Kitabı oku: «Lindsey Kelk 8-Book ‘I Heart’ Collection»

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

‘No way,’ Jenny said. ‘And you’re seriously still going to see him again?’

‘Yes,’ I said, as we strode down the street towards the cinema on Thursday afternoon. It was the first time we’d seen each other since Alex’s Empire State confessional and I needed to empty my head completely. Plus it was ninety-eight degrees and our apartment was sadly lacking air con. ‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s all out there now and we’re just going to start again, no baggage, no secrets, no rules. Just nice and easy simple dating.’

‘It’ll never happen,’ Jenny declared. ‘I’m really sorry honey but you know too much about each other, you’re both completely co-dependent and there’s just altogether too much riding on it. Stick with Tyler. In fact, let’s find another guy to replace Alex right now.’

‘I’m not not sticking with Tyler,’ I protested, ‘but I’m not going to stop seeing Alex either. I really like him, Jenny, and I know you would too.’

‘I just think you’re making it really hard for yourself,’ she said, linking arms with me as we crossed the street. ‘This was supposed to be a fun and easy intro, easing you back into the dating game. All of a sudden you’re juggling a rich sex god and a poor sexaholic. I don’t really see what Alex has going for him.’

‘He’s cute, clever, funny, we like all the same stuff,’ I listed, ‘when his fringe drops into his eyes, I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from brushing it away, and when he smiles, I melt. I just melt.’

‘And what about Tyler?’ she asked, smiling. ‘He didn’t make you melt three times on Sunday night?’

‘OK,’ I said, blushing. ‘Tyler is gorgeous, he’s sweet, he’s clever, and he treats me like an absolute princess, but, I don’t know, I don’t connect to him in the same way.’

‘I think you have connected,’ Jenny nodded vehemently. ‘You connected all the way to Tiffany’s. I’d take that kind of connection over some floppy-haired man ho, doll.’

‘Stop it,’ I laughed. ‘I do like Tyler and when I’m with him, I really like him. It’s just when I’m not, when I’m on my own, my thoughts always end up on Alex.’

‘I still think you’re making this really hard,’ she said, squeezing my hand. ‘But whatever works for you, sweetie. This Alex guy just sounds so much like trouble.’

‘Well, you can judge for yourself. Are you working tomorrow evening?’

Jenny shook her head. ‘Nope, I have a very important date with TiVo and America’s Next Top Model. We’ve had the cast of some new teen movie in all week and they’ve been working me like a dog. For seventeen-year-old boys, they have some freaky requests …’

‘And I expect to hear every last detail about every last one.’ I loved Jenny’s sneaky celebrity stories. ‘But you are coming to Brooklyn to Alex’s gig with me.’

‘Firstly honey, I’m absolutely not going to Brooklyn on my one night off in for ever,’ she said, striking off her points on her fingers. ‘Secondly, my skinny indie boy days are as far behind me as my skinny jeans days, and thirdly, I’m not going to play chaperone to you two. It’s not healthy.’

I smiled sweetly, waiting a moment.

‘Brooklyn? Really?’

‘I’ll even take the subway and I’ll buy all your drinks,’ I promised. ‘I really want you to meet Alex.’

‘Jesus, I’d better dig out my Chucks,’ she sighed. ‘You’re totally buying the candy tonight as well.’

‘Never a problem,’ I said staring at the Milk Duds, Raisanettes, Sour Worms, and wondering which of the bags and bags of new sweets to try. America the Brave.

Before I could get excited about introducing Alex to Jenny, I had my Friday morning meeting with Mary to get worked up about. I took it as a good sign when her assistant greeted me with a smile and, I nearly fainted, a coffee.

‘Angela,’ Mary was sort of smiling, her wire-rimmed glasses propped up on the top of her insanely shiny grey bob. I had to remember to ask what shampoo she used. ‘Tell me why you want to write for me.’

‘Because I love to write,’ I said, a little thrown by her idea of a hello.

‘And?’ Mary turned her back to me and looked out of the window.

‘Because, I,’ I wasn’t sure what she wanted me to say. ‘I have something to say?’

‘And what is that exactly?’ Mary asked, turning to face me. Literally, she leaned right into my chair.

‘I’m not sure yet.’ Honest, if not my best answer ever.

‘Neither am I. The thing is, everyone in the team meeting loved your writing. I like your writing,’ Mary said, sitting down behind her desk. ‘It’s funny, it makes me like you and want to read about you, but I don’t know where it’s going.’

‘Oh,’ I deflated in front of her. ‘Where do you want it to go?’

‘I need it to go somewhere,’ Mary said, picking up a pencil and flicking it on the table. ‘Let’s look at what we like.’

She pulled all the columns I had sent over out of a drawer. My witty little, self-effacing dating diaries were covered in scratchy red pen, questions marks and illegible notes, which I was sure more or less amounted to ‘pile of steaming poo’.

‘I like seeing New York through your eyes,’ she started, pulling a piece from the bottom of the pile. ‘I like how you talk about what you’re doing, where you’re going in the city, but I need more. Look readers love to read about New York, and it’s great to get it from a fresh pair of eyes, but the whole blog can’t depend on it. Lots of readers already live here, and they need more than travel writing.’

‘OK.’ I nodded, taking out a pad and pencil and scribbling notes. They were scribbles too, it had been so long since I’d had to put pen to paper. ‘I can definitely work on that.’

‘And the dates, I’m kind of confused,’ Mary stopped tapping and stared at me intently. ‘On paper, there isn’t that much of a contest, is there?’

‘There isn’t?’ I asked. I had hoped that my blogs hadn’t made it entirely obvious who I was most interested in. I’d even elaborated a little bit to try and stir up some contention amongst my potential ‘readers’.

‘Let me think.’ Mary began to read from one of my entries. ‘Wall Street really made me feel like a princess last night. From the way he always opens the door and pulls out my chair to the way he holds my hand and acts as though I’m the entire only person in the world when we’re together, I just can’t get enough of this treatment. It’s a whole new world.’

‘Really?’ I said. I was so surprised.

‘You know how many of my readers are looking for a Wall Street banker to make them feel like a princess? This is gold to us.’ Mary slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Downtown guy, he’s a plot twist at the moment honey, a distraction, but everyone knows his kind is never going to get you anywhere.’

‘I guess,’ I smiled. At least I’d managed not to make it obvious how much I really liked Alex.

‘Word of advice, and this is as a woman, not an editor,’ Mary leaned back and shook her head. ‘You just got out of a long relationship that ended badly. You need to be spoiled, wooed and screwed six ways from Sunday. If you want the blog to work, you have to keep dating. From what you’ve told me so far, this Alex guy is going to screw you, but not in the right way. Date around for a while, keep the blog fun, but Angela, they don’t call them investment bankers for nothing.’

‘I suppose it does all make sense on paper,’ I acknowledged. Tyler really did have everything going for him, great in bed, generous, hot, and most importantly, he might have told me he had dated around a lot, but he hadn’t slept with every girl that had ever made eye contact with him for the last year.

‘Life is rarely as simple as it looks on paper,’ Mary smiled again. Two in one meeting, yes! ‘So here’s the deal. The Adventures of Angela are go. I’m going to put the intro piece online when we refresh the site tonight, and then we’ll start publishing the blog every day from Monday. You keep sending in entries every day by four and I keep a few days back in the bank. We meet again in a fortnight to sense check everything.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

I wanted to jump up and down and hug her, but despite her dating advice, Mary didn’t strike me as the hugging kind. She struck me as the ‘What the hell are you doing?’ kind, so I figured I’d save that for Jenny.

‘Any plans for the weekend?’ Mary asked as I stood up to leave after we’d discussed the wonderful issue of my expenses. Basically, she was going to pay for everything and give me $75 for each piece. She was paying me actual money to write. Ha! ‘Apart from clicking on your own link a thousand times?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t do that,’ I blushed. I’d have repetitive strain in my index finger by Monday if it would help me keep this job. ‘But yep, I’m going to Alex’s gig tonight with my friend, and tomorrow I’m going to Central Park with Tyler, for a picnic.’

‘Picnic in the park?’ Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘Keep this up and we’re going to have to change this to a bridal blog.’

‘Oh no,’ I half laughed. ‘It’s not like that, really, it’s not.’

‘It’s dinner, theatre and Tiffany’s,’ Mary said bluntly. ‘Is he good in bed?’

‘You said not to put that in the blog,’ I blanched.

‘I did. Now I’m asking you a question.’ She stared me down. Definitely not a hugger.

‘Erm, yes?’ I said.

‘Have fun at the gig tonight, but work that picnic like it’s paying your rent.’ She almost cracked a record third smile. ‘Angela, he’s a keeper.’

‘Angie, he’s hot!’ Jenny squeezed my hand as we walked into the club to find Alex already on stage. By the time Jenny had decided on a hipster-friendly outfit that didn’t clash with her ‘I can’t believe I’m almost thirty’ freak out, approved my black Splendid smock dress and Keds, briefed me on how I was under orders to get down and dirty with Alex tonight, and necked three dozen beers in a bar by the subway, it was after ten when we made it into the gig.

However, tardy she might be, wrong she was not. He looked amazing up there.

‘What is it about guys in bands?’ Jenny asked, grabbing two beers from the bar and passing me one, eyes fixed on the stage. ‘I’d forgotten how much hotter they get just being elevated by three feet, even when they’re not hot. I remember when we had The Chili Peppers at The Union. Man, busy week …’

‘I think it’s a passion thing,’ I said, mesmerized by Alex’s sweaty stage presence. Seeing him up there now, writhing around under the hot lights, I was glad we hadn’t talked to him before the show. I just wanted to watch for a while without him knowing. ‘It’s the whole thing about them being so passionate about something that they had to write a song to express it. It’s the same with artists, writers, maybe not bongo players.’

‘And because holding a guitar makes you look so damn cool,’ Jenny breathed, swaying to the music. ‘If he can do that with six strings, imagine what he can do with one of you.’

‘That too,’ I admitted. It had crossed my mind.

‘I wonder if the bassist is seeing anyone,’ Jenny nudged me in the ribs and pulled me into the crowd to dance.

It was one of those gigs where the bass is turned up so high that you can almost feel it retraining your heartbeat in time with its own. There was nothing to do but clap, sing along and move with the music. With Jenny beside me, I didn’t need to worry about any of Alex’s conquests who might be in the club. I couldn’t hand on heart say I hadn’t thought about what would happen if the blonde girl from Saturday night appeared again, especially now I knew she was telling the truth, but dancing with Jenny, it all felt far away. The band was on fire, cranking out song after song. I just couldn’t marry this amazing show to everything Alex had told me about breaking up the band, to their hearts just not being in it. They were so tight, so electric, and the crowd in the hot sweaty club was just eating up everything they put out there.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out dancing, let alone dancing at a gig, just that feeling of being a cog in the machine of this pulsing crowd felt so good. And with a few beers in me and a hot girl to dance with, I was having the best time. For someone who said her best gig days were behind her, Jenny certainly seemed to remember some moves. Within minutes, she had a whole gaggle of guys stalking around her like lions, but she just kept dancing with me regardless. After a few more short, sharp numbers, Alex signed off in a frenzy of feedback, ear-piercing screaming and more manly appreciative hollering. I could see how easy it must have been for him to pick up girls who were, well, easy.

