.
‘The answer is none.’
I snatch my size from the rack and head for the fitting room with an armful of potential outfits. ‘Is it? I’m not keeping count. It’s a bit weird that you are.’
‘I’m not keeping count. You don’t need a tally sheet for zero.’
I swish the curtain closed in the fitting room and put my phone on speaker so I can try on the outfits while still chatting to Jonah. ‘What’s the point of going on meaningless dates? It’s a waste of time.’
Do you know what else is a waste of time? The dress I’m currently trying on. It looked great on the hanger: floral, feminine, floaty. But on me? It looks like a sack. A pretty sack, but a sack all the same.
‘But you don’t know they’re meaningless. You just think they are because you’ve set your sights on Kit. What makes him so special?’
Wrenching the dress over my head, I shove it back on the hanger and try on the next offering. ‘I’ve set my sights on Kit because I really do think he could be The One.’
Jonah snorts. ‘Based on a ten-minute conversation and a peck on the cheek?’
‘An eleven-minute conversation and…’ I trail off as I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I hadn’t held out much hope for the navy maxi dress, because as posh as it looks on the hanger, I knew it’d make me look like a fancy-packaged bag of spuds.
Except… it doesn’t make me look like a fancy-packaged bag of spuds.
It looks… okay? Quite nice, actually. The gathered tiers on the skirt give it extra swishy volume while the deep V-neckline and thin straps that cross at the back give it an elegance and, dare I say it, sexiness?
I twirl as best as I can in the tiny cubicle, smothering a giggle with my hand as the skirt swirls satisfyingly around my calves.
This is it. This is the dress I will wear for my cousin’s wedding at the weekend. Obviously, I’ll need shoes to go with it, because as comfy as my Converse are, they are not wedding-appropriate, sadly.
‘Jonah, I think I’ve found the dress.’ My words are whispered, as though I’ll scare away the dress if I speak too loudly.
‘Really?’
I check out my reflection again, twirling from side to side. ‘Really.’
I’m a little more upbeat as I leave the shop, and maybe it’s the lift in mood that makes the shopping experience easier because not only do I find suitable footwear in the next shop (a pair of wedge espadrilles with a super-soft camel suede upper that will add height and sophistication without snapping my ankles), I also find the loveliest gift for Keisha and Cerys to enjoy after the wedding.
The hamper is put together in a pearlescent pink box and finished off with gold ribbon tied in a bow, and contains golden goblets, a bottle of Prosecco, bath salts, scented heart-shaped tealights, and salted caramel chocolate truffles.
I’m half-tempted to pick one up for myself for some pampering after this shopping trip, but the price tag puts me off.
I’ll grab a packet of pickled onion Monster Munch and a can of Dr Pepper on my way home instead.
It’s a relief to have everything I need and I’m feeling buoyed as I step into the lift to head down to the shopping centre car park.
I wait until the guy behind me steps inside before pressing the button for the lower ground floor.
The lift starts to move but judders to a stop a second later and I’m embarrassed by the yelp that escapes as I throw my hand against the wall of the lift, searching for something to cling onto.
The only other person in the lift is the guy who followed me inside, and he steps towards the control panel and presses the button for the lower ground floor again. The lift doesn’t budge.
‘That isn’t good.’ He presses the button again, harder this time. Still nothing. ‘Are we stuck?’ He bashes the button, over and over, but we remain frozen in place. ‘We’re stuck.’
Oh my goat. We’re stuck. In a lift. We’re stuck in a lift! I’ve never been stuck in a lift before and I don’t like it. Is this my punishment for completing my shopping challenge? I’ve always hated shopping but never more so than now. What do I do? What do I do?
I don’t panic. That’s rule number one of being stuck in a lift, surely. Do not panic. Keep calm. I take a couple of deep, soothing breaths. There. I’ve done that. Now what?
I do the only thing I can think of in a situation such as this: I call Jonah again.
He’s level-headed. He’s sensible and practical.
He wouldn’t panic if he was stuck in a lift.
He’s the kind of person who doesn’t flap when he encounters giant spiders in the flat; he simply captures them in a glass and takes them down to the little garden we have at the entrance to the block.
He doesn’t get in a tizz when the Wi-Fi stops working; he checks the router, finds out what the flashing lights mean and either resets the box or waits for the provider to fix the issue.
He is calm. Productive. He gets on with things.
‘Hey, Christina. Did you find shoes?’
‘I did.’ I swallow down the rising panic, so I don’t whimper over the phone. ‘But now I’m stuck in the lift.’
‘You’re stuck in the lift?’ Jonah takes a breath. ‘Have you pressed the emergency call button?’
‘The what?’
‘There’s a button with the floor numbers that has a bell on it, or sometimes a phone icon.’
I turn to the control panel. The other guy in the lift has stopped bashing the lower ground floor button and is now trying to prise the doors open.
‘I see it! The button with the bell.’
‘Great. Press it. That’ll alert someone that you’re stuck.’
I do as Jonah instructs, jumping when a voice asks if we need assistance.
‘Yes please. I’m in the lift near Waterstones and it’s stuck.’
‘Okay, try to stay calm and we’ll send someone over to investigate.’ The voice is unruffled, as though this is the most normal thing to have happened while you’re making a last-minute dash to the shops. ‘Is there anyone else in the lift with you?’
‘Yes. A man. He’s trying to open the doors.’
‘Can you ask him not to do that, please?’ Again, the voice is composed, though I suspect trying to wrench the doors open is a bad idea.
‘Excuse me?’ I place a hand on the guy’s arm, and he ceases his escape attempt. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.’
‘Lawrence.’ He turns again to the doors and tries to wedge his fingers between them.
‘Hi, Lawrence. I’m Christina.’ I tap him on the arm when he continues to try to wrench the doors open with his fingertips. ‘The thing is, Lawrence, that guy…’ I point out the control panel, where the voice has been coming from. ‘He says you shouldn’t try to open the doors.’
‘Oh. Right. No.’ Lawrence’s hands drop to his sides. ‘What are we supposed to do then? Just stand here and wait for us to plummet several floors to our deaths?’ Lawrence’s eyes are wide and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He is not calm and collected.
‘You’re not going to plummet several floors.’ The voice from the control panel is their usual composed self. ‘An engineer is on the way to get you going again, so just keep nice and calm for me. Deep breaths. This may take a while, but you’ll be fine.’
Lawrence steps away from the doors and leans against the wall of the lift, sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. I sit against the wall opposite and put the phone to my ear, remembering Jonah is still on the line.
‘Jo-Jo?’
‘I’m still here. I’ll stay on as long as you need me to.’
I close my eyes, relief washing over me. I can always rely on Jonah. ‘We have to wait for someone to fix it.’
‘I heard.’ There’s a pause. ‘I also heard there’s someone else in there with you. A man?’
I look across at Lawrence, who has his head in his hands and is rocking gently back and forth.
‘You know what this is, don’t you?’
I snort. ‘A nightmare?’
Jonah tuts. ‘How old is he? The guy you’re stuck with?’