Chapter 56
It feels strange being back at the flat. I’ve spent the last week and a half surrounded by people, engrossed in conversation, a whole world going on around me that I had forgotten existed. Now I’m back to my four walls, my messy kitchen, six streaming apps and my view of Pete’s fish van.
The familiarity is comforting but it’s not enough any more.
I understand what Ellis meant now, although his motives are far different to mine.
I didn’t lose anyone to get here, but I’m here just the same.
I too find myself wondering whether I want to continue along the same path or whether I need things to change. I think I already know the answer.
My last few days of freedom are spent productively.
Not only do I clean my kitchen, I blitz my entire flat.
I even buy one of those long reach dusters to deal with the cobwebs in the cupboard I’ve been ignoring.
My holiday washing is dealt with immediately instead of pretending it doesn’t exist until I run out of underwear. My mother would be proud.
Monday finally rolls around and I head into work, ready to take on whatever Rupert throws my way. I even manage to drink an Americano on the way without spilling it. I am a new woman.
‘Why, Miss Smalls, is that a tan I see?’
Kieran greets me, a big smile emerging from behind his recently trimmed beard.
‘I’m one shade above white,’ I reply, throwing my bag under the desk. ‘Don’t get used to it, I think my UV radiation quota has been met for the next fifty years.’
‘It suits you!’ Kieran replies. ‘I’m just not used to it. You have freckles. You look . . . well . . . lifelike.’
‘Shut up!’ I reply, throwing a pen at him. ‘Don’t you pale shame me. Besides, my mum says I’m beautiful just the way I am.’
I take a seat, instantly feeling like I’ve never been away. I wish I’d taken an extra week.
‘What did I miss?’ I ask him. ‘Anything interesting?’
He looks around before lowering his voice. ‘Rupert and Shelley were fighting. Like fist fighting. It was chaos. I had to pull them apart.’
‘What? Oh my God! Seriously?’
‘Nope. It’s been dull as fuck. Like always.’
I shake my head. ‘You are truly the worst.’
He grunts in agreement. ‘So how was it? What did you do? Just hang out on deck with the rest of the boomers? Fan yourself with an oversized sun hat?’
He calls me a boomer to wind me up because he knows it absolutely winds me up. My mother is a boomer. I’m on the younger side of Gen X. A Xennial, if you will.
‘I did,’ I reply. ‘We all drank advocaat and laughed about the property prices in the eighties.’
‘Thought so.’
‘There were some cool people,’ I inform him, sifting through the pile of paperwork on my desk. ‘We had a group at our assigned inner table. Older couple who owned a B&B, married couple who worked for Nokia, super nice German couple who dressed alike and an Instagram model girl who hated us all.’
‘Excellent.’
‘And I went to the Amalfi Coast, saw the St Andrew’s Cathedral, went to Pompeii, Pisa, Palamós . . .’
‘With your dinner pals?’
‘No, there was a guy I got on really well with. Ellis. We went on a few excursions together. He convinced me to go parasailing!’
Kieran’s jaw drops. ‘You went parasailing? I never thought . . . wait . . . what was that look?’
‘What look?’ I ask. ‘There was no look.’
‘There was definitely a look,’ he insists. He zeros in on my face. ‘You got all dreamy and smiley and shit when you said his name.’
‘I did not! He was nice to hang out with. Funny. There’s nothing more to say.’
‘I’m glad,’ he replies, accepting that sharing time is probably over. ‘Nothing warms my heart more than when two people in their autumn years finally meet the—’
‘Can you just stop talking now.’
Despite my conversations with Mum and Naomi, I have no desire to let him or anyone else know that I fell for someone unavailable. In my forties. On a cruise ship.
I walk over to reception and say hi to Eesha, recounting my travel tales. Shelley hovers around on her mobile phone, looking troubled.
‘Well, it’s nice to have you back!’ Eesha tells me. ‘Really glad it went well. You deserved the break.’
‘Nothing available? No, I don’t want Hallie, I don’t trust anyone but Georgio with my hair.’
Eesha and I both look over, watching Shelley pace up and down. Her hair probably could use a trim.
‘Nothing for two weeks? Impossible. Get Georgio to call me back himself.’
‘Oh, can I book room two next week for Eddie Bailey?’ I ask. ‘Thursday if we have it.’
Eesha brings up the planner, amused by Shelley continuing to rant about Georgio’s schedule. ‘Can do first thing. Nine a.m.’
‘That’s fine,’ I reply. ‘And also, can we hire someone else to plan his launch party because, quite frankly, I don’t have the time. Unless you think he’d settle for Burger King? Free crowns.’
‘Well, I could help with that,’ Eesha offers. ‘I have ideas. I was thinking about a place I know . . . Yes, Shelley, can I help you with something?’
Shelley, phone still in hand, has now joined us at the reception desk. She moves the vase of flowers six centimetres to the left, suggesting that it wasn’t quite in the spot to her liking.
‘The printer needs more ink. Once you’ve finished playing event planner, can you do your actual job?’
She flounces off, taking her split ends with her. Eesha looks a little upset.
‘Absolute bitch,’ Eesha mumbles. ‘I literally have an events management and marketing degree and—’
‘And even if you didn’t, I’d still want to hear your ideas. Drop me an email with them.’
She nods. ‘Thanks, Sophie.’
Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, I knew she studied this. I bloody interviewed her.
‘And ignore Shelley,’ I tell her. ‘She’s just salty.’
She once pitched an idea for a client launch that I shot down in flames. No one wants to launch a drinks brand at a club associated with human trafficking and money laundering, I don’t care if Leo DiCaprio once went there.
As my day goes on, I’m surprised to hear from Alex again. I assumed that after my last email he’d be done.
To: Sophie Smalls
Hey,
Yikes. There’s a lot to unpack in that email (chickens?) but I understand how you feel. Technically it’s good that you did get close to someone but I’m sorry things didn’t quite go as you hoped. I feel somewhat responsible and I’m sure my attempt to put a positive spin on this is misjudged. Sorry.
Let me buy you a coffee when you’re back in London. It’s the least I can do.
Alex
Part of me wants to politely decline, given the steady flow of insanity he’s had to endure from me. The other part is curious as hell to know what he’s like in person.
To: Alex Steward
Hi,
Sure, a coffee would be good. Be nice to put a face to the emails! I feel like I should be buying given that you’ve been kind enough to tolerate the rantings of a stranger over the past few days.
Next week? Just let me know a time and place that suits.
Sophie