‘I want to meet him,’ Jenny slurred, holding on to my arm tightly, but still dancing. ‘Where did he go? Are we going? I demand to meet him.’

‘You will,’ I said, half drunk myself, but sobering slightly when I realized one of us had to find a way home later and it clearly wasn’t going to be her. ‘Alex just said he’d meet us by the bar afterwards. Do you want some water?’

‘I’ll get the drinks.’ She bopped over to the bar, leaving me in a sea of warm, moist bodies, half milling towards the exit, the other half eyeing each other up to see where the night was going to take them. I just hoped Jenny would make it back from the bar in one piece. And without more beers.

‘Hey, beautiful.’ A pair of arms snaked around my waist and I felt a steamy, wet body pushing up against me. ‘Did you see the show?’

‘I did,’ I said, writhing around to face Alex. His face was flushed, his hair stuck to his forehead, his T-shirt clinging to his body. ‘You were great.’

‘We were, weren’t we?’ He gave me a hot sticky kiss, rubbing away any remains of make-up that might have survived the show. ‘Man, it was awesome. It was the best show in months.’

‘I can’t believe you would want to give this up,’ I said, scraping his hair back. His eyes were burning so brightly and he looked so vital, so alive.

‘Don’t want to talk about it,’ he smiled, picking me up and spinning me around. ‘Now where’s this friend of yours?’

‘At the bar, I hope.’ I looked over into the mass of people surrounding the two harassed-looking barmen. ‘And I’m warning you, she’s got a thing for your bassist.’

‘Well, he’s got a thing for guys, so I don’t like her chances,’ he said, holding me tightly around the waist, making me waddle towards the bar with him still attached.

Luckily, Jenny was at the bar. Unluckily, Jenny had seen something she shouldn’t have. She was frozen to a stool, with two beers in front of her and no end of guys milling around her, but she wasn’t talking or flirting, she wasn’t even drinking. Jenny was staring at someone across the room, standing by the door. Her eyes were on fire and she was biting down on her bottom lip so hard, I felt sure she would draw blood.

‘Jenny?’ I said, breaking Alex’s hold around my waist and holding him back at a safe distance. ‘Jenny, are you OK?’

‘It’s Jeff,’ she pointed at a tall, fair-haired man standing across the room. Judging by his easy smile and the way he was laughing and joking with his friends, he clearly hadn’t seen Jenny. Or if he had, he must have been one pretty heartless bastard.

‘You know Jeff?’ Alex stumbled past me, arm stuck out for a handshake. ‘Cool. I’m Alex.’

Jenny stared at him. ‘You know Jeff?’

‘Yeah,’ Alex said, arm still out there. ‘He just moved into my building, maybe, three months ago or something.’

‘Is he single?’ Jenny asked.

I stood between them, not really knowing what answer I wanted Alex to give. Jenny seemed to have sobered up dangerously quickly, which could not possibly be a good thing.

‘I guess so,’ Alex’s arm began to drop slightly. He looked across at me, but I didn’t even know what sort of expression to give him. ‘I’ve never seen him with a girl anyway. Kind of thought he might be gay,’ he mused.

It was the best answer he could have given. Jenny brightened up, but still eyed Jeff warily over my shoulder. Finally she shook Alex’s hand as the stocky man in the sound booth in the middle of the room cranked up the stereo.

‘I’m Jenny, smile,’ she shouted, snapping a photo of the two of us with her phone. ‘And if you fuck with Angie, I’m going to use this photo to hunt you down and kill you.’

Alex stepped back and nodded. ‘Sounds fair,’ he yelled over the music. It was getting louder by the second.

‘I have to go talk to him,’ Jenny said, freeing herself from her barstool and passing us the two beers. ‘I can’t just sit here and not go say something.’

‘Jenny,’ I stepped in front of her and held her shoulders lightly. ‘Are you sure? We could just go somewhere else?’ I didn’t know if I could take a rerun of last week, and that time, she’d only seen him for five minutes in the hotel.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, gently pushing my arms down. ‘I’m in a good place, I’m owning my past and I’m just going to say, hi, how are you doing, yes, I do look hot, and then I’ll come back, we can go home, and I’ll cry myself to sleep.’

‘Sounds like fun,’ Alex murmured into my hair.

‘Jenny, really, don’t do it to yourself,’ I tried, but she was already gone. ‘I can’t look,’ I said, turning into Alex’s sweaty green T-shirt. ‘What’s happening?’

‘I was sort of hoping we might be,’ he raised my chin to kiss me, but I pushed him away.

‘What’s happening with Jenny and Jeff?’ I hissed as quietly as I could.

‘Uh, she’s talking, he’s talking, he’s kissing her on the cheek—’ Alex commentated.

‘He’s kissing her?’ I squealed, spinning around to see. Jeff was indeed kissing Jenny on the cheek, and it wasn’t a quick peck. It was a poorly disguised ‘I really want to kiss you but I can’t’ kiss on the cheek. I watched his lips linger near her face, in her hair, as they whispered to each other, staring earnestly into each other’s eyes, squeezing forearms and generally failing to disguise how badly they were still into each other. Looked as though Jeff’s ‘new girlfriend’ was nowhere to be seen.

‘So they know each other then?’ Alex asked, as we watched Jenny practically wind herself around Jeff. ‘And woah, that guy is not gay.’

‘Why did you think he was?’ I asked, turning away before they made me blush.

‘I don’t know, he’s seems cool, he’s got a great design job, great apartment and everything,’ Alex shrugged. ‘He’s never got a girl with him and he’s just got a vibe, you know? And the man is well dressed. Always.’

‘Well, if in doubt go with a stereotype,’ I said, turning back for a quick peek. He certainly wasn’t giving off gay vibes at that precise moment in time. ‘He’s her ex, but she’s never got over him.’

‘She carries on doing what she’s doing now and she’s definitely not going to get over him.’ Alex chugged his beer then pointed with his bottle. ‘Under him, maybe. You had your meeting today, right?’ Alex asked, turning his full attention back to me. ‘How did it go?’

‘Oh my God, I completely forgot!’ I clapped a hand to my mouth. ‘My blog is being uploaded at midnight!’

‘How do you forget something like that? That’s fantastic!’ Alex scooped me up in a bear hug. For a skinny boy, those muscles were so strong. ‘So as of midnight you’re a published columnist?’

‘As of midnight,’ I nodded and looked at my watch ‘In ten minutes!’

‘You know what I think?’ Alex moved closer, his breath tickling my ear. ‘I think we should finish up here and then go check out your blog. At my apartment.’

‘Oh,’ I said, my whole body prickling with anticipation. ‘What about Jenny?’

‘I was kind of thinking just me and you, but sure, if you’re into that,’ he grinned, that sneaky wink reappearing. ‘Just checking out the blog, scout’s honour.’

‘You were absolutely never a scout.’ I pushed him playfully. ‘And I can’t just leave Jenny here …’ but I couldn’t actually even see her. She wouldn’t have left without me, would she? She was supposed to be my chaperone!

‘Hey, Angie!’

She sneaked up behind me, hand in hand with Jeff, her face flushed bright red. Jeff stood behind her, a completely besotted look on his face.

‘Hey, man,’ Alex nodded to Jeff.

‘Hey!’ Jeff replied, snapping out of his trance for a split second. ‘Great show.’

‘Can I just have a quick word?’ I took Jenny’s arm and pulled her away, towards the doors. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Oh, Ange,’ Jenny mooned, hugging me tightly. How did she still smell so nice? I was fairly sure I stank by now. ‘It’s so good! He wants to go back to his to talk. He says he wants to talk about ‘stuff’. Isn’t that so good?’

‘It’s great,’ I said, peeling her arms from around my neck. ‘But shouldn’t you do it tomorrow, when you’re sober? When you’re both sober?’

‘No, no, no, no!’ When Jenny shook her head, her whole body followed. ‘This is it, this is fate. We’re absolutely meant to be together.’

‘OK, so you’re just going to go back to his?’ I asked. ‘What about us going home together?’

‘Oh, yeah, well,’ she looked back into the bar. ‘You know, you’re right. Jeff can come back with us!’

The idea of sharing a cab all the way back to the apartment with the two of them dry humping (at best) all over the back seat was even scarier than what would happen if I went back to Alex’s. ‘Come on then,’ I sighed, dragging her back into the bar. ‘But you’re coming to Alex’s for coffee before you roll into Jeff’s. You do want to remember this in the morning, don’t you?’

‘So, back to mine?’ Alex asked, putting his arm around my shoulders as Jenny collapsed back into Jeff’s arms. I had to admit, they both looked really happy.

‘Jenny and Jeff are going to come and see the website with us,’ I nodded.

‘I think Jenny and Jeff could make some money with a website of their own,’ Alex said, pulling me behind him while I chivvied Jenny along. ‘Why did they even break-up?’

‘Long story,’ I said, following him out onto the street. ‘And I think we’ve had enough of those to last us a while as it is.’

Alex and Jeff’s building was only five minutes’ walk away, but my nerves and Jenny’s drunken stumbling-slash-fumbling tripled the journey time. Alex hadn’t been kidding when he said Jeff lived in a nice building, what I hadn’t worked out was that by default, that meant so did he. For building, read huge converted warehouse, and for apartment, substitute fifth-floor loft with huge windows and views across the river.

‘How do you have this?’ I asked, drawn to the windows. I was such a lemming these days, too long stuck in a ground-floor maisonette. ‘I thought you were a penniless artist?’

‘I never said I was penniless,’ he said, fiddling with a Macbook and then Googling The Look website. Jenny and Jeff finally made it out of the lift and appeared in the doorway, making up for lost time, fast.

‘Clearly,’ I said. The whole place reeked of Alex. The original artwork from the band’s albums hung in frames on the white walls, cracked leather sofas, huge CD collection taking up practically a whole wall, and a tiny kitchenette that looked like the place takeaway cartons came to die. ‘It’s gorgeous, Alex.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, looking up from the computer. ‘My brother is in real estate so it’s really his find. We bought it a few years ago when prices across here were nothing. The page is loading, come see.’

I dropped onto the sofa beside him and peeked out from behind his shoulder as the different elements of the page flashed into life. The Look main banner, the navigation bar. And finally, the text box flashed into life.

‘Jenny, come and look!’ I squealed, clutching Alex’s arms and reading. It was surreal! ‘I can’t believe this.’

