EIGHTEEN
I had a new work rule: do your fucking job, and absolutely nothing else.
I was not there to ask about people’s families or make them feel special. I wasn’t there to organize birthday cakes or soothe bruised egos or cajole or comfort. I wasn’t there to cover up for my superiors’ failings or try to fix the company’s old-boys-club culture. I was just there to do my job.
It seemed to throw everyone at first, how I could seem so friendly, I could still smile and look pleasant, but I kept saying no. I didn’t even say sorry. It was just: “Oh, no, I can’t.”
The first time she heard it, Tola stood up from her desk like she was a gazelle who just got the scent of a predator. Felix frowned. Hunter backed away. Matthew looked hurt.
Head down, headphones on, smile pasted on my face—I could do this. It was what I needed to stop thinking about Nicki and Dylan and their cute phone-free dinners. About the fact he’d never messaged me back. About the look on my mother’s face as I told her she was pathetic.
“Aly?” I looked up and was surprised to see Becky standing in front of me, fiddling with that engagement ring on her finger, just like she had been since she got the damn thing. “Do you have a minute?”
“Not really—” I started, but the tears pooled, and I sighed, gesturing for her to take a seat. “What’s up?”
She pulled her hands through her hair and took a shaky breath, leaning forward to whisper. “I’m just wondering if any of it’s real, you know? Like, I tricked him into getting engaged, so does he actually want this?”
I closed my eyes, frowning at the headache approaching. “But I did what you wanted, Becky. You wanted him to be more open to the idea.”
“I know, but . . . is he going to resent me? In ten years’ time is he going to look back and say, I never wanted this? He’s been so worried about the money we’re spending on the wedding, and . . .”
I could feel myself winding up to explode. I did what they wanted. They asked me for help, for communication and support and advice, and then . . . it wasn’t good enough? And, of course, she was echoing my doubts about Dylan. Clearly, I’d been wrong in that department anyway. Because he was happy enough. Shared his secrets with me and then jumped straight back into Nicki’s bed, getting everything he needed.
“Becky, I’m sorry you feel guilty about actually getting the things you want, but I’m afraid I’ve got bigger problems right now.”
“Oh.” She looked hurt and stood up, clutching her hands like she was afraid of what I’d do next. “Of course. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
I winced but put my headphones back in and looked back at my screen. When I shifted my gaze slightly, I noticed Tola stood in front of my desk, arms crossed, foot tapping. I shook my head and kept my gaze focused on the screen.
She pulled off my headphones and tried to take my hand. “Lunch.”
“Not hungry.”
“Don’t care, you need fresh air and you need your friends.”
I laughed. “You wouldn’t even be my friend if not for the Fixer Upper.”
Tola looked me up and down, before she said slowly, “I can see you’re going through something right now, so I’m not going to hold you accountable for the bullshit you’re spouting. But I’ve been trying to be your friend since the day I started here. It’s you who holds people at a distance, not me. Now get your bag and come the fuck on.”
She tilted her head at Eric, who jumped up and met us at the lift, completely silent as we stepped in.
“Are you mute now?” I asked him.
“Nope, just trying not to antagonize the crazy lady in a confined space,” he said, blinking at me.
And then he smiled and looked so concerned for me that my stomach hurt.
“See, that’s the look you get when I’m being kind, so I try not to be!” he yelped, watching my eyes fill with tears.
“Good call.” I swallowed, looking up at the ceiling until I felt confident that I wasn’t going to cry.
We walked to the little park around the back of the office, down the backstreets of Oxford Circus. I loved that about London, the little hidden moments of green, little pockets of joy. In summer we’d see them suddenly full, bodies everywhere lying out, tanning, reading books, until you could barely see the grass beneath them. For now, the sun shone weakly and I pulled my jumper over my fingertips. Tola and I waited as Eric fetched coffees and pastries, sitting on the bench and not saying anything. It was nice to be silent together.
“I’m sorry I said that, about you not being my friend. I just know you want more from me with the Fixer Upper and I don’t know I can give it.”
Tola frowned in surprise, tapping her canary-yellow nails on her jeans.
“So what, you think I’ll drop you if I don’t get what I want? I don’t do things I don’t wanna do, Aly. I don’t hang out with people who aren’t fun. I don’t date people who don’t give me butterflies.” She looked almost offended that I didn’t know that. “And if I started thinking that my friends only want me around because of what I can do for them, then I’d tell them to fuck off.”
I nodded, looking at the floor.
“We love you because of who you are, not because you’re a master manipulator who could make us millions.” Tola’s voice softened into humor.
“I guess,” I said grouchily and half smiled.
She huffed, “Millennials need to go to therapy, good God.”
I laughed, more from surprise than anything else, and nudged her, smiling as Eric approached.
