Chapter 6
It was going to be a full-on day. First there was late lunch with Mum, and then Noah would be arriving, making our night out by the skin of his teeth. Knowing him, he’d be charged up on energy drinks and still manage to stay out later than us.
But the most important thing was that all that fun started from midday, which meant I was going to get a full, uninterrupted night’s sleep.
Even Amy was staying over at Paul’s, which meant I wouldn’t get woken up by the sound of her hairdryer or the clicking of all her make-up boxes as she applied it in the hallway mirror.
A lie-in surrounded by peace and quiet was exactly the birthday present I wanted to give myself.
I was in the deepest sleep when the doorbell started to ring. I sat bolt upright in panic; at first I thought it was the fire alarm, but then the silence of the flat and the darkness from the window made me think that I’d dreamt the whole thing.
I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm my pounding heart down, before it buzzed again. It was longer this time and more of a stop/start motion.
‘Who the bloody hell is that?’ I squinted at the clock on my bedside table. It was 5.36 a.m.
Besides the milkman, I didn’t know many other people that got up at such an ungodly hour, and for a minute I just lay in bed. It was bound to be kids or someone that had got the wrong house. Amy and I didn’t have anyone dropping by to see us at the best of times, let alone at this time.
The bell rang again, almost like it was punching out morse code with a buzz-pause-buzz pattern and I finally threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. I hunted round for my slippers and dressing gown and stormed off downstairs to give the person a piece of my mind.
‘OK, I’m coming,’ I shouted to stop the ringing. ‘It better be a bloody emergency.’
I didn’t care that it could be a serial killer on the other side; at this point I was so mad and the only person in danger of getting murdered was them.
‘Who the bloody hell do you think you are ringing the doorbell at this—’ I grumbled as I opened the door. The man’s face was obscured at first by the darkness and the lamppost behind and I was in full-on rant mode, hands on hips, before I realised that standing in front of me was Noah.
A look of utter relief washed over his face, followed by a large grin.
‘Finally,’ he said. ‘I thought you were going to have me standing here all day.’
Frozen in shock, I wondered if I was still dreaming. I rubbed at my eyes and blinked, but my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me.
‘Strewth, Sheila, are you going to let me in or what?’ he said, with a dodgy Australian accent.
‘That hasn’t improved since I last saw you,’ I said, my brain finally accepting that it was indeed Noah on my doorstep.
‘No, it hasn’t, and neither has the bloody British weather. It’s freezing.’
‘Oh yes, of course.’ I opened the door wider for him and his backpack to squeeze in.
We lived in the upper flat in a two-storey house with a narrow stairwell to get to our flat.
I loved that we didn’t have any communal space with our neighbours, but it did mean that it was far too narrow and not quite wide enough for him and his backpack.
‘Surprise.’ He leaned over to give me a hug.
I put my arms around him and I found my whole body squeezing him.
‘I might need some air left to breathe.’
I pulled out of the hug. ‘Sorry, I’m just so excited. I can’t believe you’re here. I thought your flight didn’t land until fourish?’
‘Yeah, well, I um, got that a bit mixed up. I thought it landed at four-thirty this afternoon and it landed at four-thirty this morning. No queue at passports, unsurprisingly.’
‘What a shocker.’ He’d only been here less than a minute, and already my cheeks were aching from all the smiling. ‘I’m glad you’re here. It was worth getting woken up for. Come on up.’
I stood flat against the wall to let him and his giant backpack pass.
I paused ever so slightly to look at myself in the hallway mirror as I went by, instantly wishing I hadn’t.
I had black bags under my eyes as big as saucers, and tell-tale red wine marks in the creases of my lips.
I quickly rubbed them away and retied my hair into a messy bun.
I pulled my dressing gown tighter around my mis-matched, misshapen PJs.
What was I doing? This was Noah, a man that had shared a tent with me at V Festival where I hadn’t showered for three days, who had held my hair back when I’d vomited after too many gins at our third-year summer ball, and who had held me when I’d cried ugly tears after break-ups.
Instead of focusing on what a state I looked, I should have been concentrating on the fact that he was here.
Here in my house. I’d been thinking about seeing him all week, excited about the moment that I got to hang out with him again and now that he’d arrived early, I couldn’t believe it.
My tired mind was all abuzz and whirring at a zillion miles an hour to process it.
‘Blimey, this is nicer than your flat in Shepherd’s Bush.’ He paused walking into the kitchen and blew a whistle through his teeth.
