To Have and Hate Page 3

  ‘I’ve had it. Delivered it this morning. A couple of hours ago.’

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!’ she almost screeches. ‘How did it go? It went well, didn’t it? It went amazing, right?’

  ‘Well enough to get me another appointment on Monday.’

  ‘Yes!’ I know that burst of excitement came with an air punch. ‘Your ribs must be aching from all the congratulatory team hugs.’

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve told. I didn’t want to get their hopes up unnecessarily.’

  ‘Ollie, we’ve had this conversation. There is no “i” in team.’

  ‘No, but there’s a me in team, and as it’s me who’s responsible for paying their salaries, the rent on our offices, and a million other things, I haven’t had the heart to tell them how things have been looking.’ Reggie is the only person who knows the company has been kept afloat by my inheritance. No, that’s not true. Luke knows, too. But it’s an inheritance not followed by six zeros. I only came into it last year, and it’s now almost entirely spent. ‘I’ve had so much riding on this meeting.’

  ‘And now you’ve had it. You’ve got this, babe.’

  I let out a long sigh, my eyes welling with tears that are a strange mixture of release and apprehension. ‘Oh, God, I hope so, Reggie. I really do.’

  After a glass and a half of liquid relief later, I climb back through my bedroom window just as the sun decides it’s done for the day. The air is still heavy, and even though foreboding grey clouds fill the sky, nothing will spoil my mood. I’m shaved, buffed, and slathered in cream, and almost dancing around my bedroom in my underwear, filled with a nervous kind of anticipation. I can’t remember the last time I had sex, and when I say I can’t remember, I mean on purpose because the experience was that bad. A one-night stand following the party of a friend, a little too much vodka, and a lot of grinding against nothing very much. The experience confirmed my suspicions that I’m a monogamous relationship type of girl. And as I’ve been interested in only one man since, but unable to do anything about it, I’m more than ready for tonight.

  Still in my underwear, I add a little smoky eye to my makeup routine before slipping on a flirty little vintage Stella McCartney dress. Vintage sounds so much better than second-hand. With a spritz of perfume, I’m ready for a night with Luke. A night of firsts. A night that might be the beginning of forever. What I’m not quite so ready for is a trip on the bus. I might be on the brink of multimillion-dollar success, but it would be irresponsible to be anything but frugal until the ink dries on the contract.

  For the whole journey along Uxbridge Road, I feel twitchy and restless, and I’m not sure the feeling is one hundred percent excitement. My wave of wine bravery has long since wore off, and my confidence waned. It might be my psyche’s attempt at managing my expectations. I’m sure most people could relate. We’ve all had that one childhood birthday that couldn’t quite come soon enough. The day we’ve been on our best behaviour for, and the party that didn’t quite live up to the excitement and hype. Not that I’m equalling dinner with Luke to a gift I somehow deserve, but I have been on my best behaviour around him. Also, Reggie was right, I have had a crush on him for these past few years. And as I walk into the Brasserie where we’d planned to meet, I wonder if my subconscious had picked up on something my sentient self didn’t see because as I’m led to our table, Luke’s expression isn’t exactly a balm to my nerves.

  ‘Hey,’ he greets me, his hands clasping the tops of my arms as he pulls me in for a double air kiss. It’s not exactly the warm, enveloping hug I was expecting. Not that I was expecting a passionate embrace in the restaurant or his hands all over me, but I’m also not a colleague or a distant cousin.

  The waiter pulls out my chair, but before he has time to turn away, Luke shoves a glass at him.

  ‘Same again,’ he demands without tending the invitation to me. And he looks . . . dreadful. His shirt appears to have had a fight with an iron and lost, his blue eyes ringed with tiredness, and his endearingly floppy hair now appears to bear a two-day unwashed sheen. As if he’s run his hands through it repeatedly.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ My mind slips to my pitch this morning, and my concerns that Luke had somehow snuck me in through the back door. But didn’t he say that was his job—to find and introduce interesting investments? Besides, they wouldn’t waste their time calling me in on Monday if they had no interest in my company.