“Budge up, let me join the party,” he said, sliding onto the edge of the bench and handing us our coffees. “So . . . we are gathered here today to figure out what the hell is up with Aly,” Eric said solemnly. “Even though no one has asked me about my relationship issues in days, and I have things to share. But first, will this finally be the week Aly opens up to her friends and trusts them to be there? Stay tuned to find out.”
I nudged him. “You dork. What’s happening with Ben?”
“Nope!” Tola held up a hand. “You know he’s weak and wants to be the center of attention. We are focusing on you. No escape. What’s happening?”
I couldn’t tell them about Dylan. That it terrified me to find out the truth. That I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Instead, I chose the more pressing issue.
“My mum was going to have to sell her house . . .” I said, then shook my head. I’d have to go back further than that. I’d have to explain their whole fucked-up situation, and what that house meant, and how my father manipulated her.
So I did. I told them the truth. I told them why I needed the money, and that I’d called Nicki to make a new deal. I told them about the hundred grand. I explained what I saw at Mama’s last night, and the things I’d said and how ashamed I felt.
And then I sat there before them, completely vulnerable, waiting to be judged.
“That’s so shit.”
“I’m sorry, Aly, that must be so hard to deal with on your own.”
It was the kindness that got me, once again. I closed my eyes and tried to stop the tears leaking out.
“I said some awful things.”
“Were they untrue?” Tola asked, rubbing my back like I was a child talking about a nightmare.
I shook my head. “But they were designed to hurt her. I wanted to wake her up. I’ve been trying to wake her up for years.”
They curled themselves around me, protecting me, knowing me. Accepting all without question. Well, there was one question.
“A hundred grand, though.” Tola whistled. “That’s some top-level bullshit. I love it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t. I just wanted to do something good and hang out with you guys in the process. I didn’t want all of this . . . mess.”
“Are we sure we don’t want to carry on fixing Dylan and then we can all go on a really nice holiday? Like, whatever’s fancier than first class kind of holiday. I’m only half joking.” Eric grinned at me and squeezed my shoulders. I tried to smile.
“What can we do, my lovely?” he asked, so intensely earnest that I felt a bit odd.
I wiped my eyes. “You can forgive me.”
“For what?!”
I met his eyes. “I introduced you to Ben. What’s going to happen when this is all over, Eric? What if you’ve met your person and I’ve turned you into a liar before you’ve even gotten started?”
Eric tilted his head and smiled at me. “All the best romances start with a few well-placed lies. And I wouldn’t worry too much about me and Ben being the love story of the century anyway. He’s putting a few roadblocks in without any help from you.”
Apparently, there were wobbles on the road to true love and co-ownership of a sassy beagle.
“What does that mean?”
“He won’t date me because I’m a baby gay,” Eric huffed, “but he wants us to be friends. Just my luck for this to happen when I finally find someone who’s hot and smart and kind and funny and has good dress sense and is a dog person . . .”
“What’s a baby gay?” I asked.
“Ben’s been out forever, right?” Tola asked, and Eric pointed at her.
“Exactly.”
“Whereas you . . .”
“I was engaged to a woman for three years, have only been in a relationship with a woman, and only my immediate family members know I’m gay.” Eric splayed his hands. “Baby gay.”
“That’s not your fault!” I yelped. “He’s being unfair!”
“He thinks I need time to figure myself out, before jumping into something.”
“You’ve been figuring yourself—and other people—out for years! What more does he want?” I asked, completely affronted.
Eric glanced at Tola. “Uh-oh, we woke the beast.”
“No, I’m being serious,” I replied, taking his hand. “You are wonderful. You’re funny and smart and handsome and loyal, and you’ve been wanting a real connection with someone, and you find it and he feels the same way but you don’t have enough experience for him? What the hell is that?!”
Eric looked concerned. “Aly, breathe. You’ve got problems enough right now; I was just having a moan. We’re going to hang out as friends, and my animal magnetism will win him over. There’s only so long you can pretend to be friends with someone when you really want to jump them.”
Tola looked at him and burst out laughing, then tilted her head toward me.
“Unless you’re Aly, then you can survive that way for at least ten years.”
I really didn’t want to laugh, but I couldn’t help it.
“You guys are the worst.”
“Lies, terrible, terrible lies,” Eric said, giving me a brown paper bag. “Now stick this doughnut in your mouth and cheer the hell up. We’ve got our first Matthew-run meeting this afternoon, and without you to run to, Hunter has been coaching him. It’s marionette theater in there, and we’re going to need a robust sense of humor.”
Thank goodness for my friends. I had no idea what I’d do without them.
—
The key to happiness was avoidance and a smile.
Avoiding my mother’s phone calls. And texts and emails and voice messages. Hanging up on my father and blocking his number. Letting Tola take the lead on the remaining Fixer Upper sessions and ignoring her when she asked about booking more in. When she asked what I wanted to do about Dylan.