‘I know. No black mould thrown in for free.’
‘Or drug-dealing neighbours.’
‘Not that I know of,’ I said, with a smile. ‘But you know, it’s always the quiet ones.’
‘Always.’
In the light of the kitchen, I could finally take him in.
His hair was shorter than I’d ever seen it, not quite buzz-cut short but close, and his skin was much darker.
He’d filled out too. Not that he’d put on much weight – he was still skinny like he’d always been – but he was carrying the weight differently now. Almost like he’d grown into his body.
‘I tried to call you and warn you that I was coming, but it kept ringing out to answerphone.’
‘Yeah, I was knackered last night and put it on silent.’
He pulled a face.
‘Sorry to wake you up; I’m guessing you were planning a lie-in?’
I nodded but my nose started to scrunch up. I couldn’t even pretend to be mad at him.
‘I was, but if ever there was a reason to get up at stupid o’clock in the morning, it would be to see you.’
He leaned against the worktop.
‘Steady on, you sound like you missed me when I was away. And I know from the lack of Skype calls that that wasn’t the case.’
‘Hang on.’ I flicked the kettle on; I might be excited to be up and seeing Noah, but it didn’t mean that I wasn’t in desperate need of a coffee. ‘I Skyped you.’
‘Once.’
‘Once? No, I spoke to you more than that. We called you last year, on your birthday.’
‘With Amy and Paul.’
I felt sheepish, wondering if that was true.
‘OK, so I was a bit crap with the Skype; I’m blaming you moving somewhere with a ridiculous time difference. But at least I emailed, and I texted occasionally.’
‘That’s true.’ He sat down at the table. ‘It’s just not the same, is it, when you don’t get to see a person? You look different.’
‘Ha.’ My hand flew up to my messy hair. ‘It’s called being woken in the middle of the night and not having brushed my hair or put any make-up on.’
He shook his head.
‘It’s not that. You were blonde when I left, and now look at you.’
A bit of my natural brown hair had fallen out of my bun and I tried to tie it back round.
‘I’ve been dying it for so long that I thought I’d give it a rest for a bit.’
‘It suits you,’ he said, nodding. ‘It brings out your eyes.’
He stared at me for a moment and it caused me to shudder. The kettle came to a noisy boil and I snapped round.
‘Coffee?’ I offered, desperately needing to change the subject.
‘Yes, please.’
‘And then I’m guessing you’ll want to sleep?
We’ve got a super comfortable sofa bed in the lounge that we’ve earmarked for you.
But if you want a real bed you can use mine.
I won’t be in it,’ I added with a hurry.
My cheeks were starting to burn. Since when did my cheeks burn talking to Noah?
‘I mean, I’m up now, so I’ll probably stay up. ’
‘As tempting as a bed sounds after travelling for god knows how long, I’m actually quite awake. I slept pretty much the whole way and they served the strongest coffee known to man. Not sure I’ll get much sleep before next Tuesday, if I’m honest.’
I went to pass him the cup of coffee and hesitated. ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to have another one?’
‘More coffee is always the answer, but I tell you what I really want to do.’ He took hold of the cup as I held it out to him. His hand brushed against mine and I almost dropped it with the jolt.
‘And what’s that?’ I hadn’t meant it to come out sultry or flirty, but that’s exactly how it sounded.
‘I really want a fry-up. Like the greasiest, most artery-clogging fry-up that you could ever imagine. Sausage. Eggs. Bacon. Baked beans. Mushrooms. Tomatoes. Toast. Hash Browns. Black pudding.’
I pulled a face. ‘I don’t believe people really eat that.’
‘Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. And all washed down with proper builder’s tea.’
‘Well’ – I looked over at my fridge, which might have a soggy mushroom and some wrinkly tomatoes – ‘I can run out and grab some. There’s a Tesco’s not far away that’s twenty-four hours.’
He shook his head. ‘Not that I don’t believe that your cooking skills have drastically changed since I left.’
‘Hey,’ I said, knowing full well that I had recently used a cookbook to work out how long to boil an egg.
‘I’m just kidding, but seriously, we have to go out to eat, it’s our birthday.’ He screwed up his face. ‘It is our birthday, isn’t it? I’m so confused what time it is and going forward and back in time.’
‘You’re right,’ I said, stirring a bit of sugar into my coffee. ‘It’s today. Happy birthday.’
‘Happy birthday.’ He put his coffee cup down and reached into the small pocket of his backpack. ‘I brought you a present.’