  Maybe that’s it—maybe he wants to cool things off until after meeting number two? But that can’t be it. He said any conflict of interest would be over once he’d introduced E-Volve as a possible investment partner.

  ‘This isn’t how I envisaged tonight going,’ he mumbles, staring at an empty wineglass on the table. The size of a goldfish bowl on a spindly stem.

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts, my gaze now fixed on it, too. I take in the lily-white linens and the gleaming silverware. Above us, light fittings that look more like art installations don’t provide so much an ambient light as a glare. The walls are stark, pale-coloured artwork like a smudge of cream left on a porcelain plate. I shift a little in the chair, the brushed steel cutting into the back of my thighs. Would it have killed them to use a little upholstery? While obviously an expensive restaurant, it isn’t exactly the kind of place that screams seduction or romance. It’s a monument to minimalism. Cold and impersonal.

  ‘What is it, Luke? What’s wrong?’ I reach out across the snowy table linens, covering his hands with mine as a black-clad waiter arrives with his drink. His presence causes Luke to snatch back his hand as though we’d been discovered half naked and not just holding hands.

  ‘I don’t know where to start.’ But that’s a lie because it seems he’s going to start from the bottom of his glass as he throws back what I assume is neat vodka and not water, draining the contents with a pained scowl.

  I find myself voicing my thoughts. ‘What can be so awful that you feel you need to have a drink to be able to spit it out?’

  ‘Timing,’ he answers cryptically. ‘The timing is fucking awful.’

  ‘Okay, but I still don’t know what it is you’re trying to tell me.’ The restaurant doesn’t lend itself to romance, so does the stark setting have more to do with business? ‘Is it about Monday?’ I ask, suddenly panicked. ‘About my meeting?’ I know it’s humid this evening, but the weather has nothing to do with the trickle of sweat that’s broken out on my spine.

  ‘No,’ he answers immediately. ‘If there’s one thing that brings me comfort, it’s that you’ve gotten another meeting with Jones.’

  ‘I have you to thank for that.’

  ‘No, I got you in. The rest is on you. And you’re going to do amazing.’

  ‘Why do you sound like an elderly relative on his deathbed?’ I’d aimed this as a joke, but my answer sounds a little more like distress.

  ‘Ols,’ he says with a protracted sigh, ridiculously drawing out the shortening of my name. ‘I wish we’d gotten to this point before now.’

  ‘And what point would that be?’ I ask, leaning back in my chair as we both ignore the waiter hovering nearby, clearly not wanting to risk interrupting whatever this is.

  ‘The point where I’d envisioned enjoying dinner with you before taking you home and peeling you out of your clothes. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, for so long.’

  ‘I’ve been single. Most of the time.’ My laughter sounds bitter as I prepare for whatever letdown is coming my way. ‘Meanwhile, you’ve been busy.’ And no, that doesn’t sound jealous at all . . . ‘And then there was E-Volve, this pitch, and the help you’ve offered me. And we both agreed it would be a bad idea to mix business with pleasure.’

  From my point of view, I need to know I did this on my own. It’s one thing for Luke to help me get through the door, but quite another if, somewhere down the line, his help gets misconstrued, and I end up looking like I succeeded because I got on my knees for him. Not that Luke would say such a thing. He’s fa
r too honourable.

  ‘And now we’ll never get beyond a platonic kind of pleasure.’ He lifts his head, his expression baleful.

  ‘Oh. Okay.’ The tightness returns to my stomach, the confusion no doubt written in my expression because it’s not okay—not until I get an explanation, at the very least.

  ‘I really wish we hadn’t stuck to that rule.’ He chuckles again, and my frustration levels rise and peak.

  ‘Just . . . spit it out. Whatever it is. Whatever you have to say won’t change how I feel about you.’

  ‘I’m going to be a father.’

  Oh . . . That does change things.

  My mouth opens, but I clamp it closed again before I can speak, digging my teeth into my lip against the torrent of words I can sense burbling.

