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‘Not often we get the chance to be alone together is it?’ she asked with an icy smile. I got the feeling she was a tigress and I was the gazelle she wanted to have for lunch.
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Max is usually always here isn’t he? So what have you…’
‘Listen up because I’m only going to say this once.’ Amira’s sharp voice cut across mine, bringing my sentence to an abrupt halt. ‘I know you and Max have this buddy-buddy thing going on but just remember who his girlfriend is, OK? If I see you hugging him, touching him or even fluttering your eyelashes in his direction, you’ll regret it. When it comes to my man, I don’t play nice.’
‘Amira, there’s nothing going on between me and Max! We’ve been friends forever but that’s it. If I give him a hug or hit him on the arm, I’m not flirting with him; it’s just part of our banter. I can assure you, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
She scoffed loudly and looked me up and down. ‘Oh I know I don’t, but thanks anyway! Just do me a favour and keep your hands off him; he’s mine, not yours.’
‘Listen I–’
My attempt to defend myself was sharply interrupted by Max and Gwen returning with our drinks. Amira flashed me a nasty smirk before lavishing attention on her boyfriend.
‘Come here, you.’
She pulled him in and kissed him passionately on the lips.
‘Whoa, what was that for?’ He chuckled softly and wiped traces of her lipstick from his mouth.
‘I just happen to find you irresistible, that’s not a problem is it?’ she purred.
She edged closer to him and began whispering in his ear.
‘Hey you, behave yourself!’ Max laughed and picked up his pint. A noticeable blush had crept into his caramel skin.
I found myself squirming in my seat as I watched her wrap her arms around his stomach. I knew how much he valued his personal space. Gently, he extracted himself from her grip and turned his focus towards me.
‘So what’s your new job then?’
Bollocks. That was the very question I’d wanted to avoid.
‘I’m the new wedding reporter.’
Max’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘You’re what? But you hate weddings.’
‘Don’t remind me! I’ve watched my mum get married then divorced enough times; I don’t fancy doing the same for everyone in Manchester!’ I groaned and let my head sink onto the table. ‘I’m going to be surrounded by white frilly dresses and wedding cakes for the rest of my journalistic career, aren’t I?! Whenever someone asks me something, I’ll only be able to answer with lyrics from Show Me Heaven or The Power of Love! On the bright side, I’m getting to write an article on an unusual love story for the Valentine’s issue. Maddie’s doing one too and Paddy’s going to choose his favourite to put on the cover.’
‘There you are then, you’ll write an amazing story and blow their socks off,’ said Gwen, patting me on the shoulder to make me sit up. ‘This wedding reporting might not be so bad, you know. You might cop off with a hunky best man or usher!’
‘Is it me or are you obsessed with best men and ushers?’ I grinned and pushed her shoulder playfully. ‘Did you ever hear from Grey Waistcoat Guy again?’
Certainly have! She winked and gave a riumphant grin before taking a swig of her wine. ‘His name’s Tom and he’s an investment broker. We’ve been texting loads and I’m going back to his after this actually. I always knew it was a good idea to wear matching underwear!’ ’
As I watched Gwen float on her little cloud of bliss, I felt a pang of jealousy. Much as I loved seeing her happy, I couldn’t help feeling that I was missing out on the happiness my two best friends were experiencing. Could it be that love wasn’t as toe-curlingly awful as I thought?
By the end of the night, my friends had almost convinced me that wedding reporting could be fun. They’d pointed out the copious amounts of free food and cake, the potential for meeting the “love of my life” (yeah right) and that I might find my unusual love story there. Although it was my idea of hell – after all, I’d been to more weddings in twenty-six years than some went to in their whole life – maybe it was best to at least try and have some fun with it.
At around midnight, Max and I guided a very drunk Gwen over the cobbles to catch a taxi to Tom’s chic Deansgate apartment.
‘You are gonna be the best wedding reporter that ever lived, missy!’ she slurred. ‘We’ll talk about how amazing you are tomorrow. Until then, I thank you!’
She took a theatrical bow and almost stumbled over in her bright blue high heels. Max grabbed her before she went headfirst onto the cobbles below.