‘The Adventures of Angela: Twenty-six-year-old Angela is the latest recruit to our ever-growing glamorous group of bloggers. Read all about her New York adventures, only at TheLook.com …’ Alex read out loud.

‘Stop it, stop it,’ I wailed, proud and embarrassed and scared all at once. ‘Seriously, you don’t need to read it ever. It’s just – really, you don’t need to read it. Please?’

‘Twenty-six, huh? I’d have said twenty-five tops.’ He turned and smiled. ‘It sounds great. Now can I read it or not?’

‘Not?’ I winced as he started anyway.

Jenny prised herself away from Jeff just long enough for the two of them to come and look at the page. ‘I’m so proud of you, doll,’ she said, hugging me again. I couldn’t help but notice the traces of her perfume were now long gone but Jeff’s post-gig ‘glow’ was all over her. ‘Don’t be embarrassed! This is great!’

‘I couldn’t have done it without you and Erin,’ I said, hugging back. ‘I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, it’s just so out there. I just keep trying to think about all the things I’ve written in the diary and then trying not to think that they’re going to be on a website for everyone to read.’ For Alex and Tyler to read, I added silently.

‘Everyone knows not to take these things so seriously,’ Jenny said, easing herself back towards the sofa, where Jeff was waiting with open arms and, oh look at that, an erection. ‘Everyone totally reads it as fiction.’

‘Do you think so?’ I asked Alex, nibbling at my little fingernail. I hadn’t bitten my nails since Louisa had made me use some horrible-tasting stuff, a month before the wedding.

‘Yeah, she’s right,’ he said, gently brushing his free hand up and down my back. ‘Besides, what’s it matter what strangers read?’

‘Strangers, school teachers, my mum,’ I said out loud, but silently repeating Jenny’s comment about guitarists while his fingers played up and down my spine. We’re taking it slowly, I reminded myself. We’re taking it slowly. ‘It’s not all strangers, is it?’

‘I guess not, but anyone who knows you will know what’s real and what isn’t,’ he said, finally turning back to me. ‘You want me to print it out?’

‘No, that would be too cheesy,’ I said, trying to tear my eyes away from the screen. ‘Actually, maybe we should. Just in case they take it down again in the morning.’

Alex laughed, pressed print and placed the laptop on the low coffee table in front of us. ‘You think they’re going to make it back to Jeff’s place?’ he asked, looking over at Jenny and her ‘ex’ furiously kissing. It was more or less impossible to work out which denim-clad limb belonged to which person.

‘I don’t know.’ It was like a car crash, I couldn’t stop looking, but I knew that I really shouldn’t be. ‘How far away is it?’

‘Across the hall.’ Alex stood up and lowered the lights. I wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse. ‘I really hope they make it, that couch isn’t going to take much more.’

He held out his hand, which I gladly took. It was either leave the room now or settle in with some popcorn for the live action porno. Really, people paid a lot of money to see what we were getting for free. Whether we liked it or not.

‘I vote we leave them to it,’ Alex pulled me gently towards a dark doorway. ‘I don’t think we’re going to be playing late-night Boggle.’

The dark doorway led to his bedroom. A rumpled, but made, futon took centre stage, accessorized by an acoustic guitar, another stereo and an open wardrobe, packed full of faded T-shirts and leather jackets. Weirdly, hiding at the very end, was a suit. I supposed everyone had to have one. The low windowsill was lined with candles and I noted that without exception, they all had fresh wicks, so either Alex went through a lot of candles or they had been laid on for my benefit. I wasn’t sure if it was too sweet or too smooth, a potential throwback to his serial shagging days. I lingered in the doorway while he turned on the stereo.

‘We might not be able to see them in here, but I don’t really want to hear them, either.’ He took a matchbook from a tall thin chest of drawers by the bed and started lighting the candles. I was starting to err towards too smooth.

‘Yeah,’ I replied, my eyes being drawn back to the bed again and again. On what I assumed was Alex’s side was a big stack of well-read books, biographies, classics, newer cult stuff. Was he really a reader or were they just more props?

‘Angela, I didn’t bring you in here to …’ he trailed off and stood awkwardly by the window. I realized I was clinging on to the doorframe for dear life. ‘You can come in, I’m not going to attack you.’

I laughed softly, at myself, and moved over to the bed, perching on the very edge. ‘Sorry, I know. I should just go home,’ I said, looking at my shoes. They were edged in black crap from the gig. Now all I could think about was whether or not I’d trekked it all round Alex’s apartment. ‘Jenny’s safe and everything.’

‘I don’t want you to go home,’ Alex joined me on the foot of the bed, ‘but if you want me to call you a cab, I will. Or you can stay, we can talk a while and I promise I’ll keep my hands where you can see them.’

He looked so sweet, so earnest and held out his hands, palm up. How could someone who had crashed up and down the stage, writhing around a guitar and thrashing into his microphone stand so many times I was sure he’d have bruises, become this tender, soft guy in just a couple of hours? Was this all part of the act? There’s only one way to find out, I thought, taking one of the hands in mine.

‘You’re going to have to do most of the talking,’ I said, lurching backwards and leaning on an elbow. ‘I’m actually shattered.’

‘Not a problem,’ he smiled, giving my hand a squeeze and then rolling over onto his side. ‘I can go all night.’

I burst out laughing. ‘Did you really just say that?’ I asked, punching him in the shoulder.

‘You know what I mean.’ He laughed, rubbing his shoulder with a hurt expression. ‘You punch pretty hard for a girl.’

‘You’ve got to be able to defend yourself if you’re going to go into cheesy boys’ bedrooms and sit through their terrible chat-up lines.’ I smiled, relaxing a little bit. ‘That was awful.’

‘Yeah, whatever,’ Alex pulled a face. ‘You know what, I really stink. Do you mind if I take a quick shower?’

I shook my head. ‘Not at all but don’t expect me to be awake when you’re done.’

‘I won’t wake you,’ he rolled towards me and kissed me gently, ‘unless you want me to.’

Before I could work out what I wanted, he pushed up off the bed and disappeared through the door.

‘Not looking, guys,’ I heard him call out into the darkness. ‘You just keep on desecrating my couch.’

I smiled and dropped backwards. Now all I had to do was work out what I was going to do when Alex came out of the shower, all clean and fresh and wet and … I closed my eyes for just a second, the candlelight blurring at the edge of my vision.

‘Someone should blow them out …’ I muttered to the empty room.

By the time I opened my eyes, someone had. I felt a body above me, breathing softly and stroking my hair back off my face, gently bringing me round.

‘Alex?’ I murmured as soft, hot lips pressed against my bare neck and a damp hand trailed along my collarbone. My eyes flickered open but it was pitch black in the room, the only light coming from the city, a world away in the window.

‘Sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I know I said I wouldn’t wake you, but …’

‘S’OK,’ I said sleepily, shifting slightly, accepting the weight of his body. His damp hair fell against my face as we kissed lazily, our hands entwined above my head. Slowly, I began to wake up, and steadily, the kisses grew stronger and more urgent. I pulled my legs up, accidentally pulling his towel away as we slid up the bed, and felt his soft skin all around me, warm from the shower. In the dark, without visuals, it seemed his skinny boy act was entirely illusory, the muscles in his back moving under his skin as lowered himself onto me. Just as our legs began to wind themselves around each other and my hands lost themselves in his thick black hair, the bedroom door was flung open, spilling light all over the bed.

‘Shit, sorry,’ Jeff said, purposefully looking away. ‘Alex, man, Jenny threw up on your rug. Do you have cleaning stuff anywhere?’

I covered my face with my hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Even if she didn’t know it, Jenny had implemented her chaperone role just in time.

‘Is she OK?’ Alex rolled off the bed, wrapping his towel around his waist as he went. ‘Is she in the bathroom?’

I loved that he asked if she was OK before he had even put his boxers on. Which tragically, he did next.

‘Not tonight, huh?’ He gave me a lopsided smile from the doorway. I shook my head and smiled back. Damn it, Jenny, I thought, why did you have to make me stick to my word? Tiptoeing through the big, stinky mess in the living room, I found Jenny had taken up residency in the bathroom face down in the toilet, kneeling on top of Alex’s sweaty T-shirt.

‘Oh, Jenny,’ I sighed and knelt down beside her, scraping her hair back from her face in an entirely unromantic gesture. ‘Are you going to be OK?’

Words were still a way off, but she managed to nod before she started retching again. Once she had calmed down to one dry heave every three minutes, I left to get some water and find the bottom half of her outfit. Apparently things had got fairly far with Jeff before all her beers made a break for freedom, and, as close as we now were, I would have been much happier if she had some pants on. American usage or English.

Back in the living room, Alex and Jeff, both half naked, were scrubbing away at a big watery stain with spray-on cleaners and makeshift cloths. I knew it would be a bad time to laugh out loud, but I couldn’t help a bit of a smile.

‘You two all right?’ I asked, filling up an empty, cleanish-looking glass I found on the kitchen top.

‘Uh-huh,’ Alex grunted from the floor. He didn’t look all right. Jeff looked as if he’d been all right until about ten minutes ago when things had gone horribly wrong. His T-shirt was stained and his trousers, like Jenny’s were MIA. I sidled over with my glass and gingerly picked up Jenny’s jeans. Giving them a quick once-over, I was satisfied that they had come off pre-puke and took them into the bathroom. Jenny was trying to prop herself up against the shower stall and wash her face, but without much luck.

‘Hey you,’ I said, giving her the water, which she sipped delicately. ‘You feel any better?’

‘I am so fucking embarrassed,’ she groaned, passing me the glass back and holding her hands under the running cold tap, then pressing them to her face. ‘I threw up on Jeff.’

‘That’s not all you did on Jeff, now is it?’ I said, taking a tissue and wiping a tiny bit of sick off her shoulder. ‘What’s going on there then?’

She gave me a weak, pale smile. ‘We’re going to try again. He says he missed me.’ She rubbed under her eyes, magnifying an attractive panda effect. ‘He says there hasn’t been anyone else since me.’

‘Wow,’ I said, passing her the glass back and forcing her to drink more water. ‘That’s brilliant. I’m really pleased for you.’

‘And just think, if we hadn’t come to Brooklyn, I might never have bumped into him again,’ she sighed, her back, thankfully, to the bathroom mirror. ‘And how weird would it have been if you had seen him when you were here and not known it was my Jeff? Too weird. It’s all fate.’

‘Maybe it is,’ I said, sitting on the closed toilet seat and flushing just to make sure. ‘There’s definitely something at work stopping me and Alex doing any more than getting me really, really worked up.’

‘Oh shit, sorry babe,’ Jenny tried another weak smile.

‘But it’s OK,’ I told myself, ‘it’s for the best. We said we were going to go slow and I think it was speeding up a bit too fast. Besides, I have a date with Tyler tomorrow afternoon and I don’t think I could go through with it if anything more serious had happened with Alex.’

