CHAPTER TWELVE
TWELVE
You were never meant to be the centre of my world, the moon in my sky, my affection waxing and waning as my tides roar …
– from ‘Tidal’, by These Exiles
‘YOU KNOW, YOU HAVEN’T mentioned that we’ve officially fulfilled our weekly quota of dates,’ I pointed out, heart fluttering traitorously as I sipped my iced coffee.
Patrick raised an eyebrow and absolutely melted my insides, the fucker. ‘Haven’t I?’
I shook my head as we wandered slowly down the path in the park. People kept glancing over at us, but for once I was confident it wasn’t because I was walking with the lead singer of These Exiles. No, his hideous tie-dye T-shirt was doing that for us.
‘Well, in that case, let me be the second to mention that we have officially fulfilled our – what did you call it?’
I hiccupped as a huge lump of ice almost went down the wrong way. ‘Weekly quota.’
‘Fulfilled our weekly quota,’ finished Patrick, sipping his grapefruit cold brew coffee. ‘To be honest, I hadn’t noticed.’
Neither had I.
I mean, at least, until that moment.
I hadn’t thought about it as I’d carefully chosen what to wear today, staring at myself in the huge, mirrored wardrobe of my hotel room and wondering if Anna would be proud of how low-cut this top was.
I hadn’t thought about it as I’d waited by the park gate watching people head home after work, heart hammering, knowing I was being a complete idiot.
Not at all.
‘I suppose this is keeping Derek happy,’ I suggested, trying not to pay attention to how close we were as we walked along in the late Thursday afternoon sunlight.
‘Huh. Let’s find out.’ Patrick pulled out his phone and snorted.
I wasn’t exactly looking, not really, but I couldn’t help but catch what had been on his screen.
If you take this leap of faith as I abseil down your heart
That – that couldn’t be about me. Could it?
‘Yup – three emails, a message and a missed call. What about you?’
I pulled out my own phone.
Laura
150K downloads this month so far! And 75% of them are women! Jessy is a star
Anna
Has she fucked him yet?
Laura
Anna!
Anna
I’m just saying, he’s hot. And Jessy needs to get laid
Handing my coffee to Patrick without saying a word, I tapped out a quick message.
Jessy
You do know I’m in this group chat, right?
It only took five seconds before the reply came through.
Anna
I said what I said
I snorted.
‘Well?’
Oh, yeah. Patrick was standing still, holding my coffee like some sort of waiter – or a doting boyfriend – gazing at me curiously.
‘Messages from Laura and Anna,’ I replied simply.
‘App going well?’
‘Yeah, really well.’ Because that was what this was all about, wasn’t it? Getting Butterflies up in the app charts, making women think they could meet a celeb by signing up, pleasing the investors, making my sister’s dreams come true.
Not actually falling for a handsome singer who had way more layers than I’d first thought.
‘So. I was thinking …’ Patrick started.
I grabbed my coffee and began walking again, trying not to glance over at him too many times. ‘Yeah?’
When I chanced a look at him again, though, Patrick seemed … curious. ‘Tell me about your sister. You’re twins, right?’
‘Yeah. Non-identical, obviously,’ I said with a shrug as we passed a volleyball match someone had set up on the grass. I halted, my wandering feet warring with my tongue, which won. ‘She’s great – I’m lucky, so many people don’t like their siblings.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Only child?’ That made sense. Patrick hadn’t mentioned any brother or sisters on any of our outings, and I was relieved to know he wasn’t just hiding them from me. I was starting to get used to this new-found trust between us.
He nodded. ‘Yeah. Probably a good thing.’
Now that was interesting. ‘Come on.’ I tried to say it lightly. ‘You can’t just leave me with that.’
When Patrick’s gaze met mine, I had to remind myself to breathe.
There was something so … so enticing about him.
Something that drew me to him, even in the most mundane of moments.
When I wasn’t with him, I was struggling to stop thinking about him, listening more and more to These Exiles, trying to remind myself that the guy I was listening to was not my actual boyfriend.
I seriously needed to get a grip. This whole charade was going to be over soon, and I would be going back to my regular, celebrity-fake-boyfriend-free life.
And oh, how I dreaded it.
Patrick shrugged and started walking again. ‘There’s no story, not really. What about your parents? Are they still together?’
Ah, deflection. I was the master – the mistress? – of that myself.
But something told me not to follow down the same old paths I’d always trodden. This wasn’t Ross, or any one of my other failed relationships.
This was Patrick. And he had trusted me with parts of himself. It was only fair I did the same.
‘Your parents,’ he repeated. ‘Still together?’
Right. Conversation. Words.