‘Time for you to go home I think,’ he said with a chuckle.
He helped her over to a waiting taxi, gave the driver a twenty-pound note then made his way back over to me, shaking his head and smiling. We took a seat on the cute little bench outside the pub, blowing hot air into our cupped hands to keep them warm. Another taxi would be along in a minute and we could share it home.
I remembered the letter still sitting at the bottom of my bag and dug deep until I found it.
‘Check this out.’
I handed it to him and watched his face as he read it. Max had one of the most expressive faces I’d ever seen; you could see shock, anger, joy and surprise on it in just a few seconds sometimes. This time, I saw wonder, confusion and even a little bit of happiness. He regarded it like a piece of vital evidence in a murder investigation for a second then handed it back to me.
‘So Mr Writer’s back then, is he?’ he said with a smile.
My heart jumped when I heard my old nickname for him; I hadn’t heard it in such a long time. He’d been named after my favourite Stereophonics song. ‘Looks like it! I got the letter this morning; I’m still a bit dazed about it if I’m honest.’
‘I’ll say one thing for your man Ava, he’s got balls. If I’d sent love letters to a girl then suddenly stopped, there’s no way I’d start again after six years. Things can change a hell of a lot in that time; people get married, have kids. You could be pouring your heart out to someone who forgot you a long time ago. Imagine that…’
He stared into the middle distance and his brow furrowed, like he was in deep thought about something.
‘I’ve never forgotten him really,’ I confessed. ‘After all those beautiful letters, how could I? I didn’t expect him to rock up again after all this time though!’
Max smiled. ‘Neither did I, to be honest! I hope he doesn’t pull the same stunt as last time though, I remember how upset you were.’
My heart rate slowed back to normal and my throat tightened as a feeling of shame washed over me. It was a familiar feeling; I’d felt the same the day Mr Writer hadn’t turned up to meet me.
‘Me too; hopefully things will be different this time.’
Max put his arm round my shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
‘Well if he’s writing to you again, he obviously wants a chance to put things right, to try again maybe. One thing’s for sure, he must’ve been kicking himself about standing you up all those years ago. I’d have kicked him myself given half a chance! What if this is the time where everything falls into place? You finally meet the love of your life, the guy who’s been in love with you for God knows how long and you live happily ever after.’
‘I don’t know about that!’ I laughed wryly as he pulled me closer to him. ‘I don’t think I believe in happily ever after any more.’
‘How come?’
‘Have you seen my track record Max?! Men have left me since I was little – my dad, all my stepdads, Dave…’
‘You can’t still be blaming yourself for your dad and stepdads walking out, Ava. I’m sure they had their reasons for leaving, but none of them would be anything to do with you. The fact that Dave chose a job as a global development whatever-you-call-it…’
‘Global development manager,’ I said in a small voice. The job title was seared into my brain, I’d probably remember it for the rest of my life.
‘All right, a global development manager then. The fact he chose that job over you and told you he didn’t want you to go to Hong Kong with him, that just shows what an arrogant, selfish arse he is. I never liked him, if I’m honest.’
‘I’ll never forget what he said to me that night. Apparently our life together was “mediocre” and he felt “boxed in”, so he took the job and dumped me. I’m starting to wonder if there’s a bloke on this earth who’ll have me!’
‘Of course there is, you daft bugger!’ He chuckled softly and pulled me in for a hug. ‘You’re fantastic; why can’t you see that? Now that’s coming from someone who knows pretty much everything about you so it must be true! You’ll meet someone amazing one day, Ava.’
I let my head rest against his shoulder and thought about what Amira would say if she could see us now. The thought of her flying into a rage for no reason made me laugh. In the distance, I could hear the low rumble of a car approaching the pub.
‘Here’s a thought,’ Max said, craning his neck to see if it was a taxi. ‘Why don’t you find him this time? He’s obviously keen that he’s started writing again, but you know what blokes are like; they need a right good kick up the arse at times. Maybe that’s what Mr Writer needs. Enjoy the letters while they come and try to figure out who’s sending them. That could be the unusual love story you were looking for; they don’t come quirkier than getting love letters from some mysterious admirer!’