‘See, this doesn’t sound like fun. I thought you were just supposed to be having fun,’ Jenny groaned. ‘Why do they have to make everything so damned tricky?’

‘Are you two having some sort of secret meeting in there or can I please pee?’ Alex called through the door. Helping Jenny find her balance, I emerged blinking into the now lit up living room.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said quietly as Alex passed into the bathroom.

‘Harsh lighting, not cool.’ Jenny stumbled, holding her hands over her eyes. I looked from her to Jeff to Alex. It was weird being the only person in a group of four who was dressed.

‘We should go,’ I said, scanning the room for my bag and passing custody of Jenny over to Jeff, who took her happily. It must have been love if he could smile at her in that state. ‘Can we get a taxi from here?’

‘Not easily at this time,’ Alex yelled from the bathroom, mid-pee. ‘It’s cool, you can stay here if you want.’

I looked at Jenny, bracing herself against the sofa while Jeff tentatively patted her shoulder, and gratefully nodded in agreement. God knows I didn’t feel great about getting in a taxi with vom-stained Jenny, and it was after two. I was completely knackered. Alex reappeared and gave me two T-shirts. ‘You two take my room, I’ll be on the couch,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek and motioning to Jeff that it was time to leave.

‘Yeah, of course,’ Jeff said, passing Jenny back to me. ‘So sorry about the rug, man, I’ll get a cleaner in or something. Bye,’ he said to Jenny mooning in the doorway. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow?’

Before Jenny could answer, Alex had shut the door, arms folding, foot tapping.

‘Bed then,’ I said. Jenny had gone right through the drunken spectrum and crashed somewhere around comatose. I guided her into the bedroom and pulled off her strappy black top, replacing it with Alex’s Ramones T-shirt. She crawled up the bed until her head was almost on the pillows and passed out.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again to Alex. ‘This isn’t really how I imagined tonight would go.’

‘Another time,’ he said, pulling a spare pillow out from under the couch. ‘You know what they say about the best laid plans.’

I just want to get laid, I thought.

‘You going to be OK in there with her?’

‘I don’t know, but I’ll shout if she tries anything.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The next morning, Jenny woke early, still half drunk and craving something sweet. I tried to convince her the best thing for everyone in these circumstances is a bacon sandwich, but she wasn’t convinced. In so far as she retched at the suggestion. I tried not to catch sight of myself in the mirror as I slipped out of bed but I accidentally caught a quick glimpse and couldn’t tear my eyes away. It wasn’t pretty. Post-gig, my hair was greasy and huge, having backcombed itself into a sweaty bouffant during last night’s fumblings. My melted make-up had managed to lodge itself into every burgeoning wrinkle and pillow crease, making me look ten years older, and, best of all, I had badger’s arse breath. This was not a good look for mine and Alex’s first morning-after-the-nothing-before.

‘At least you don’t look like this,’ Jenny grumbled, joining me in an unhappy stare before she retched suddenly and (thankfully) dry heaved over the bed.

‘That’s true,’ I said, half carrying her to the bathroom. ‘That is true.’

‘Thanks,’ she stared daggers at me, curled around the base of the toilet while trying to pull her hair into something resembling a style. There really was no use.

Despite Jenny’s best efforts to convince me otherwise, I couldn’t just slip out without waking Alex, so I went first and tiptoed across the still damp rug to where he was quietly dozing on the sofa. He looked exactly as we’d left him, apart from one noticeable addition in his boxers.

‘Nice!’ Jenny mouthed giving me a double OK sign by the door and stifling giggles. I replied with my middle finger. Plus, I couldn’t help but notice it was nothing to laugh at.

‘Alex,’ I said softly, keeping enough of a distance between us for my dog breath not to be too much of a problem. I’d swilled quickly in the bathroom and tried the old toothpaste on the finger trick, but it hadn’t had nearly enough of an effect.

‘Huh?’ He opened one eye, looking confused. ‘Angela?’

‘We’re going to get off now,’ I whispered, my hand lightly on his shoulder, eyes well away from the below the waist area. ‘Me and Jenny, we’re going to go.’

‘OK,’ he mumbled, rolling over onto his front.

‘That’s going to hurt,’ Jenny called lightly across the room. Another middle finger for her as we made our way out of the flat.

With only a couple of hours before I was supposed to meet Tyler at the park, I had some serious damage control to deal with. I packed Jenny off to bed with two Advil, a large bottle of water and half the pastry counter of the deli on the corner, then took up residency in the bathroom. For the first time in for ever, I ran a bath and got ready to soak. I needed to get all thoughts of Alex out of my head and all of Jenny’s drool out of my hair. If I’d had longer, I’d cancel, I thought, stepping into the tiny tub and relaxing. I didn’t think I was the kind of girl who thrived on drama, but then my life had been so boring for so long, maybe a bit of drama would do me good. And at least it made for a more interesting blog entry than my old life would have: got up, wrote a thirty-two-page book about a talking bee, ate some calorie-controlled rice cakes, waited around for my boyfriend to come home from shagging his tennis partner, went to bed in button-up old man’s pyjamas.

Eventually, I forced myself out of the bath and smothered myself in body lotion, sure I could still smell post-gig mustiness on me. Hopefully, a nice walk in the park would sort that right out. I picked out a shorts and shirt combo and accessorized with my beautiful Tiffany necklace, which I still hadn’t worn yet, and started to look forward to the fresh air, if not trying to talk to Tyler without mentioning any of my adventures with Alex.

As Tyler had predicted, Central Park was busy, but it was also incredible.

‘How can this exist in the middle of the city?’ I marvelled. As we ventured further and further into the greenery, the city seemed to fade away, leaving a complete oasis, packed with joggers, families, couples, groups of friends. Just about every sort of person you could imagine was in that park.

‘Would you like the history lesson or was that a rhetorical question?’ Tyler offered. He was carrying a large rucksack that I prayed was packed with food. I’d spent so long getting ready, applying de-puffing eye gel and checking Jenny was still breathing, I hadn’t even eaten. ‘It’s great though. They call it the lungs of the city.’

‘I can see that,’ I nodded as we veered off the path and over to a sunny, relatively unoccupied spot by a beautiful large lake. ‘It’s just madness to me that all this is man-made.’

‘You don’t have parks like this in London?’ he asked, spreading a blanket before he let me sit down.

‘We have parks,’ I nodded, ‘loads of parks, but this is so impressive. London is so higgledy-piggledy, which I love, but the idea that someone sat down and said, we’ve got to have a massive park in the middle of this planned, organized city, that’s ace. And even more I love that no one has been allowed to build on it when they started running out of space – not the case in London.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Tyler smiled, unzipping the rucksack and producing a bottle of red wine. ‘I lost you at “higgledy piggledy”.’

‘Ha ha!’ I accepted a wineglass and let him pour. Please let there be some food in there too? ‘You make me feel so English.’

‘Is that a bad thing?’ He poured himself a glass and pushed the cork back in the bottle. ‘I love it when you say things like that.’

‘No, of course it’s not a bad thing.’ Why was there still no food? ‘It just reminds me I can’t stay here for ever. Which sucks.’

‘They won’t take you back if you start saying thinks like “sucks”,’ he scolded lightly.

‘Sorry,’ I smiled, holding my hand up to shield my eyes from the sun. ‘One thinks it’s a terrible shame that those dreadful builders should be allowed to build on such marvellous greenery.’

‘More like it,’ Tyler smiled, planting a tiny kiss on the end of my nose.

I lay back on the blanket and stared up at the cloudless sky. This must be the only place on the whole of Manhattan where I could look upwards and not see skyscrapers. It felt so far away from the real world.

‘And besides, you never know what’s going to happen.’ I felt Tyler lie down next to me, he was so solid and reassuring. ‘Who knows where you’ll be in six months?’

‘Bizarrely, you’re not the first person to say exactly that,’ I smiled, remembering what Alex had told me, hundreds of feet up in the air. Tyler leaned over and kissed me softly, bringing me back down to earth with a bump.

‘I guess you have to go back sometime,’ he said, producing a bag of crisps from the rucksack. Really? Crisps? ‘Cheeto?’

‘Thanks.’ Quite frankly, I’d have eaten anything at that second, but I had sort of been expecting something a little bit classier. He was such a smoothie. ‘Tyler,’ I rolled onto my belly and looked at him happily munching away, ‘have you ever had your heart broken?’

‘There’s nothing I love more than hiding in the park with a bag of Cheetos,’ he replied. ‘Is that really bad?’

‘No, but it is avoiding my question,’ I said, throwing a couple of cheesy crisps at him. Impressively he caught them in his mouth. ‘Have you?’

‘I’ve had girls break up with me, sure,’ he said, thoughtfully sipping his wine, ‘but I’m not sure I could honestly say I’ve had my heart broken.’

‘Wow, really?’ I tried to drink my wine, but it did not go well with the Cheetos. This slightly tarnished his sheen of sophistication, but it did prove he was human. ‘I suppose some people are just lucky.’

‘Maybe,’ Tyler went back into the bag and produced a beautifully wrapped gold box and handed it to me, ‘or maybe I’ve been unlucky. It’s hard to get your heart broken if your heart’s never really in it.’

I took the box and unfastened the ribbon. Oh thank God. It was chocolate. Glossy, handmade truffles. And lots of them. Sophistication regained, superhuman status restored.

‘You’ve never been in love?’ I asked, taking one of the chocolates and placing it in his mouth. ‘I don’t believe you.’

‘I don’t know, maybe,’ he said, catching my hand and kissing the tips of my fingers. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever fallen apart when a relationship ended. I’ve never left the country anyway.’

‘I’m fairly sure if you don’t know whether or not you’ve been in love then you probably haven’t.’ I happily accepted the chocolate he held to my lips and nipped at his fingers. ‘I just can’t believe you haven’t had women falling all over themselves to be in love with you.’

‘Maybe they have been in love with me,’ he shrugged. ‘I just haven’t met anyone I feel that strongly about.’

‘So you’re the heartbreaker,’ I laughed. It hardly seemed likely, he was so lovely. ‘Those poor girls.’

‘Maybe I’m just waiting for the right girl?’

‘And who would that girl be?’ I went back to my wine. It was starting to slip down far better with the chocolate than the Cheetos, so much so, I had almost forgotten how hungry I’d been. I rolled over to lean backwards against Tyler’s broad chest.

‘I don’t know yet,’ he replied, stroking my hair. ‘I suppose she would be smart and interesting, so we would have a lot to talk about. I don’t want to come across as shallow, but she would have to be pretty. And she should make me smile all the time.’

I tilted my head back and smiled at him. ‘She sounds nice.’ I hadn’t even realized I’d got to the bottom of my glass already. Tyler topped me up.

‘And I should want to kiss her every time I see her,’ he said, stretching across for another kiss. ‘Like that.’

‘I think you’ve got good criteria,’ I said, rolling back onto the blanket and avoiding too many kisses.

