Читать книгу An Impossible Thing Called Love: A heartwarming romance you don't want to miss! - Belinda Missen - Страница 13

January 2014

I took the stairs at St James’ station two at a time, up into the open air, and past the throngs of school holiday tourists vying for a perfect photo near the Archibald fountain. I shook my wrist to check my watch again. The pedometer part of my New Year, New Emmy project had about another week of half-life left.

The summer air was thick and smelled of sunscreen and sausage sizzles. Almost all the shade around the park had been swallowed up by families and children playing with their Christmas-gifted water pistols. Across Park Street and near the Pool of Reflection was Craig, waiting with a light blanket and wicker basket.

‘I’m so sorry.’ I puffed. ‘I was late out of work.’

He peered up with a gentle smile, eyes shielded from the dappled sun stabbing through the trees. ‘That’s okay.’

‘Yeah, but it’s not, is it? I’ve kept you waiting again.’ I dropped to my knees and crossed my ankles beneath me. ‘This is gorgeous, thank you.’

Craig stilled me with a finger as I leant across and kissed him. ‘You haven’t seen the food on offer yet.’

It was a hearty spread of crackers, fresh shop-bought dips, and some smelly cheese which broke every plastic knife we tried cutting it with. In the end, nibbling at the block was the only way.

‘Alright, so, I have a question for you.’ Craig settled himself opposite me and poured soft drink into plastic wine glasses. This was the state of our student lunches – cheap and cheerful, but still very lovely and fun experiences.

‘Sounds serious.’

Craig narrowed his eyes. ‘A little?’

‘Shoot.’

‘London. How serious are you about going?’ he asked.

‘I’d like to go,’ I said slowly. ‘I love listening to Heather talk about it. How about you?’

Honestly, it had been all I’d thought about for weeks. Heather and Josh had settled in with ease. Facebook accounts full of smiling faces and location shots were testament to that. Weekends at country clubs in Bath, towering white cliffs of Dover, or the Titanic trail of Southampton were coupled with freshly painted bedrooms and new furniture, exotic takeaway dinners, and the excited exploration that comes with discovering your new city through fresh eyes.

‘Had you asked me on New Year’s Day, I would’ve said it wasn’t a great idea. Maybe just a knee-jerk reaction to your friends leaving.’

‘But?’ I asked, curious as to how he’d changed his mind in the weeks since.

‘Well, this week at work hasn’t been so great. I’m not really cut out for the family firm.’ He looked about nervously. ‘At the end of the year, with school over, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.’

‘So, you want to go then?’

‘I think we should start planning, yeah.’

Planning felt like a ten-thousand-piece Ravensburger jigsaw puzzle and looking for the edge pieces one by one. Most people were of the opinion I should just ‘get a job and get over there’ which, I suppose, was correct. Financially though, it meant having a safety net before stepping on that plane.

Money, that magical thing that makes the world go around, became easier to come by when I switched to distance education. By the time lecture theatres opened their doors for the school year, I was already curled up on the couch reading final year subjects and bashing away at the keyboard in the hope an essay might pop out somewhere near the end.

As much as he hated it, Craig took extra shifts at the family business. He made coffee, swept floors, and shredded old files just to make himself useful. And, when he was finally allowed to take on clients, he worked night and day to prove that he was not only worthy of their accounts, but that he was capable. It astounded me that he got any of his university work done at all, but he did.

In June, while I was busy picking up volunteer work with the ambulance again and getting back into the groove of things, Craig moved us into a spare bedroom at a friend’s house. The paint was a little peely, and I spent a weekend watching my fingers wrinkle up under sugar soap and water, but it gave us the opportunity to be proper adults. No longer were we under our parents’ roofs, but in our own space, being adults, doing very adult things in the privacy of our own place.

‘I suppose at least it’ll give us an idea of London.’ Craig stood by the door, hands on hips, and surveyed our new room, which smelled like a not so delicious blend of chemical cleaner and lavender carpet powder.