As I opened my mouth to explain why this was such a bad idea, a silver taxi slowed to a stop at the taxi rank across the road.
I got back to my flat, which was pleasingly empty as Gwen was at Tom’s. I looked at the letter again, devouring its contents with an eagerness I hadn’t felt in six long years. Max’s words echoed in my head: you’ll meet someone amazing one day, Ava.
Yeah right.
After my disastrous track record, I was starting to think there was no such thing as ‘amazing’. Maybe it was time to accept that I was only ever going to be disappointed by love, that it wasn’t some great wave that propelled you to a higher plane of being. The part of me that believed in love was getting smaller and smaller; it would take something pretty spectacular to restore my faith.
Something like… finding my secret admirer?
The more I thought about what Max had said, the more it made sense. Perhaps I should try and unmask the man behind those beautiful words. I didn’t have anything to lose, did I? If I was successful, I’d find out who’d been sending me these letters. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t really be any worse off. My head swirled as I thought of the amazing mystery that could finally be solved if I just put my mind to it…
No.
Practicality took over and I abandoned the idea. I remembered all too well what had happened the last time I’d let Mr Writer into my life. I didn’t want to put myself through that humiliation again, whether he ‘seemed keen’ like Max had said or not. All my life, my heart had been under lock and key and that was how it would stay.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_00cbc423-fd20-513e-919a-158c460e580d)
The next morning, I woke up to an email from Miranda. Normally, these never brought happy news but today I was dreading reading it even more, thanks to my new position.
From: Miranda.stark@sleek.com
To: Ava.clements@sleek.com
Ava,
Here are the details of your first assignment as Sleek’s wedding reporter. Please ensure you arrive promptly to the ceremony; the bride has expressly said she won’t tolerate lateness of any kind. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that you are responsible for maintaining Sleek’s excellent journalistic reputation, so please make sure you act in a professional manner throughout the ceremony and reception.
Kind Regards
Miranda
I scoffed loudly and rolled my eyes. “Act in a professional manner”?! What did she think I was going to do, get drunk and smash the wedding cake before copping off with the best man?
Not flipping likely, since weddings were my idea of a living hell. I’d been to enough to last me a lifetime and all the happy couples had ended up crumbling to dust.
I scrolled down to see where the wedding was taking place; they were having an evening ceremony at a posh city centre hotel, followed by a reception at the same place. I raised my eyebrows in appreciation; if nothing else there would be good champagne. I was also getting my very own photographer for the night; someone from one of the agencies the magazine used. I looked at the date and my jaw dropped. It was tomorrow!
‘Miranda, you absolute cow.’ I threw my head into my hands and groaned.
I had less than twenty-four hours to find a dress, research the couple, fix a meeting with them and prepare interview questions. It was as though Miranda was rooting for me to fail.
Before I could get in too much of a flap about it, Gwen came into my room and flopped down on my bed. This was her typical hangover routine: wake me up, get me to take her to McDonald’s or Krispy Kreme then watch movies with me all day on the sofa. Today, however, she had a strange look in her eye that I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.
‘Look what I found in the living room this morning!’ She reached into her dressing gown pocket and pulled out the letter.
My face flushed and I tried to bury my head in my duvet. I must’ve forgotten to put it back in my bag after looking at it last night. Gwen was too quick and snatched it away before I could take refuge.
‘When were you going to tell me about this, this is absolutely massive! Your secret admirer’s back after six bloody years!’
I couldn’t help but smile. Gwen was treating this significant development with her usual trademark enthusiasm.
‘I was going to show you today,’ I replied. ‘Don’t quite know what to make of it really; I mean, why’s he getting in touch after all this time?’
‘Well that’s obvious; he’s been thinking about you since he stopped writing the letters, kicked himself and now he’s decided to put things right.’
I loved how simple things were in Gwen’s world; if only the real world were like that.
‘What if it’s not that though; what if it was just a huge joke the whole time and now he’s back for another pop to see how much he can get me to fall for him?’