After the frenzy of last night’s gig, of dealing with Jenny, of getting so near and yet so far with Alex, this was so serene. Glorious weather, the smell of fresh grass and an attentive, sweet man hand-feeding me chocolates and soft warm kisses. I loved the way Tyler made me feel, as if I were something to be treated delicately and protected. It made me almost believe it myself. We lay together, talking about our weeks, drinking the wine, me eating chocolates and Tyler munching away on his disgusting Cheetos until we ran dry.

‘I knew I should have bought two bottles,’ Tyler said, shaking the last drops into my glass. ‘What with you being such an old lush.’

‘I hardly ever drink,’ I defended myself without much credibility. ‘Honestly, I normally go months without a drop, let alone knock back the best part of two bottles before three in the afternoon. I think that’s why I’m such a lightweight.’

And is was true, my head was pleasantly fuzzy and full of the cotton wool that Tyler seemed intent on wrapping me in.

‘You’re just making up for lost time then,’ he grinned, putting the empty bottle, glasses and empty packets back in the rucksack. No littering here, what a lovely, lovely man.

‘I’m just tired,’ I yawned for effect. ‘I had a bit of a late night.’

‘Anything fun?’ he asked.

‘Alex’s gig in Brooklyn,’ I said, without thinking.

‘Alex?’ It wasn’t accusatory, but it was definitely inquisitive.

‘Oh, one of Jenny’s boyfriend’s friends,’ I said quickly. It wasn’t strictly a lie. ‘And you know, it took for ever to get home.’

‘I just don’t get the whole Brooklyn thing,’ Tyler shook his head, not pursuing the Alex thing. Phew. ‘Sure, Park Slope is nice, Peter Luger is great, but why everyone thinks it’s so hip to travel all the way over to Williamsburg for a beer? No thanks.’

‘It was nice over there,’ I felt as though I ought at least to try and defend it, but too much red wine was starting to weaken my thought process. ‘Everyone was really cool.’

‘Exactly,’ Tyler screwed up his face. ‘Someone needs to remind those rich kid hipsters that college was a long time ago. It’s time to get over your ironic T-shirts and stop getting stoned. And how tight are those guys’ jeans? Do they realize they will never have children?’

I thought of Alex in his skinny jeans and his little T-shirts and had to smile. Or possibly, the half-bottle of red wine had to smile, I wasn’t entirely sure. I was however, entirely drunk.

‘Are you a secret hipster? I don’t remember seeing any piercings.’

‘I’m more of a tattoo girl,’ I laughed as he tried to pull up my T-shirt. ‘Stop it, everyone can see!’

‘I’ve got to find these tattoos,’ he said, holding my wrists above my head with one hand and searching with the other. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t see them the other night.’

‘I don’t really have tattoos,’ I said breathlessly, half from the laughing, half from the way he was pinning me down. A familiar feeling started to build up in my stomach, surging through my body.

‘I think you do,’ he said, staring me into submission. ‘Maybe I just didn’t see them because it was so dark.’

‘Maybe,’ I whispered, willing him to scoop me up and take me home. I reckoned he had approximately ten seconds to suggest it before I made a public spectacle of myself. And potentially got us both arrested.

‘Shall we just go?’ he asked, his eyes glowing and his voice gruff. I nodded and let him pull me roughly to my feet. His hand burned into the small of my back as we wandered out across the park. I didn’t want to drag him, but it almost felt as though he was walking extra slowly, dragging it out, making me wait. But I couldn’t wait. I squeezed his hand gently, but he just squeezed back and gave me a promising smile.

‘You’re in a rush?’ Tyler held me back as I made for the gate at something between a canter and a gallop.

I didn’t have a response that didn’t make me sound like a massive slag, so I went with the truth ‘Aren’t you?’ I asked.

‘Good point,’ he replied, pulling my chin upwards and kissing me hard. I felt my legs completely melt away, there was nothing else in the world apart from me and Tyler and, fingers bloody crossed, his apartment in less than ten minutes.

My second visit to Tyler’s was just as educational as the first. More than anything else, as I lay in his huge, soft bed, watching him doze, it was a complete wake-up call as to how long mine and Mark’s relationship had been dead. I couldn’t actually remember the last time we’d had sex in the daytime, but it really was like riding a bike. Not that I ride a bike. And it was remarkable just how bendy you can really be if you put your mind to it. I slipped silently out of the bedroom and recovered my knickers and top for a trip to the bathroom. After some quick reparatory work to my mascara and a cold flannel pressed to my stubble-grazed chin, I did the obligatory ‘check out the bathroom cabinet’ thing.

The first thing I noticed was that, for a man, he had a lot of stuff. It had taken me months of hint dropping and several advertorials in GQ for Mark to even start using Nivea for Men aftershave balm, but Tyler had more products than I did. Shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, gel, mousse, wax, eye cream, scrub, face wash, moisturizer with sunscreen, night cream with retinol. I wasn’t sure whether to be intimidated and impressed, but then I remembered how great he always looked, and settled on accepting. Maybe I should look into some of this stuff. Beyond the creams, gels, lotions and potions were several bottles of painkillers, some off the shelf, some prescription. Anyone can have painkillers, I told myself, I still had tonnes of Co-codamol from when I had my wisdom teeth out. Right at the back, on the top shelf, was a black travel wash bag. With a quick look at the door, I whipped it down. I couldn’t help myself. If he had cute little travel-sized toiletries, I was moving in. But it wasn’t full of men’s toiletries. It was a morning-after kit. For a woman. Deodorant, a new toothbrush, eye make-up remover and Jesus, even Tampax.

I replaced the bag and sat back down on the edge of the bath. So, he really did date around a lot. Reality check. I had absolutely no room for complaint here, I was dating someone else and hadn’t really told him about it, maybe he was dating other girls too, but something about the whole thing just felt off with me. The idea of dating two people and sleeping with two people seemed mutually exclusive. Perhaps if I’d slept with Alex I’d feel differently, one way or another.

I ran my hands under the cold water tap to cool down. There was just one problem with that theory. I hadn’t slept with Alex, and for the longest time, I’d had virtually no sex life at all. But with Tyler, it was like, God, I didn’t even have anything to compare it with. Even when it had been good with Mark it had never, ever left me shaking from head to toe, unable to breathe but unable to stop. As soon as I was with Tyler, the rest of the world just melted away. It was utterly intoxicating, but somewhere inside it didn’t feel real, didn’t feel permanent. I tried to think of what Jenny would tell me, that I was sabotaging my own happiness, trying to find a reason not just to enjoy a fun relationship for what it was.

‘Angela?’ Tyler knocked gently on the bathroom door. ‘You OK?’

‘Yep,’ I looked around for inspiration, finding nothing, ‘I think I got a bit sunburned, I was just cooling down.’

‘I have some lotion in there somewhere,’ he said, peering around the door. ‘Want me to find it out?’

‘Yes, please,’ I nodded. He was so wonderful. So what if he was seeing other girls? When he was with me, he was only with me.

‘Let me see.’ he took a large bottle of aftersun from a cabinet and squeezed some out into his hands. ‘Where’s the sunburn? You don’t look red.’

‘Oh, it’s my back,’ I said, pulling the shoulder of my top down an inch. It wasn’t red because it wasn’t burned, but it was the best lie I had at the time. ‘It’s just really sore. I don’t think the red has come out yet.’

‘I don’t want to get this on your clothes,’ he held up cream-covered hands and nodded at my top. ‘You’d better take that off.’

‘I suppose I had,’ I smiled, trying not to think about what I had found in his cabinet. Not thinking was all the easier as he slid his cool hands onto my warm skin, massaging in the aftersun.

‘Better?’ he asked, rubbing gently up and down my back.

‘Better,’ I said softly, feeling his hands slide all the way down to the waistline of my knickers. His thumbs hooked under the elastic as he pulled them down gently.

‘I was thinking,’ he whispered into my ear, his bare chest sticking to the lotion on my back. ‘If your back is burned, you’d better go on top.’

He was a very, very thoughtful man.

The afternoon turned into the evening and the evening turned into night with nothing to do but each other. After we’d finished with the bathroom floor, we headed back into the bedroom for more lazy fumbling and dozing and eventually, surfaced in the kitchen after christening his new granite work surface. Some hours later, I found myself curled up on his sofa, wearing a vintage Yankees shirt and eating Chinese takeaway. Apparently it was cute that I called it takeaway. I loved that it was cute. Patronizing, but very sweet. If everything I did naturally was cute to him, this was going to be really easy for me.

‘How long have you lived here?’ I asked, looking around at his impeccably designed penthouse. Everything was stainless steel and shiny and new. Apart from where I’d been, obviously.

‘Ah, what, two years?’ he mused, wandering over to the kitchen and rifling through an invisible drawer. ‘Why? You don’t like it?’

‘I love it,’ I replied, willing him not to pull out a bottle opener. ‘Did you design it yourself?’

‘Like I have the time,’ he shook his head and pulled out a bottle opener. ‘It pretty much came this way.’

‘Oh,’ I frowned, resting my chin on the arm of the square sofa. The apartment was gorgeous, totally luxe, but now it felt sort of impersonal. I wondered if every apartment in the block had the same art on the walls.

‘You want to stay over?’ Tyler asked, wandering over from the kitchen with the open bottle of wine. ‘I don’t have to be anywhere in the morning.’

‘It is sort of late,’ I said, waving the wine away. I’d had quite enough for one day. For one week actually. ‘Oh, but I don’t have any stuff.’

The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back. I waited for him to offer me his secret sleepover stash.

‘Don’t laugh at me,’ he said, settling back onto the sofa and taking custody of his remote control. Didn’t matter to me, I couldn’t work the damn thing. ‘But I have some girl stuff. I’m not sure what though, my mom left it last time she stayed over.’

‘Your mum?’ I smiled at his blushes. ‘Now who’s cute?’

‘She lives in Florida,’ he said, pointing towards a small family picture hidden up high on a shelf. The whole brood. Wow. ‘But since my dad died she comes to visit a lot.’

‘That’s really lovely,’ I said, snuggling down against him. ‘I think it’s great when people are close to their parents.’

‘You close to yours?’ he asked, flicking through the channels.

‘Not massively to be honest, but you know, they’re my parents. I love them. Even my mother.’

‘I guess it’s harder for girls and their moms,’ he leaned his cheek against my head. ‘And I bet you were a total wild child.’

‘Oh my God, so the opposite,’ I laughed at the very thought. ‘In by nine, no boyfriends until I was sixteen, top marks at school. I think my mum was worried I might end up a spinster librarian or something.’

‘Want me to call her and let her know that’s not a problem?’ he asked, settling on a sports channel. If this had been Mark with the football, I would have complained, but then, if Mark had spent all afternoon giving me multiple orgasms, perhaps I would have been more compassionate about the plight of Nottingham Forest.