‘Are you still keen?’ I patted the space on the bed beside me.

‘We only have this place for twelve months, so, I do hope so!’

The idea of returning to the UK made me jittery with excitement, it lit a fire inside me all over again – just when I thought those feelings may have disappeared under the rubble of adult life. The opportunities for advancement were endless. I mean, they were at home, too, but something about London felt a little more … special.

Heather and I stayed in contact with a constant game of tag across time zones and inbox messages. We sent each other what we’d called care packages. Where she wanted Tim Tams, Vegemite, and local chocolate, all I wanted were tea bags and the ugliest souvenirs she could find. I was beyond thrilled at my Will and Kate wedding ashtray. It didn’t matter that I didn’t smoke or that the printed image was misaligned, it did a wonderful enough job on the top shelf of my bedroom. It was a regular talking point.

As the year wore on, Heather was happy to remind me that she’d been in London almost twelve months, and that I must be due to join her soon enough. Right on their twelve-month anniversary, she rang. I moved away from the ruckus that was family dinner, and sat in a spare room.

‘You’ll get the biggest bedroom,’ she opened with.

‘And?’ I asked.

‘And,’ she drawled, ‘it’s very lovely. I’ll paint and buy you some new linen and get everything ready for when you arrive. That way, you won’t have to worry about a thing.’

I laughed. ‘Why? What’s the catch?’

‘The room’s downstairs. We sleep upstairs, which makes us closer to the toilet.’

‘Lazy,’ I teased. ‘So lazy.’

‘So,’ she said. I could imagine her twirling a phone cord around her finger. ‘When are you coming?’

* * *

Job applications began a few months before we planned to leave. It became a constant waiting game, hoping for the familial ding of an email notification. It was the old Did I, or Didn’t I Get the Job? game. There might be a polite rejection coupled with best wishes or, maybe, an appointment request. Come hither and talk to us, always near enough to the midnight hour, always over delayed phone lines or pixelated Skype conferences. I jumped on every opportunity that sprang up, kind of like whack-a-mole.

Craig’s employment process was a little easier. He’d managed the first job he applied for, helping a start-up company, and his visa sponsorship was sorted in under a fortnight. Luckily for us, his start date would be determined by mine. He simply began taking on work remotely we got there. Hooray for late nights in front of the television and crawling into bed nearer to sunrise than usual.

But it didn’t matter. We were thriving, effervescent with excitement and just counting down until the moment it was my turn.

When my call finally came, early one Friday morning, I was in the middle of balancing a piping hot coffee cup, while swiping into the building at work, and trying to answer my phone, all without spilling a precious caffeinated drop.

‘Emmy, it’s Brian Ward.’

‘Hello, Brian Ward.’ I ground the toe of my shoe into the ground, pulverising a dry leaf. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m great. I mean, it’s late here, but I figured I’d get you at a good time.’

‘You have, yeah. I’m just heading in for the day.’ I stopped. ‘What is it for you? Midnight?’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘I’m just catching up on some paperwork. Have you got a moment to chat?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Absolutely.’

‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he said. ‘I’m just wondering how you’re placed for flights? When’s the earliest you can start?’

‘Are you saying I got the job?’ I squeaked. When the lid popped off my coffee, splashing hot liquid over my hands and threatening my canvas shoes, I finally loosened my grip. Anything but the shoes, they were my favourites.

‘It’s only a six-month contract at this stage, but I’m saying that you should book a flight.’ Hearing the smile in his voice was the most amazing feeling. ‘You’re going to be a great fit for the team.’

‘Oh boy, oh boy, I’ve just … oh, I spilled my coffee. Again.’

‘Yep, definitely a good fit.’ He laughed. ‘Ideally, I’d like you to start as soon as possible. Pam’s a little snowed under right now. I’m going to email you with some details, just let me know when you can get here.’