  My first reaction? How? I mean, not biologically, but what the fuck? We agreed we’d keep things purely platonic, but I didn’t for one second think that meant we should be screwing others. He wasn’t supposed to be like that.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry.’ This time, Luke reaches out for my hand. I let him take it as I stare down at his large one curled over mine, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles again and again as though my hand is cold to the touch. ‘Say something, Ollie.’

  ‘Congratulations.’ This is delivered more in the vein of go fuck yourself as I pull my hand back, signalling for the waiter to order a large brandy. People drink brandy for shock, right? ‘Why did you wait until now to tell me?’ What’s with the bait and switch? I want to ask him. ‘Are we here,’ I ask with a glance around the minimalist décor and decide it leans more towards sterile, ‘because you thought I’d flip out?’ Somewhere light and bright where any meltdown, breakdown, or hurling object could be seen? Possibly later reported to the police.

  ‘Of course not,’ he replies, looking genuinely hurt. For a moment, I feel like a colossal bitch, but a blindsided colossal bitch, all the same. ‘Although you do have a bit of a temper.’

  ‘What?’ I force my expression to relax, my next words a little quieter. ‘I mean, how could you say such a thing?’

  ‘Because I’ve seen it in action. Granted, not for a few years. But I remember that time at uni when you poured a pint of beer over the head of that kid in the Student’s Union bar.’

  ‘He was harassing one of my friends! Besides, that was a long time ago,’ I answer uncomfortably. ‘I’ve grown up lots since then.’

  When I was younger, I literally used to see red. A mist of something would come over me, and I’d absolutely flip my lid. These days, I have a better hold on things. I choose not to allow people to yank my chain. And quite honestly, I think it must’ve had something to do with hormones. In short, I’m much calmer now. I even do yoga.

  ‘Anyway,’ he adds with a sigh. ‘I literally found out an hour ago and came straight here and ordered a double vodka. But what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t call and tell you over the phone.’

  ‘No, I suppose not,’ I respond, frowning.

  It’s not like I’ve pinned all my romantic hopes on him, but it’s just that childhood birthday scenario all over again. And I was having such a good day. Not to mention looking forward to what this evening would bring. And my vibe ran out of charge last night. I must remember to look for the charger before crawling into bed. Isn’t that just the worst timing?

  The waiter arrives once more, and before he can place my drink in front of me, I’ve whipped it unceremoniously out of his hand. I take an indecorous gulp and come up coughing. Maybe that’s why brandy is good for shock. It’s guaranteed to bring all snits to a spluttering end as well as drag all simpering misses from swoons.

  But I’m not swooning, and I’m not giving up on my snit.

  With a start, I become aware of Luke’s fingers entwining with my own.

  ‘Waiting for tonight has been the best and worst of tortures. Spending time with you, watching you, knowing each day we were getting closer to really doing this. I’m just so fucking bummed that it’s all been for nothing.’ His words are almost desperate, and he’s not the only one feeling let down. Frustrated. Flat. But it doesn’t matter because what was will never be. Not now.

  ‘We haven’t slept together in months, her and I, and I don’t know what we’re going to do going forward. I just know I’ll need to be there for her, and that it’ll be expected of me from so many directions.’

  ‘And so you should.’ Please don’t say you’re going to try to welch on this because that would make you less than the man I hoped you were. Also, please let me finish my drink in peace because I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this shit.

  ‘But I promise you—’

  ‘Whatever that promise is, hold onto it for the mother of your child.’ Because I’m looking for a man in my life, not a man-child. With a child. And associated baggage.

  And though part of me wants him to define what he means by “months”—before our tacit agreement or after?—much bigger things than this are at play right now. I’m not splitting hairs now, particularly as I have no intention of becoming involved in this. My life is already complicated enough. I can’t be anything but his friend.

  ‘Whatever tonight was supposed to be doesn’t matter now,’ I continue softly. ‘Maybe we were never destined to be anything other than friends.’ First college and now this. I swear to myself right here and now that I’m not going to wait to act on anything ever again.

  ‘Or maybe,’ he says, his eyes lingering on our holding hands, ‘we should take this opportunity to get it out of our systems. My ex, Anna. I haven’t made her any promises.’