‘I don’t think she needs all the details,’ I kissed him quickly and hopped up. ‘But I should call Jenny and let her know I’m not coming back.’

I padded back into the bedroom in search of my handbag and found it safely at the end of the bed, underneath my shorts.

‘Hi Jenny,’ I said as the machine picked up. ‘It’s just me, I’m going to stay here tonight so don’t—’

‘Hey, hey!’ Jenny picked up, out of breath. ‘I got it, I’m here.’

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘You’re going to be so proud, I’m staying at Tyler’s. See, I can totally do this multiple dating thing.’

‘Oh. OK.’

‘Did you want me to come home?’ I asked, hoping she wasn’t feeling abandoned. I was still new at this roommate thing.

‘No, no,’ her voice lowered slightly. ‘Jeff is here, I just thought, he might mention to Alex that you weren’t home or something. I didn’t know if he knew that you and Tyler were …’

‘Shit!’ I absolutely hadn’t thought about that at all. ‘I don’t think he does, not really. And I don’t want him to. Please don’t say anything.’

‘Of course I won’t,’ she said more easily. ‘I’ll just tell him you’re at Erin’s or something, that you wanted us to have alone time. Oh, but he did invite us over for dinner tomorrow, to apologize for Friday night.’

‘To apologize for you throwing up all over Alex’s apartment?’ I asked, reflecting on the fact that Jeff knowing Alex could really make things difficult.

‘Yes, Mom,’ Jenny replied. ‘I’ve got to go, the pizza’s here. Alex already told Jeff he could make it, so it’s tomorrow at seven, OK? Try and get your pants on for then. Love you.’

I turned off my phone and resumed my position in the living room.

‘Everything OK?’ Tyler asked, pulling me in close to him.

‘Yep,’ I said, wriggling into place back under his arm. ‘Just tired.’

‘You want to go to bed?’ He stroked my hair absently.

‘I’m OK,’ I replied, resting my eyes just long enough to fall fast asleep on the sofa, the sounds of the baseball match echoing in my ears.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The Adventures of Angela: CPDA – Central Park Display of Affection

As a newcomer to New York, I have no idea what level of indecency is considered, well, decent in your fair city’s fairest park. I’m just back from another great date with Wall Street, a very romantic picnic with wine, Godiva truffles and Cheetos (no one said he was perfect) and I’m wondering whether or not to expect a policeman (mmm, hot cop!) to turn up at my door. Obviously there was nothing removed during the outdoor sesh, but what’s worse – the hot and heavy petting or the unbearable levels of smugness we forced those around us to endure. Vom-worthy, really. Pre-New York dating extravaganza, I would have happily put Wall Street’s corkscrew through his temple if I’d seen a couple so terribly pleased with themselves as we were (Cheetos aside) but I really don’t want to kill him just yet. And I don’t want to stop getting touched up in the park either.

Hmm. This is going to be a tricky one.

After arguing with myself over the content of my post for twenty minutes, I just couldn’t do it. And in a radical bid to distract myself, I did something drastic.

‘Hello?’

‘Mum? It’s Angela.’

‘Darling, how are you?’ she asked, sounding fairly relieved, as though she thought it might have been the Avon lady from number fifty-four. ‘Are you coming home?’

‘No, not yet,’ I said, pacing the apartment. ‘I’m fine though, I’m staying with my friend still and I’m working for this magazine. Things are really good.’

‘But you’re coming home soon, dear?’ she asked again. I could just see her frowning in the mirror above the phone, probably fiddling with her hair, looking out of the window into her impeccably kept garden, watching next door’s cat shit all over her flowerbed.

‘I don’t know, Mum,’ I said, eventually coming to a standstill by the window. ‘I’m having a really good time. The writing thing is really exciting, I’m doing an online diary for the magazine’s website.’

‘That’s lovely, I’m very proud.’ The same dismissive tone that she had used for my GCSE, A level and degree results. Grrr. ‘But darling, you know, I would really like you to let me know when you’re coming back. You must have a date for your flight? And the hotel must be costing you a fortune.’

‘Mum, I’ve just told you, I’m staying with a friend. I don’t know when I’m – do you know what? It doesn’t matter. Why was Mark at your house when I called last week?’

‘I just don’t know why you can’t tell me when your flight is,’ she chuntered on. I was starting to regret the phone call all together.

‘I don’t have a flight booked so I don’t know when it will be,’ I repeated, thinking about how different the views were out of our windows. I could see yellow taxi cabs, the Chrysler Building and thousands of New Yorkers hustling and bustling around the city. From my mum’s window, she would be lucky to be able to see her Clio in the drive, the post office, and Mr Tucker from next door, possibly thrilling the neighbourhood by gardening shirtless. He was fifty-two. ‘Why was Mark answering your phone?’

‘He was dropping off some of your things, Angela.’ I could tell she was starting to get just as pissed off with me as I was with her. ‘I know he’s done a terrible thing to you, but I have known him for a lot of years. I can’t just pretend he doesn’t exist.’

‘Yes you can.’ Was she serious? ‘You can very easily pretend he doesn’t exist. He doesn’t as far as our family is concerned.’

‘Just because you have chosen to run away instead of confronting your problems, doesn’t mean I can,’ Mum tutted down the line. ‘I see Mark’s mother every week at Tescos.’

‘I haven’t run away,’ I said. This was not the supportive mother-daughter talk I’d been envisioning. ‘I’m doing something with my life.’

‘And maybe if you had stayed and talked to Mark, you would have realized how terrible he feels about things,’ she carried on, completely ignoring everything I was saying. ‘Maybe you would have been able to sort things out. Not that I’m saying you should, he did cheat on you, I know.’

‘He wants to sort things out?’ I asked. The idea hadn’t even crossed my mind.

‘Well, maybe he would have if you hadn’t run away, I don’t know,’ she said, sounding distracted. ‘But now he’s moved in that Katie girl, I don’t suppose the two of you will ever get back on track. I suppose if you called him …’

‘He’s moved in with – he’s moved her with in?’ I stopped her in the middle of her sentence. ‘Into our house?’

‘Well, you disappeared, dear,’ she seemed to be listening again. ‘What was he supposed to do? Not that I’m making excuses for him. He should never have done what he did, but, he did explain—’

‘Mum, I’ve got to get off, I’m going out,’ I needed to be off the phone right away. ‘I’ll call you when I know more about coming home.’

‘All right, darling, speak to you soon,’ and she hung up before I could.

Knowing for a fact that Mark had moved that girl into my house was all too much for my brain to process, but it did put the blog problem into perspective. I sat down in front of the laptop, blocked out the images of the filthy mare wearing my Cath Kidston apron and cooking with my beloved lime green Le Creuset casserole dish and emailed the blog to Mary. Mark who?

Once Jenny had returned from her Sunday spa appointment at Rapture and checked that everything had been exfoliated, waxed and moisturized to her own high and Jeff-ready standards, we headed out to Brooklyn. I was justifiably nervous, not having spoken to Alex about our ‘double date’ and not having spent more than fifteen minutes forcing my hair into some sort of shape, slapping on some of my miraculous MAC mascara and lipgloss. But my (still amazing) Marc Jacobs bag made everything better. I wondered if I could feasibly go out in my pyjamas and still feel like a grown-up if I were carrying this. Jenny practically skipped all the way to the L train, barely a sentence tripping over her tongue that wasn’t directly related to Jeff.

‘So it’s totally on with Alex tonight?’ she asked, holding my hand and skipping lightly as we crossed the road over to the subway.

‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘I was with Tyler this morning, don’t you think it might be a bit tacky to sleep with Alex tonight?’ But just saying the words sent shivers all the way down my spine.

‘I knew this would happen,’ Jenny shook her head, swiping her Metrocard. ‘You weren’t even OK dating two guys, you were never going to be able to sleep with two guys. Not at once.’

‘Christ, it’s not a threesome, Jenny.’ I followed her down the stairs, shaking my head. ‘And you didn’t want to share that information with me? Really, I’m OK seeing them both, I like them both in different ways, but I don’t know. Tyler is so much fun, and Alex is, well, it’s different.’

‘But you like him more than Tyler?’ she asked.

‘It’s different with Alex, harder to explain. I like the way he makes me feel about myself. With Tyler it’s kind of more about how he literally makes me feel,’ I tried to explain without blushing. ‘Did you ever do that experiment at school where you get three white flowers and you put one in an empty vase, one in a vase with water and one in a vase with food colouring?’

‘Yeah,’ Jenny nodded, ‘but I really don’t know what that’s got to do with you getting your kicks with some hot banker.’

‘Shut up,’ I smiled wryly and hopped on the train as the doors slid open. ‘OK, don’t laugh but the flower without any water just wilts and dies, right? And the flower with the water blossoms and it’s just really ordinary but beautiful, then when you add the food colouring it—’

‘It takes the colour into the flower,’ she finished for me. ‘Oh my God, you’re so meta! Doll, your first analogy. I’m so proud of you.’

‘Thanks. I feel validated,’ I said, patting her thigh. ‘I know it’s cheesy, but it’s the best I can come up with. Before I was just suffocating, with Tyler, it’s like classic and romantic, he has a structure to his life that I recognize. But with Alex, it’s fun and exciting and different. I don’t know where it’s going, everything is so new.’

‘New and exciting is good,’ Jenny said, nodding thoughtfully. ‘But when you’re in a delicate emotional state, that’s you doll, or when you just need to go out and have lots of great sex because you’ve only slept with one guy your whole life, again like you, maybe classic and romantic is the best.’

‘Maybe. I just don’t know. And I don’t know how long I can keep seeing them both. It does feel weird, whether it should or not. But seeing Tyler almost takes the pressure off whatever’s happening with Alex. Not that anything bloody has.’

‘Well, how about you give Alex his shot in the bedroom tonight and make your decision tomorrow?’ She grinned as the train slowed down, approaching our stop. ‘God knows, I’m going to need you to get the hell out of Jeff’s, oh, I don’t know, as soon as we get there.’

‘Things are going well then?’ I smiled. ‘I’m really pleased. I’m not going to say anything other than, I’m glad things are working out.’

‘Like I said,’ she said, hopping out of the carriage, ‘it’s fate. Sometimes you have to put all the psychobabble stuff on one side and go with your heart.’

‘Wow!’ I linked arms with her as we strutted up the stairs. ‘I just lost all respect for you.’

‘I know,’ she smiled, happily. ‘Isn’t it amazing?’

The first thing I would have liked to have known, before I agreed to dinner at Jeff’s, was that he was a terrible cook. Which he was. The second thing that would have been helpful to know, was that, in Jenny and Jeff world, ‘dinner’ was apparently a euphemistic term for practising oral sex skills on each other’s forks and fingers. I tried not to watch while I nibbled a polite amount of the spaghetti and mush that had been presented to us the second we walked through the door. We had only been in the apartment for approximately fifteen minutes and already, it was quite clear that Alex and I were in the way. Alex openly stared, occasionally nudging me with his knee. I couldn’t even look at him. Apart from the awkward hello and half-kiss we’d shared before being rushed to our seats, we hadn’t really spoken. Jenny and Jeff’s red-light show was making the atmosphere so tense, I didn’t know where to put myself. I felt like a maiden aunt at an orgy.