She wrinkled her nose up and scoffed. ‘Unless he’s a major sad case with nothing better to do, I don’t think that’s the reason he’s writing again! This is big Ava; he must’ve been thinking about you all this time. Maybe this is all meant to be and it was just the wrong time for you guys at uni.’
I raised a sceptical eyebrow. ‘This isn’t a Disney movie Gwen, things like that don’t happen in real life.’
‘This is real though!’ She waved the letter in front of my face to prove her point. ‘Whoever’s writing these is obviously mad about you. If you want my opinion, I think you should try and find out who this guy is instead of waiting around for him. If you want him, go out there and get him.’
Oh great, I thought, first Max says it and now Gwen! If both of my best friends were suggesting this utterly mad, hare-brained scheme to find my secret admirer, maybe I should give it some consideration. I couldn’t deny I was tempted. Getting the opportunity to put my Miss Marple hat on in the name of true love appealed to me.
‘Maybe you’re right. I wouldn’t know where to start though,’ I protested. I folded my arms in defeat and sunk back onto my pillows.
Gwen shuffled her bum across the bed until she was sitting beside me. ‘Nowadays, if you want to find anyone you go on the internet. Make a blog or something; didn’t you say you had to write about an unusual love story? This could be it; how many women can say they received love letters from a sexy secret admirer at uni then again years later! You’ll trump anything Maddie could come up with.’
Excitement swelled inside me. Maybe this wasn’t as ridiculous as I’d first thought it was. I glanced over to my wardrobe and my breath caught in my throat. It was in there, wedged tight and hidden from view. Every single letter he’d ever written to me was stuffed into a shortbread tin. So much love had been crammed into that slightly bashed metal box. Was it safe to unleash it all again?
I took a second to think before addressing Gwen. It wouldn’t be easy to find him and I could be in line for a nasty shock if it all turned out to be a massive prank.
‘I think I’ll leave it up to Fate for now,’ I replied. ‘If it’s meant to happen, it will.’
Before I tackled the mountain of work that lay before me, I decided to devote some time to researching possible topics for my feature. I trawled the internet for quirky love stories, from bizarre meetings to ones that worked under unusual circumstances. I found the usual: met on a plane then saw each other again five years later, couples who lived on the other side of the world from each other and ones who only saw each other every few months due to work commitments. None of them had the spark I was looking for; I couldn’t find any fresh angle to take on any of them. They were quirky but not quirky enough. I remembered the amount of work I had to do to prepare for tomorrow’s wedding and decided to put my feature idea to one side.
Max’s earlier suggestion burned at the back of my mind: using my own unusual love story for the feature. Part of me began to think that might not be such a bad idea, but my practical side put the kibosh on it. To put my personal experiences out there in public for everyone to read was unthinkable; the thought made me feel sick. I imagined the elusive Mr Writer reading my diatribe and wondering why he’d ever loved me in the first place. That thought settled things in my mind: Mr Writer wouldn’t be gracing Sleek any time soon.
***
Over the next twenty-four hours, I pulled off nothing short of a miracle.
After thoroughly researching the happy couple – Giselle the bride was a model and the groom Aaron was a footballer who’d just signed for United – I quickly made up a batch of interview questions. I tried to make them fun and informal; after all I was asking them about the happiest day of their lives, not accusing them of phone hacking.
Thanks to my two best friends, I had a dress and a date for the evening. Gwen had “borrowed” one of her designer friend’s dress prototypes and Max agreed to be my chaperone.
‘Given your talent for trouble Munchkin, it’s probably a good idea to have someone around who can clean up the mess!’ he’d said with a chuckle.
The worst thing was, he was probably right.
I slipped on the midi dress Gwen gave me, feeling it hug my figure in all the right places. For the first time in a long time, I looked like I had a waist and hips. Being a journalist meant I was always on the move so comfort came before style, but this dress was something else. It was an off-white colour with black broderie anglaise detailing down the front and a sweetheart neckline. I felt like a catwalk model in it as I teetered in front of my full-length mirror in some black skyscraper heels. My hair fell in soft brown curls around my shoulders and my pewter eyeshadow complemented my hazel eyes perfectly.
