Chapter 12 #2
On the way home in the car, her phone lit up in its holder on the dashboard. She saw William’s name, but before she could even say hi, he started gabbling, totally unlike his usual self.
‘Have you seen the news? Fergus and Ronan were interviewed by the Guards yesterday.’ He sounded frantic.
She tried to reassure him that he was quite safe, given that he’d been filmed in his peacekeeping capacity.
But he seemed incapable of a regular conversation.
In the end they agreed that, rather than meeting in a pub, William would call round to her flat in half an hour to process the whole situation.
Wow, she thought, a month ago this would have been her ultimate fantasy, where some dramatic twist of fate had hurled them together and they could sit, their heads close together on the sofa, bonded by drama.
Funny, wasn’t it, the less pushed you were about something, the more likely it was to work out.
Bursting in the door of her flat, she whipped the damp towels off the sofa and lit a few candles left over from Halloween – ignoring the fact that they were mostly skulls and might give the impression that she was a closet satanist – which left her approximately twenty-two minutes.
A quick look at herself in the long mirror confirmed that she looked dumpy – her baggy top, baggy jeans and Ugg mini boots weren’t helping.
So she pulled out a pair of three-quarter-length jeans, flat boots and a soft pink V-neck jumper, reapplied her makeup and scrunched her hair.
Honestly, it was amazing the difference even a bit of self-care made.
Maybe she wasn’t doing herself any favours turning up looking like a blob to family dinners, come to think of it.
With ten minutes left, she washed her cereal bowl from that morning and dusted the TV and aquarium – after all it was important for the fish to look their best as well.
With five minutes to go, had she time to change the sheets?
Terrible idea. There was absolutely no need for it, and plus, what if she was caught halfway through?
Anyway, calm the feck down, she warned herself, this was at William’s instigation, not hers. All she had to do was sit there and remain calm.
A moment later, her heart jolted at the sound of the buzzer. She made one last check in the mirror, hair tossed, not trying too hard, and channelled Jane Birkin: nonchalantly sexy.
It felt weird to see Real William standing in her hallway, considering that Fantasy William already knew the place inside out – what with watching movies together and having long conversations, he was practically living there at one stage, though admittedly not so much recently.
Real William appeared very anxious and kept checking on his bike in the hall, fearing it might get nicked, which had never occurred to Fantasy William.
‘My mother is very upset,’ he confided. ‘It’s a small town where she comes from and she’s mortified at the thought of people gossiping, and everybody knowing our business.’
Jeez, just as well he hadn’t swung any punches or headbutted anyone himself. Still, it explained his nervy energy and wiry physique, which she’d originally found so attractive but was now starting to give her a slight twitch in her right eye. He really needed to calm down a bit.
‘Come on inside, I’ve a beer in the fridge if you’d like one,’ she suggested, causing him to pause in mid flow and realise he was still wearing his helmet, high-vis vest and bicycle clips. Fantasy William would’ve had those whipped off long ago.
She led him into the sitting room which, she noticed with satisfaction, looked relaxed and inviting. His eyes lit up at the sight of the fish tank.
‘Nice fish,’ he said, sitting opposite them on the sofa. ‘They’ve actually equated the release of brain neurochemicals with the rhythmic movement of fish,’ he informed her gravely.
She realised that away from the pub, the office or his mates, William was actually quite shy.
How had she never noticed that? Because she was trying to fill the space by talking and it had never dawned on her that he might have had some part in the awkwardness of their interactions.
It was actually quite liberating to realise he was nothing like the swaggering, confident tech bro she’d imagined.
He left his gear in a pile on the floor and fixed his eyes on the darting fish.
A growing part of her was feeling guilty; if she and Rosemarie hadn’t deliberately crashed his regular meet-up, none of this would’ve happened.
Was there something about trying to force the hand of fate that invariably ended badly?
Oh well, too late now, they were all living in that version of reality.
William seemed to be struggling to speak.
