Chapter 14
Now
The laptop gives me a warning of low battery, but I’m on my bed and too comfortable to go searching for the charger. Also, Eric isn’t home, so I’m free to slob around in my room without judgement.
My phone lights up. It’s Cian. Cian who I have successfully, yet with great effort, I stopped myself from messaging over the last few days.
This came not only after my grilling from Nicole, but also from the realisation of how often he was coming to mind.
I need some distance from him, and I need my stomach not to flip from simply seeing his name.
‘No,’ I whimper. ‘Please stop calling me.’ Though a lack of willpower and a desire to hear his voice has me answering.
‘Nana?’ he rumbles.
Why should I beat myself up for smiling, for letting him make me smile. Why should I torture myself for having feelings for him, when it’s already torture enough not acting on them. ‘Cian. Hi.’
‘How’s your weekend?’
‘It’s literally eleven a.m. on Saturday.’
‘Dragging, right. What are you up to?’
‘I’m trying to work out if I can afford to study again.’
‘For what, an MA?’
‘No, I have one of those.’
‘Can’t believe I assumed you didn’t. In what?’
‘Linguistics.’
‘Shit, Zoe,’ he chuckles, ‘you’re such a geek.’
‘You work in IT.’
‘I work in networking,’ he beams. ‘It’s very different. What’s your career plan?’
The laptop runs out of battery and shuts down. ‘I don’t have one.’
‘Not even a five-year one? Do you want me to send you mine?’
While we chat, I sort through my make-up bag, which is more of a sack. I’d hate to add up how much money I’ve spent on all this crap over the years.
‘How’d you end up at Jimmy’s school of hard knocks?’ Cian asks.
‘I already knew Nicole from a previous job, and she got me in as a freelance translator. Then there was all this work making content and before I knew it, I ended up in socials.’
‘Ah, so you and Nicole go back. That explains it.’
‘Explains what?’
‘She’s very, um, mother hen about you.’ He laughs nervously.
‘Is she? I think she’s like that with everyone.’
‘Maybe,’ he replies, his voice small. ‘What I don’t get is how as a social media person you’re not on social media.’
‘I’m not on them as myself, no, though you do realise I’m behind all of Chat’s social media mascots?’
‘Xiang is super flirtatious. Seriously, what’s your plan?’
I sigh while making a pile of products to chuck. ‘I don’t know. I wanted a PhD but never started one because my parents talked me into experiencing the world and living abroad.’
‘Your parents sound like arseholes.’
‘Why are we talking about this?’
‘Because I’m interested.’ There’s some rustling and Cian says, ‘I’ve put you on speaker because I need my hands free, and my dad is here so—’
‘No more dirty talk.’
Brendan’s laugh is short and loud, exactly like Cian’s.
‘I don’t know why she’s like this,’ Cian groans. There’s a clanking sound and then, ‘Sorry. I dropped the phone in the sink. Dad,’ he calls, ‘Zoe’s parents encouraged her to travel the world rather than get a real job. Why didn’t you do that with me?’
Brendan begins talking but all I can hear is Cian’s laugh then he explains, ‘He says we’re too working class to do that. Hang on, he’s just left the room in the middle of talking to me. By the way, I’m making a cake.’
‘Why?’
‘My dad’s office is having a bake sale and for some reason he said he knew how to do this. Huh?’
From somewhere in the background, Brendan says, ‘Ask her to come over, girls know how to bake.’
‘Not this girl; she puts mustard on garlic bread.’
‘I can hear you,’ I snap and my stomach tightens with how much I wish I was there to see his eyes crinkle up. ‘And I do cook.’
‘No, you don’t. You eat Ready Brek for dinner.’
‘I told you that in confidence.’ I apply some Noodz he only ever fed us pies when we were growing up, and now all we eat is chicken and celery. Zoe?’
‘Yes?’ Please don’t ask me to come over. Please don’t ask me to hang out with you.
‘I know it’s a Saturday and you’ve probably got some hugely exciting plans like exploring the big Tesco, but, if not, do you want to come over and help?’ he asks, his voice unsure.
With a mirror to my face, it’s embarrassing to catch my reflection, lit up and delighted. At what? Someone inviting me over to bake a cake. To truly bake a cake, like no innuendo.
‘Zoe?’ he tries again, and I love his voice and the way he says my name.
‘Actually, I’m busy this afternoon.’
‘Course,’ he says quickly. ‘Sometimes I get confused and think everyone spends all their time trapped in the house.’
There’s a silence and it’s not uncomfortable, but I’m aware of how much I want to sit in it, with him. ‘Yeah, sorry I’m not free.’
‘No, no. Don’t be.’
‘I already said I would—’ I stop to formulate a lie.