‘So, how was your weekend?’ Alex asked me and Jenny, breaking the strained silence and twirling limp spaghetti around his fork. I noticed no one’s plates matched. The apartment was super swank on a Tyler scale, but it seemed as if it was just possible that Jeff hadn’t been too worried about his housekeeping recently. I figured he had something else on his mind. And possibly other parts of his anatomy.

Jenny response to Alex was a low moan as Jeff’s hand vanished under the table, so I took it upon myself to answer-slash-try to distract Alex from the incredibly inappropriate behaviour on the opposite side of the table.

‘It was OK, I wrote.’ It wasn’t a lie, I had written. ‘What did you get up to?’

‘I wrote too,’ he nodded, looking dead ahead. ‘It was good actually, I think I got some good stuff out.’

I smiled and nodded politely, trying to think of something to say that wasn’t ‘For Christ’s sake, get your hands back on the table, it’s unsanitary’ but our hosts beat me to it, dropping their cutlery and more or less giving up any pretense of eating, before moving on to the main course, each other. I could have killed Jenny.

‘So, Jeff,’ Alex started. So brave, to try to attract his attention. ‘Your food tastes like complete shit. What is it supposed to be again?’

‘Pasta,’ Jeff said, distracted by Jenny, massaging his shoulders. I couldn’t think what strenuous activity he might have undertaken that would necessitate a massage, it certainly wasn’t the cooking. ‘It’s just pasta.’

‘It’s delightful.’ Jenny tried some sort of erotic manoeuvre with a forkful of soggy pasta, but it did not come off well. Unlike the pasta, which dropped directly into her lap.

‘OK, then,’ Alex gave me a sideways smile, ‘nice. This totally makes up for your girlfriend throwing up all over my place.’

‘I want to know what’s for dessert,’ Jenny asked, actually getting out of her seat and putting herself in Jeff’s lap. Jesus, she was shameless.

‘I have ice cream,’ Jeff breathed heavily. ‘I got your favourite.’

‘I don’t really feel much in the mood for ice cream,’ Alex said, pushing his chair back and standing to leave. ‘But I do have some excellent day-old-pizza that’s crying out to be eaten. Angela, can I interest you in a slice of pepperoni?’

‘Yes. Yes, you can,’ I said, following him away from the table. ‘Thanks Jeff, Jenny.’

‘You’re going?’ Jenny started to make some noises about staying for coffee, but whatever Jeff whispered in her ear sent them off into squeals of delight and a short sharp ‘bye’.

‘Jesus, what was that all about?’ Alex laughed, slamming his apartment door behind him. ‘Does your friend like an audience or something?’

‘I want to say “no”, but the best I can give you is, I really hope not,’ I said, hovering by the sofa. There didn’t seem to be any puke stains on there, so I sat down cautiously.

‘Beer?’ He opened his huge fridge, balancing a pizza box and a six-pack on one arm.

‘Thanks.’ I took the bottle and sat in silence, not sure about what my next move was supposed to be. His apartment was the opposite of Tyler’s, every inch of it breathed him. There were CDs lying around on every available surface, notebooks littered the coffee table, and I was never more than three feet away from a chewed-on pen or pencil.

‘I don’t know, I guess it’s cool that they’re so in to each other.’ He settled down and opened the pizza box. No really, it was at least one-day-old pepperoni pizza. ‘I just figured when Jeff invited me round for dinner, it would actually be dinner.’

‘Me too,’ I nodded, accepting the pizza against my better judgment. It was actually really good. ‘If nothing else, it reassured me of my hostess skills in case I ever have to repay the favour. Compared to Jeff, I’m a shit-hot cook.’

‘Really?’ He leaned back and looked at me. ‘Yeah, I bet you are.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I asked. Was this another sly New Yorker way of telling me I was a porker?

‘Nothing,’ he defended himself by waving a piece of pizza around. ‘I just think you can tell a lot about a person by the way they cook. Not that Jeff was playing his cards close to his chest, but you could tell by his shitty food he’s not too worried about the preparation. He’s all about getting straight to it.’

‘I suppose so,’ I smiled. I really should drop the porker thing. ‘Jenny can’t cook for anything. It’s all takeaways and Starbucks. Made for each other.’

‘What’s your favourite thing to cook?’ he asked, resting his head in his hand, his elbow on the arm of the sofa.

‘Hmm,’ I thought. I didn’t have a particularly wide repertoire, but I did have a feeling a good answer was needed here. ‘I have this Balinese chicken thing that I do. You make this paste with lemongrass and dried chillies and then you rub it into the chicken and cook it really slowly wrapped in a banana leaf. It’s gorgeous.’

‘See what I mean?’ he said, closing his eyes and smiling a deep, delicious smile. ‘Spicy, adventurous, long and slow. Tells you a lot about a person.’

‘What about you?’ I knew I was blushing from head to toe. It was my most impressive dish, but I really hoped I wasn’t going to have to cook it without the book. It was a complete bitch of a recipe.

‘Honestly, I’m a pretty shitty cook,’ he admitted, taking my beer out of my hands and leaning across towards me. ‘But I’m kind of good at other stuff.’

‘Doesn’t that ruin your metaphor?’ I whispered as he crept across the sofa and placed his arms on either side of my head.

‘I just wanted to see you blush.’

His lips were soft and firm, but his kisses were hard and unrelenting. Within seconds, we were putting on a show to shame even Jenny and Jeff. The rough fabric of his jeans chafed against my thighs as I brought my legs up around his waist, pulling him in towards me. The nervous tickle that had been growing in my stomach migrated south as I lost my hands in his hair, my lips on his throat, my mind … just gone. Alex pulled me up and half carried me towards his room. No time for candles, for low music, just the twinkling cityscape behind us lighting his silhouette as he pulled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. We stood in front of the window, kissing desperately, tussling with belts, zips and buttons until there was nothing left between us but our underwear. I silently thanked Jenny for my matching set pep talk as Alex sighed his approval at my black balconette and French knickers.

‘Why does it feel like this has been such a long time coming?’ he asked, sliding one of the straps off my shoulder and replacing it with a long line of kisses.

‘I know what you mean,’ I whispered. I placed one arm around his neck, obsessed with losing my fingers in that thick, black hair, the other hand somehow finding its way down his chest, his stomach, the waistband of his tight jersey boxers. My legs were beginning to shake, and all I could think about was getting onto that bed. So this was what they meant when they talked about knee trembling.

‘Hey,’ he said softly, replacing my bra strap and holding my face in his hands. ‘I just want to take it slow, OK?’

‘You don’t want to …’ I was confused. ‘I thought?’ He had waited until I was in my underwear with one hand down his shorts to tell me he wanted to take it slow?

‘No,’ he shook his head, smiling. ‘I mean this, now. I want to be able to remember every second of it.’

‘Oh, OK,’ I smiled back, biting my bottom lip. Was I in that much of a rush I’d forgotten about actual romance? ‘Sorry, I thought you meant …’

‘Don’t be sorry.’ Alex pulled my hair back from my face and kissed me tenderly. His skin glowed against the light of the window as his eyes met mine. ‘And stop thinking so much.’

He took my hand and led me over to the bed, laying me down and peppering my face, my throat, my shoulders with kisses. I wanted him so badly, every second he wasn’t inside me I thought I would explode. His kisses trailed down my collarbone, over my bra and down my stomach.

‘I thought you wanted to go slowly?’ I asked, the words catching in my throat as his lips reached the top of my thighs.

‘I should have been clearer,’ he said, pulling the silk of my underwear aside. ‘I meant slow for me. But I think that’s going to work out kind of well for you.’

‘Glad to clear things up,’ I whispered, closing my eyes and letting go.

If Tyler had been an education, Alex was an awakening. From the moment we rolled back on to the bed, through the long sweaty hours until dawn, he put my entire body through its paces, taking me right to the edge and then snatching me back again. When I woke, in a tussle of tangled sheets and tangled limbs, I was upside down at the foot of the bed, and so exhausted I didn’t know if I was coming or going. But I was absolutely certain, that at least three times in the past few hours, I’d been coming like never before. I stretched a leg, feeling out the floor with my toes, trying to work out how to extricate myself from Alex’s vice-like grip without waking him. Not going to happen. Feeling me stir, he half opened one eye. Without words, without any sort of verbal communication, he drew me back to him and we picked up exactly where we had left off.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

It was Monday morning, but blissfully, Alex didn’t have anywhere to be except in bed with me. He didn’t need to let his housekeeper in, he didn’t have errands to run, he sure as shit didn’t have to go to the office. We dozed on and off all morning, only waking up to reach out and check the other was still there, still waiting. Eventually, I was forced to seek out the bathroom, slipping away from Alex and padding across the flat. Sitting on the toilet, I was well aware I had a completely stupid grin on my face. I just didn’t know what to do with myself. Compared to the only sex I had ever known, Tyler had been amazing in bed. He was, technically speaking, a god. He knew which buttons to press, in which order and, most importantly, he knew exactly when to press them. But Alex … It had just been so intense. I felt raw and exposed, as if he had stripped me down completely and then put me back together, new and improved. It was incredible. After a sly mouthwash, face splash and mascara removal combo, I tiptoed back through the living room, checking my mobile on the way. A message from Jenny asking if I was OK, a message from Erin to say she’d seen the blog (the blog! I’d forgotten it was out there already) and a message from Tyler, asking if I wanted to go to dinner tomorrow night. I paused in the living room for a moment, perching on the arm of the sofa. Looking back towards Alex’s bedroom door, I thought for a moment. Did I want to go to dinner tomorrow night? I liked Tyler, he was a great guy, but Alex was something else altogether. I quickly replied, a short acceptance. Either way, I had to see Tyler, whether it was a date or I was ending it. And I did have the blog to think about. It would be fine. I tapped out replies to Jenny and Erin, then hurried back into the bedroom, to Alex’s arms.

A couple of indulgent hours later and I reluctantly hit the shower so I could go home and blog. I could hear Alex singing in the kitchen, while I lathered up and smiled. It was such a different world to everything I was used to, and I liked it. Without a walk of shame kit, I did my best, tying my wet hair up, dabbing on some lip gloss and mascara, really not needing any blusher. Slipping back into my dress seemed to put a full stop at the end of the sentence. I really did have to go outside now, it had to be done. I didn’t have another pair of knickers, home was the only option.

Alex was making coffee, real coffee, in a T-shirt and shorts when I emerged. It was so wrong that I had just spent twenty minutes putting myself back together and he looked as cute, as sexy as ever, pillow creases, bedhead and all.