‘The thing is, Ally . . . I feel really bad, because they got themselves into trouble defending me. In a way I caused this.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, William, you’re the last person who’s at fault in this. Fergus suggested Rosemarie was . . . outspoken, which she is . . . Then, not surprisingly, she slung a drink over him, and then – I’m still not sure how – everyone started hitting each other.’
He took a slug of beer. ‘Thanks, Ally, that’s been haunting me all weekend.’
He didn’t mention the TikTok clip of her helping him up. Not surprising.
‘Sooo . . .’
This was awkward. Normally, Ally could talk to anyone, but Real William was someone who, it seemed, was comfortable talking mostly about the things he was interested in, like his sporting hobbies and his favourite books, which she almost certainly hadn’t read.
It was going to be a challenge but, dammit, she was up for it.
This was simply a matter of getting to know him.
In fact, he was probably feeling the same way about her.
For a moment she felt the contrast with Pete, with his long legs, easy presence and wry sense of humour, lounging on her sofa, but immediately dismissed it as unfair.
He might be magnetic in one sense, but she’d already seen what would be in store for her if she got involved.
Anyhow, she’d made the decision to move on from The Owl’s Nest and get back to some version of her old life, which would be much less stressful, she reminded herself – less greasy hair, less pounding heart and mystery splodges of unidentifiable substances.
William swung round to her. ‘I was really glad to see you there on Thursday.’
‘Wow, good. Thanks . . . OK.’
There was a long pause. Hold your nerve, thought Ally, this is normal for William.
‘I didn’t know what to make of you when you worked at CC,’ he volunteered at last. ‘I thought you were good-looking but I wondered if you weren’t a bit – no offence – bonkers.’
Fair point.
‘But then last Thursday, you seemed . . . different. Calmer. And I thought . . . wow, she’s really nice.’
OMG that totally confirmed the theories in her Love Links book. She had an insecure attachment style, which made her a chaser. And that was totally counterproductive, because once she calmed down and stopped chasing, it gave people a chance to come to her, instead of driving them away.
He’d found her baffling and didn’t know what to do with her, which was totally fair because she hadn’t known what to do with herself a lot of the time.
It was quite endearing, actually. She felt a surge of warmth towards slightly na?ve, intellectual William.
She could definitely make him happy, she thought.
She indicated his beer. ‘Will you have another? It’s only nine thirty.’
Nobody was suggesting you could solve anything with alcohol; however in William’s case, a moderate amount seemed to release him from his self-consciousness.
‘I don’t normally go out on a Sunday night. I like to be in bed by ten thirty at the latest.’
Thankfully, Ally resisted the temptation to quip, ‘Yes, but whose?’
In fairness, he was going to prove a bit of a challenge.
She thought back over the love types but he didn’t fit into any of them – then again, neither did she.
But they were alone together, in her apartment, with sleepy fish and a melting skull candle – a scenario she’d dreamed of for months – and if something wasn’t going to happen now, then when?
He’d gone into one of his silences, staring straight ahead, when suddenly he put down his glass, turned around and ducked in to kiss her.
Taken by surprise and still holding onto her glass, all they managed to do was clash teeth.
Instead of laughing at the ridiculousness of it, he got terribly embarrassed and began to apologise, while she protested that it was no problem, and then they awkwardly tried again, which did remind her of their first fumbled kiss against the pub wall.
He slid his hand up under her fluffy jumper as she quickly sucked in her stomach, given it was post-Sunday dinner and not her thinnest time of the week.
He swivelled his tongue around her mouth for a while, during which she realised the central heating had just clicked off, plus the woman upstairs had started some late-night hoovering. In short, something wasn’t quite gelling.
Instinctively, she pulled back.
‘You know what, William? I think you’re right. It’s a work night. I don’t want you to feel under pressure.’
Was she imagining it or did he look slightly relieved?
‘Yeah, I just came round to talk, I didn’t mean to . . .’
‘I know, me neither,’ she slightly lied. It was time to make her move.