‘It’s fine, really. Enjoy your weekend.’
I struggle to read step ten of Kasie’s recipe in her pink notepad, so I have to skip it.
I’ve been at this for over an hour already.
Chopping, roasting and caramelising while sweating over a pan.
Sure, I remember Kasie moaning about how much of a production it was to make a lasagne from scratch, but I don’t recall her making this much mess by the sauce stage.
The front door opens, and I’m confused for a split second, then Eric walks in, stubbled, frizzy-haired and wearing the same clothes he left in last night.
‘Unbelievable,’ I say. ‘It’s mid-afternoon.’
He grunts something while pulling premium yogurts, sourdough bread and a bottle of fancy BBQ sauce from a Waitrose plastic bag. Eric is the only person I know who still buys plastic bags every single time.
‘You smell awful,’ I say, pre-emptively before he comes near me.
‘No, this kitchen smells awful. What are you trying to do?’
I waft my arms over the destruction on the counters. ‘I’m sautéing asparagus. Hope you’re hungry, because I’m making enough lasagne for twelve people.’
He scrubs at the stubble on his chin. ‘I planned to go straight back out. Meeting someone for dinner after I clean up.’
‘Oh, of course.’ I don’t know why I expected him to sit in on a Saturday evening and eat with me.
He taps his knuckles against the counter. ‘What’s the, er, situation here with bringing someone back? Is that uncomfortable for you?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘It’s your place too. Go for it.’
‘Yeah? Yeah.’ He flashes a smile, small and slightly sheepish.
‘I didn’t realise you were seeing someone.’
‘Kind of. Not really. I’m not sure how much I like him.’ Eric rolls his eyes up as if trying to calculate something. ‘Actually, I’ve been away all week. We should hang out.’
‘No,’ I try. ‘We don’t need to hang out.’
‘What’s wrong with us hanging out?’ he asks, offended.
‘I don’t want you to hang out with me because you feel sorry for me.’
‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ he says while popping open a yogurt. ‘I can see you’re fine.’
‘Not fine, great. Now do me a favour, pass that on to Mum. It defies the law of time how she holds down a job while sending me as many messages as she does.’
Eric finishes the yogurt in three scoops. ‘Do you get the voice notes too?’
‘There’re voice notes?’ I laugh.
‘I’m a one-man audience for her podcast, mostly her moaning about Dad changing the settings on her tablet. Or, yes, sometimes about you.’
This wipes the smile off my face. ‘What can I do to get her to stop worrying about me? All this hyper-focus isn’t helpful.’
Eric stands closer now, and under the smell of garlic and rosemary, there’s alcohol and cigarettes.
‘It isn’t just you,’ he says. ‘I used to go weeks without hearing from her, now I get a message every two days. Last week I did a long drive and was meant to message her when I arrived. I didn’t bother and she laid into me like I was sixteen again, saying she thought something had happened to me. ’
‘I had no idea.’
He continues to hover behind me as I tend to my sauce, then eventually says, ‘Zoe,’ and I reply quite seriously with, ‘Eric.’
‘You sure it’s not strange if I bring someone back here?’
‘Go. Please.’ I push him away. ‘You’re boring me with this.’
Eric smiles as he walks off to get ready.
When it’s finally done, the lasagne looks impressive despite some light charring. I promised Mum I would send a photo to the family group chat and when I do, she replies first with:
Looks delish! New career! Me thinks so. Proud of you. x
Followed by Dad who sends a GIF of Nigella Lawson doing something suggestive with an aubergine.
The praise for being so thoroughly basic doesn’t quite hit the spot, though.
In fact, I suspect burnt toast might elicit the same response.
I send the image to Cian with the line, Ta-da, told you I could cook, to which he replies:
Cian: You lied
Me: Would it kill you to pay me a compliment?
Cian: Does a back-handed one work for you?
Me:?
Cian: Never met a pretty girl who can cook
It’s nothing and yet everything as Cian never flirts with me. Not that I’m reading into this.
Eric is now clean-shaven and wearing a nice shirt, which he’s inexplicably tucked into his jeans. He dawdles in the hallway, holding up two pairs of similar brown shoes. ‘Can’t make up my mind.’
‘That one,’ I say, pointing to the pair closest to me. ‘Although please, lose the sunglasses.’
‘They’re Calvin Klein,’ he protests.
‘Hmm. Still.’ I mime removing and throwing them away.
He takes them off as if unsure and puts them on the side table. ‘Better?’
‘Yes. This is passable. Enjoy your date and don’t worry, I have earplugs.’
He colours as I wave him off and once the door is shut, I wish I was going somewhere too.
Me: I know it’s late, but is it okay if I still come over?
Cian: Course. I’m baking cake number two now.