Lindsey Kelk 8-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection. Lindsey Kelk
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he’s not my boyfriend. Alex is my boyfriend. We have been through this.’
‘I know it’s all the rage going out with two people at once these days but, honestly Angela, it’ll end in tears,’ she rattled on. ‘Don’t think I don’t know. I was seeing another man when I met your father and yes, I admit there might have even been a bit of an overlap but—’
‘Mum!’ I shouted, attracting the attention of several labradors and a chihuahua. ‘There’s nothing going on with me and James at all. I’m just going out with Alex.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded ridiculously disappointed given that she had never met either man. ‘Well, that’s a shame. He seemed lovely.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you’re not going to marry that actor or was there something else? I’m just about to do your dad a sandwich.’
I breathed in and out slowly, watching the sun spread across the city. See how different it could be? If I hadn’t salvaged my job at The Look, I would most likely be having a sandwich with Dad as well.
‘I just wanted to give you a ring,’ I said, trying to be patient. ‘‘Let you know I was all right. That I wasn’t shacked up with James Jacobs.’
‘Don’t feel bad, that blonde girl is ever so pretty. Not that you’re not, Angela love, but you know. So, how long are you in Los Angeles for? Have you booked your flights home?’
I tried not to be offended that my mother didn’t think I was as pretty as Scarlett Johansson. I mean, surely your mum was the only person in the world that might think that about you? Unless you were Scarlett Johansson’s mum and then I suppose you’d have to think her sister was fairly pretty too. If she has a sister.
‘Do you have to ask me that every time I call you?’ I asked, draining my freezing cold coffee. Ick. ‘I don’t know, Mum. I suppose I might come home for Christmas this year if you’re not on a cruise again.’
‘I didn’t mean here,’ she tutted, as if I was the stupid one. Which, given the last week of my life, was probably fair. ‘I meant when are you going back to New York?’
‘Oh.’ I smiled at my flip-flops. Home. ‘Sunday.’
‘Don’t worry, Angela,’ Mum sighed dramatically. ‘We’ve quite got used to the idea that you’ve abandoned us. You’ve got your new life now with your boyfriends and your friends. How is Jenny? Now she’s a beautiful girl.’
‘She’s fine.’ I don’t know what I was expecting, really. ‘Mum, can I ask you something?’
‘What a silly question, of course you can.’
‘Have you ever kept a secret from Dad?’
She was silent for a moment.
‘A secret as in, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, or a secret as in, he still thinks I make my own Yorkshire puddings and don’t buy in Aunt Bessie’s?’
‘The first one.’ I was disgusted. Fancy buying in frozen Yorkshire puddings.
‘Then yes, of course I have,’ she said. ‘All relationships have their little secrets.’
‘Really?’ I had to admit to being a little bit curious about my mother’s secrets. As long as they weren’t dirty. Ew. ‘Like what?’
‘Well, obviously there’re the little white lies, like the Yorkshire puddings. And the roast potatoes. And once I used that powdered mashed potato for Sunday dinner because I’d been on the Blue Nun with your Auntie Les and he was none the wiser,’ she said. ‘But, well, there have been a few things that I’m fairly sure he’d rather not know about. You have to use your judgement, Angela – it’s part of making a relationship work.’
‘But don’t you think he deserves to know?’ I asked. ‘Shouldn’t you be honest about everything?’
‘Would you rather know?’ She was still speaking slowly, as if she was choosing every single word very carefully. Which was extremely weird for my mother. ‘Imagine if that fella of yours had – I don’t know – got a bit tipsy and kissed the girl from the bakery under the mistletoe at a Christmas party and maybe she’d thought it was a proper kiss and he hadn’t but maybe she’d kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek and—’
‘Mum, did you kiss Mr Owens from the bakery?’ I shouted down the phone.
‘And that reaction is why your dad doesn’t know about it,’ Mum said primly. ‘And so, whatever you’ve done, I suggest you don’t go telling that boyfriend of yours unless you want to peel him off the ceiling. Calm down, Angela.’
She was right. I hated when that happened.
‘I’m going to go, Mum. I’ve got some work to do before I go back to New York. We fly tomorrow; yes, I’ll call when we’ve landed,’ I promised, knowing full well I wouldn’t and that she’d have forgotten I’d even said that I would before she got back to Dad’s sandwich.
‘All right love.’ At least she was using her own voice again. ‘And just think about what I said. And don’t ever tell your dad about the Yorkshire puddings. I think he’d be more likely to forgive a kiss than using frozen Yorkshires.’
Hoovering down my muffin, I took one long last look at LA as the morning sunshine tickled it awake, stroking the rooftops of the city from Los Feliz below me, shining down on Hollywood, skipping over Beverly Hills and bouncing off the waves and the beaches of Venice and Santa Monica. I heaved myself up, dusted off my jeans and wandered off back to the car with something of a smile starting on my face. Surely if Mum could keep her frozen Yorkshires to herself, then there was no reason why I couldn’t just forget the Joe incident ever happened.
Forty hairy minutes later, I was pulling in at a Coffee Bean to pick up more coffees and muffins as a goodwill gesture for James and Blake and to break up the terrifying drive through LA. Once I’d prised my fingers off the steering wheel, I spotted my phone flashing in the bottom of my bag. Unlike everyone else on the roads of LA, I couldn’t drive and talk at the same time. I could barely even drive and think. There were two texts. One from James.
‘Couldn’t remember what we were doing so we’re coming to you. See you @ pool bar 9?’
Shit. What time was it?
8.40.
Shit.
And another from Alex.
‘Can’t believe you snuck out, I feel so used. Will hang out here till you’re back, got my swimsuit somewhere …’
Shit shit shit.
I threw my bag and phone into the back seat and turned on the engine. Never again would I take issue with Blake’s anal-retentive management of James’s schedule. And never again would I make arrangements with the monkey instead of the organ-grinder. I took a quick moment to think about how inappropriate that thought was and then rolled out into traffic.
I couldn’t get to the roof of the hotel soon enough. Jabbing the roof terrace button in the lift, I felt my newly acquired sense of calm slip away, picturing James confronting Joe. Alex confronting James. Blake confronting Alex. Joe telling Alex everything.
Tearing out of the lift as fast as my flip-flops would carry me, I could hardly bear to look. There they were, James, Blake and Alex, sitting at one of the tables, drinking coffee and, oh my God, laughing.
‘Hey!’ Alex stood up and leaned in for a quick kiss. I stared from one to the other, resting on Blake, who stared back with the smile of an angel. An angel that knew something I didn’t. ‘So I met James and Blake.’
‘So I see,’ I said, sitting down cautiously and accepting the coffee that James poured for me. On closer inspection of the bar, there was no sign of Joe. Phew. ‘And how’s that working out for you?’
‘Uh,