  His words are halting, but his meaning is no less clear.

  Urgh. Men.

  ‘She’s going to need you.’

  And I don’t have the mental capacity to look after anyone else, I realise, because this is what I do. I take on other people’s worries, problems, and issues. That’s why I’m funding a company out of my own inheritance, living on a shoestring budget, wearing cheap clothes, and using public transport while the people who work for me all seem to have cars. I mean, do they think I’m conscious of my carbon footprint? That I bring my lunch because I’m environmentally conscious? I am, of course I am. But I’m also broke!

  ‘And you have to focus on E-Volve,’ he says slowly, retracting his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I would even suggest a thing.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I answer simply, even if it feels much less than okay. But I have this meeting to think of, and I can’t afford to blow it. I sigh in quiet acceptance. I won’t get laid tonight. I won’t get to experience the delights of Luke, but . . . ‘Some things are just bigger than sex.’ Even as I speak, I’m pushing back my chair, and he doesn’t stop me. So with my head held high, I leave the restaurant.

  Outside, the air is still heavy, grey clouds trapping the day’s heat while also threatening a deluge of rain. I turn left for no other reason than I want to be anywhere else but here. After the highs of earlier today, I’m feeling more than a little emotional. Blame the brandy, I tell myself, refusing to give in to the sting of tears as I give myself a little reality check. If it’s been a day of highs and lows, given the choice, would I reverse things? Get to be with Luke while failing my pitch? If that had been the play of things, I wouldn’t be crying right now. I’d be looking for a bridge to jump off.

  Though it’s past eight thirty, it’s still full daylight. Summer days in London are long, and the sun often doesn’t set until after ten in the evening. I walk without thought or direction, passing bars, restaurants, and old-fashioned English pubs where people spill out onto the sidewalks with their drinks in hand to avoid the stifling heat indoors. Oh, for a little air conditioning.

  ‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away!’

  From the other side of the road, a drunken vagrant calls out. I want to yell back that he should pick on someone else today because I’ve had enough, but I keep my eyes focussed ahead and continue walking instead.

  At a pedestrian crossing,
I pull out my phone as my shoes begin to pinch and consider splurging on an Uber ride home. The green man begins to flash as the delicious scent of rosemary and garlic tantalises my nose. I’m suddenly starving and conscious of the fact I haven’t eaten since lunchtime when I’d had a couple of crackers with a chunk of aged cheddar cheese. I was kind of looking forward to a fancy meal tonight almost as much as I was looking forward to being in Luke’s arms. I sigh heavily, accepting but not appreciating the fact that neither of those things are on my Friday night agenda now.

  I cross the road and pause as a passing car disturbs the heavy air briefly, fluttering the hem of my dress against my legs. What the hell? I’m celebrating and commiserating this evening. I’ll splurge on both an Uber to save my feet and a meal to nourish my belly. After all, what are credit cards for? So I follow my nose, which leads me to a restaurant close by.

  Pushing on the door, I step from the light into the darker interior.

  ‘Madam?’ Almost immediately, I’m accosted by an imperious-sounding voice from beyond a small archway.

  ‘Table for one, please.’

  ‘Do you have a booking?’ The man steps under the dim light. He’s seventy if he’s a day, dressed in a dinner jacket, and holding a leather-bound menu in his hand. A maître d’ of the old school, by the looks of things.

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘Then I’m afraid we’re fully booked this evening.’ His gaze roams over me disdainfully, so much so that I find myself looking down at my dress. No stains. And it’s Stella McCartney, for goodness’ sake!

  ‘Really? You’re fully booked?’ I repeat doubtfully.

  ‘Quite.’ As he replies, his shoulders relax a bare half an inch. But no, honey, this isn’t over.

  ‘You’re telling me you can’t fit one more person inside this restaurant?’ I strain to see around him to find him blocking my view. It should be ridiculous, and on any other day but this, I’d accept his explanation, no matter how annoying. But not today. And this is the straw that broke the (non-humped) camel’s back.