‘My dad left when we were little. Like, really little,’ I said, finishing up my iced coffee and dumping the empty cup in the bin we passed. ‘I can barely remember him. He sent child maintenance, but other than that, nothing.’
‘Ouch. Sorry, Jessy.’
‘Don’t be, honestly – it’s not a sob story,’ I said swiftly, trying to reassure him. ‘It’s all I’ve ever known, so I don’t feel like I’ve missed out.’
And yet his gaze seemed to pierce through me far more effectively than I had hoped. ‘Liar.’
My breath caught. How had he –
‘Takes one to know one.’ Patrick shrugged, dropping his own coffee cup into the next bin. ‘My mum didn’t even know who my dad was.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling the awkwardness creep over my skin.
‘Don’t be,’ said Patrick with half a smile as we wandered closer to a copse of trees. ‘You can’t miss what you never had.’
This time my smile was natural. ‘You get it.’
‘Oh yeah, all the daddy issues,’ Patrick said with a laugh that drew one from me in response, all the tension in my shoulders melting away. ‘Why didn’t he stay, why didn’t he want to find me –’
‘Was it something I did,’ I chimed in as we stopped by the trees, the wide canopy a welcome relief from the evening heat.
‘What the hell did my mum do, how many guys are we talking,’ said Patrick, making a face. ‘Ohhh yeah, I’ve asked all the same questions.’
I couldn’t help but smile up at him. ‘You really have.’
Weird. I knew so many people whose parents had split, separated, divorced, sometimes remarried – but after not actually seeing my dad for fifteen years, I had no idea what he even looked like any more. There weren’t that many people who couldn’t pick their father out of a line-up.
And now there was Patrick.
‘So, you must be really close to your mum,’ he said brightly.
Oh shit. I always hated having to do this.
‘Yeah, I was,’ I said calmly, making sure there was absolutely no change in my voice. ‘She died two years ago.’
And just as I knew it would, all the joy and warmth disappeared from the conversation.
Patrick’s face had fallen. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry –’
‘Don’t be,’ I cut in, as I had done hundreds of times before. ‘You didn’t kill her. Cancer did.’
OK, it wasn’t a great attempt at levity, but it tended to work. Now he would apologize again and splutter something awkward as hell, like, ‘That must have been really hard’ – yup – or ‘That’s crap’ – double yup – or even my personal least favourite: ‘She’s in a better place.’
Patrick reached out and took my hand before he started to walk again, pulling me with him. After a second, he said quietly, ‘Tell me about her.’
I could have melted right there on the pavement. Tell me about her?
No one ever asked me about my mum any more.
‘She …’ The smile that crept across my lips was broad. ‘She was the best. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was irritating as hell sometimes. But she got me – both of us. She listened. Really listened, you know?’
Patrick nodded, his smile inexplicably wistful.
‘She was a terrible singer – whenever she had a shower, we’d have to put the radio on to drown her out,’ I remembered, a warmth curling in the pit of my stomach.
‘But her pasta was to die for. She made it herself, flour everywhere – Laura would follow her with a damp cloth trying desperately to keep the kitchen clean. She … she always drank too much red wine on a Friday night and promised lifelong sobriety on Saturday morning. She loved shouting at documentaries, and she had this coat …’
My voice faded away as the lump that hadn’t appeared in my throat for months suddenly made itself known.
We kept walking, one foot before the other. Somehow it was easier to just let Patrick pull me along.
Then his voice cut into the silence. ‘What was her name?’
‘Jessalyn.’ Just saying her name was painful, a slice into my gut. Two years. You think you’re over it, but you never are. ‘That’s how we got our names. Jessica and Laura-Lyn.’
‘Pretty.’
Get a hold of yourself, Jessy – he was talking about your name, not you.
‘And you never argued?’
I chuckled as we turned a corner and the wide expanse of the Serpentine lake appeared in the distance. ‘Oh hell, we argued all the time, mostly about –’
Ross, I went to say, but hesitated.
But Patrick had noticed my pause. Of course he had. ‘About?’
My gaze flickered over to him. This wasn’t real.
Oh, my hand was in his and I liked him far too much, and if he kissed me again I wouldn’t be complaining … but hadn’t Patrick made it perfectly clear that this was all a PR thing?
Hadn’t we both made it clear nothing could happen here?
His record label loved the idea of him dating a fan, the public loved the idea that they had a chance at bagging someone as famous as Patrick, and Laura’s beloved app, which she had given her all to, got the recognition – and downloads – it deserved.
That was all this was.
I swallowed hard. ‘About guys. We argued about guys,’ I gave, prickles of discomfort warring with the warmth in my hand, which was still encased in his. ‘She didn’t like my ex.’
‘Huh.’