Dylan, who kept appearing in his girlfriend’s photos and videos online, peering over her shoulder, kissing her cheek, making her giggle. Doing exactly what I’d wanted him to. Dylan, who messaged me every single night with his list of five things for the day, and number five was always That we’re friends again. He was killing me. I was right back where I’d been all those years ago, watching him be the perfect boyfriend to another girl, helping him do it, and pretending I didn’t care.
I needed to put this energy into myself.
I didn’t want anything else to do with the Fixer Upper. I couldn’t keep wearing some parts of myself like a suit of armor.
I had to call this off. I had to tell Nicki we were done with all of this. I would help Dylan with his business stuff, Nicki would take what she’d learned from us and keep beavering away at making him what she wanted (maybe she’d succeed), and I’d get to keep my friend. And maybe lose this sick feeling in my stomach where that betrayal sat.
It was time to face the KLP and be prepared for her claws.
—
I was writing a plan of attack, a carefully curated bullet-point list (How to Get Out of This Bloody Mess), when Eric called. I answered with suspicion.
“You don’t call me at the weekends. Are you okay?”
“Please, please don’t say no,” he begged, and I was immediately on edge. I put down my pen.
“What?”
“Nicki has invited us all glamping.”
“Glamping. Right.” I blinked. “Why?”
“She thinks it would be—and I quote—a super-fun bonding experience.”
“And why do you know about this, but I don’t?” I snorted, tapping my notepad with my pen.
“Because she wanted to invite you, but I asked if I could do it”—he sighed—“because I knew you’d say no.”
I closed my eyes briefly, then looked around the coffee shop and wondered if any other clientele were currently battling intrusive influencers who wanted to take them on fancy holidays. Probably not.
“And why would I say no?” Of course I’m saying no.
“Ugh, I don’t know, morals or some other ridiculousness? Aly, come on. I need this.”
“You need this?” I laughed, taking a sip of my coffee. “You need to go glamping with a reality TV star slash heiress. Because . . .”
“Because Ben’s going. And my current plan relies on proximity.”
“And this plan is . . .”
“To hang out with him until he caves and sleeps with me again. And then keep sleeping with him until he falls in love with me.”
I exhaled. “Oh, good, completely nuts, excellent. Why do I need to go? Go without me. Godspeed.”
“Because I need you, okay? I need the support. I am doing what you said, fighting for my man. And if you don’t come, I’m going to cave. I need you to help me be brave, okay?”
I smiled, feeling a little teary. “You need me?”
He laughed.
“How is that surprising? I am throwing myself at your mercy. Please help me trick this man into loving me.”
“No trickery, no fixing—” I started.
“I know, I’m joking,” he said warmly. “I just need moral support. I love Tola, but she’s young and people fall all over themselves to date her; she doesn’t get what it means, how rare this stuff is when you find it. Us oldies have got to stick together.”
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my forehead. “Eric . . . the stuff with Dylan and Nicki—”
“I know, it’s awkward, and you feel weird about it, and you want to call the whole thing off. But they are super loved up right now. Like, she could not stop going on about him on the phone. She’s really happy. He’s really happy. They’ve got their big presentation; it’s all happening the way you planned.”
I’m not sure it is.
But it was true, social media told the story of the UK’s most beautiful, enamored couple. There he was in her bed, naked from the waist up, breakfast tray settled next to him, hair looking perfectly mussed. He’d clearly stopped overthinking, stopped worrying they weren’t right for each other. The perfect boyfriend was back again, and I knew I should have been happy, but it killed me just a little.
“You really need me to do this?” I asked, dreading his answer.
“Please, this is it. Love, white fences, marriage, beagles. Morning coffee and matching pajamas and getting old and wrinkly together. He’s my someone, Aly.”
It was the first time I’d heard Eric that sincere. And that vulnerable.
“Well . . . fuck. Like I can say no after that, you utter bastard.”
I heard him sigh in relief, and then laugh.
“Good, we go on Thursday.”
“If I take more time off, Felix will kill me.”
“You know why he won’t?” Eric replied. “Because it’s your entitled holiday, you’re not a senior staff member, and, oh, yeah, you’re allowed to have a life. If he wanted you to be chained to your desk, he should have incentivized you when he had the chance.”
I sat up, as if he’d just shaken some sense into me. “You’re right. Thank you. Yeah! Okay, this could be fun. Glamping with an heiress. At least it’s a story, right?”
And a chance for me to have a one-to-one chat with Nicki and put this whole thing to bed once and for all. Operation Unfix It.
“One we’ll be telling our kids!” Eric laughed, suddenly energized. “Okay, I’ve gotta go shopping! I need something that says I’m crazy about you and I’m out and proud and also I’m good at being in nature.”
I laughed. “Erm . . . your birthday suit?”
“World enough and time, sweetheart. See you tomorrow!”