‘So you do know how to use your kitchen,’ I said, accepting a steaming mug of black coffee and dropping back onto the sofa. I knew I had to leave, but my legs were determined to make it difficult by refusing to work.

‘I live on my coffee when we’re recording.’ He sat down next to me. ‘Sorry if it’s a little strong. Coffee I’m good with, but I never seem to have milk.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s nice,’ I lied. It was like tar. ‘What are you up to today?’

He shrugged. ‘I might try and write some more. I got some good stuff yesterday.’

‘Do you just write here?’ I asked, swirling my cup. The ‘coffee’ barely moved.

‘Yeah, well, the music,’ he nodded towards an acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. ‘I usually write the music with that, then take it in to the guys and we work it up. The lyrics I write all over the place. Wherever they come to me.’

‘It must be so cool to be able to do that,’ I shook my head in awe. ‘I can’t imagine sitting down with a guitar and just pulling something out of the air like that.’

‘It’s only what you do when you write.’ He smiled lazily and pushed a stray strand of damp hair behind my ear. It was well past midday and so warm that my hair was almost dry. ‘It’s just writing what you’re thinking.’

‘I suppose so,’ I said, letting my cheek rest against his hand. It would have been so easy just to stay there with him.

‘You sure you’ve got to go?’ he whispered, his eyes glowing, his voice deepening.

No no no no no no no.

‘Yes,’ I sighed. I leaned in for a soft, promising kiss and then pulled myself back. ‘I really can’t get behind, and I have to file my blog by four.’

‘I can’t imagine what you’re going to write about,’ he grinned. ‘What if my mom reads it?’

‘Don’t!’ I flushed and stood up. ‘I’m not writing porn, it’s a diary about my experiences. And it runs four days behind anyway.’

‘Don’t tell me that wasn’t an experience.’ He flicked at my hem with his foot. ‘And how come it’s so behind, so they can edit out all the good stuff?’

‘No, it’s just what they do, in case I get ill or something.’ I picked up my bag. I wanted to sink back onto that sofa by the side of him more than anything. ‘So you’ll have to wait until next week to see what I’m going to post.’

‘I’m not too worried,’ he said, dragging himself up and walking over to the door. ‘I don’t think anyone has any cause for complaint.’

He pulled me in close for a deep goodbye kiss, making me drop my beautiful, beautiful bag. Bad man.

‘I’ll call you later?’ He opened the door while I slowly backed out.

‘OK.’ I nodded, crossing the threshold into the hall. Wow, this was hard. ‘Talk to you later then?’

‘Yeah.’ He leaned out for one more kiss before I turned and headed to the lift.

Get in the lift. Get in the lift.

I sneaked a quick look back, Alex just leaning against his doorway. I shook my head and pushed myself through the lift doors as they slid open, and pressed the G button. I definitely deserved an award for leaving, first time and everything.

I was so wrapped up in Alex, it didn’t even occur to me to be proud as I headed towards the L, hopped straight on the subway and changed at Union Square, heading north to Grand Central. My first non-pre-planned subway journey and I’d only looked at a map once.

Jenny was already home when I dashed through the door, drinkable coffee in one hand, keys in the other.

‘Hey,’ she said, rising from the sofa as I flashed through the room. ‘What’s up?’

‘Got to email my blog,’ I called from my room. And despite how well the evening had gone, I was still a little bit pissed off with her and her one-woman show. ‘Give me half an hour?’

‘OK, but then I want all the details,’ she yelled from the living room.

I looked at the screen of my laptop. It glowed impatiently, demanding me to spill every last little fact like an iJenny. But I couldn’t do it. It had been so easy, practically cathartic, to write about things with Tyler, but this was different. I wanted to protect it. Instead of hashing out every new position, every new sensation, I found myself bashing out 200 words on The Adventures of Angela: When is it OK to break The Rules? I wrote about Jenny and Jeff getting back together, I wrote about accepting dates less than two days in advance, and I wrote about just how bloody hard it was to stick to the stupid bloody things. Who came up with them in the first place? They hadn’t seemed to work for anyone I’d met yet. Erin was rocketing through husbands like last season’s Manolos, and Jenny cheated on her ex, but got him back. That wasn’t in The Rules.

I stopped tapping away and paused. There was so much I could say about Alex, but it just didn’t seem to want to put itself into words. It wasn’t as if I was denying Alex’s existence, I just didn’t want to go into details yet. Or mention I’d stayed over. Or that I’d had the most incredible sex ever. I wanted to keep that to myself for a little while longer.

Well, I was open to sharing with Jenny. And Erin. And the manager of Scottie’s Diner.

‘What happened to Jenny’s life plan? I thought she was making all your big decisions for you?’ Erin asked, sipping on some iced water. ‘Like she does for everyone else whether they like it or not.’

‘She’s not been so helpful since she got back together with Jeff,’ I said, shaking my head at the goofy grin on Jenny’s face. ‘She’s not actually been very much of anything apart from gagging for it as far as I can tell.’

‘So what?’ Jenny grinned, munching away. ‘My head is kind of somewhere else. But, and you know I like Alex, realistically, I think you’re going too fast too soon and you should be out there having fun. You’ve been single for what, two weeks?’

‘Is it really only two weeks?’ I suppose it had to be. I felt as if I’d been in New York my whole life. ‘Feels like for ever.’

‘All the more reason to keep seeing this Tyler guy,’ Erin said, gingerly trying a chip. ‘If you’re going to fall head-over-heels for Alex, who we already know has more or less fucked his way around the whole of lower Manhattan, you need to keep a part of yourself detached. Seeing Tyler might help take the pressure off.’

‘Well, clearly Jenny has filled you in,’ I said, giving Jenny the look. ‘But he didn’t have to tell me about his past already. He could have just, you know …’

‘Used you? Playing devil’s advocate,’ Jenny held up her hands, ‘and that’s all I’m doing, but how do you know he’s not? Both Alex and Tyler know you’ve got to go back home sooner or later, how do you know this isn’t just a totally harmless fling for both of them, and they’re not seeing seventeen other women on the side? I just think you should pull back a little before you start getting attached.’

‘She’s right, and you know I hate saying that,’ Erin gave me a half-smile, ‘but what’s going to happen if you let yourself get totally wrapped up in Alex, then go back to England and you never hear from him again?’

‘I know all that, I’m just having fun,’ I lied badly. I didn’t want to think about Alex using me, and I certainly didn’t want to think about going home. ‘And you know, they could say the same thing. They could say I’m using them.’

‘Well, honey. You kind of are.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I’m … Well, I’m just not.’

Cue awkward silence.

‘OK, maybe Tyler.’

‘So,’ Erin wiped her hands on a napkin, ‘you’ve got two and a half months left unless you start applying for a work visa right now. You came here to get away from your ex and sort your head out, work out what you want to do. Have you done that?’

‘I don’t know,’ I confessed. ‘Is that really bad?’

‘No,’ Erin smiled. ‘But you shouldn’t be worrying about any relationship stuff with either of these guys until you can answer those questions.’

‘I know. It’s just loads more difficult than I thought it was going to be. When I’m with you two, it’s easy to be OK, and I think yeah, this might be me, even if I’m a bit of a whiny cow. Tyler makes everything easy in a different way, like, I don’t even need to think because he’s already thought of everything. I don’t have to stress about anything, so I’m just kind of the same person I’ve always been, but with better sex and presents.’

‘And with Alex?’ Jenny asked, signalling the waitress and ordering more or less the whole dessert menu.

‘I really, really like how I feel when I’m with him, but realistically, I don’t know if I could keep it up all the time. It’s bloody hard work being on all the time,’ I said, surprising myself with my answer. ‘But maybe I’m just being lazy. It’s hard work, but it’s amazing. He makes me feel amazing. Bloody hell, you two must be so bored of me.’

They were quick to refute it, but even I was sick of hearing myself whine on. ‘Do you know what? Forget it, I just want to hear about Jeff and Jenny.’

Jenny was quick to pick up the baton. Unfortunately, it was a highly detailed and descriptive account of Jeff’s baton, which made eating a little bit difficult.

‘Did you have to give her an in?’ Erin grinned, ditching her diet and getting stuck into the cheesecake that had joined the ice cream on the table. ‘Honestly, I can’t listen to you two talk about your amazing sex lives any more. I’m over The Rules from right now.’

‘Man, I hadn’t even got started,’ Jenny laughed and pointed at me with her spoon. ‘And you should remember that Jeff and Alex’s bedrooms are only separated by about a foot of interior wall before you start calling me on my performance.’

I blushed, horrified. ‘Really? God, that’s so embarrassing.’

‘Pretty inspirational, actually,’ Jenny grinned, clearly enjoying watching me squirm. ‘I don’t know exactly what’s going to happen to you doll, but I do know you need a good night’s sleep tonight.’

She wasn’t wrong. Once we’d finished up, all three of us headed back to the apartment for a Friends marathon in the hopes of getting some sage advice from the thirty-five-year-old twenty-somethings, and before I knew it, I was out for the count.

Having passed out in a cheesecake coma so early the night before, I woke up at the crack of dawn on Tuesday determined to work out some answers. Erin and Jenny were right, I’d come to New York looking for something, and it hadn’t been men. I headed out early, passing Erin on the sofa bed, Jenny still snoring in her room, so pleased to have found some fellow anti-nine-to-fivers. I’d promised myself I would keep walking until something hit me, so I took the subway as far as I could go and still be in Manhattan and walked back to Battery Park. Seemed like a good place to start. Leaning back over the railing that Jenny had first brought me to, more than a fortnight ago, I reflected on how much life had changed, leaving out the boys. Yes, I had new hair, new clothes (and a fabulous handbag) but (almost) more importantly, I had my confidence. I was doing this, actually living. It didn’t matter that there was a legally imposed schedule, helpfully enforced by US immigration, I had lived more in the last two weeks than I had in the last two years. I gave the Statue of Liberty a thankful smile and headed back north, thinking about all the other things I had to be grateful for. Jenny, despite her mildly schizophrenic Jeff-related issues, was clearly a good person. Erin was a complete sweetheart. And I was actually writing. I was writing my own words for a massive international magazine’s website, not ghostwriting movie novels about mutant hero turtles or style advice for billionaire tweenagers.

Looking up I realized I was heading towards Ground Zero. As I passed through, I could hardly believe that so much life was going on all around this site of utter devastation. Shops, hotels, restaurants, offices, everything. It seemed like such a short time ago that I had watched this place literally collapse on TV, but the entire city had picked up and moved on, healing rapidly around this ugly scar. I almost slapped myself in the street. If everyone here could pick themselves up and dust themselves down, what did I have to be so mopy and introspective about? It was just like Jenny had said, New York wasn’t somewhere you came to find yourself again, it was somewhere you came to become something, someone, new.

In a Starbucks with wireless internet I logged on. My blog was short and to the point. The Adventures of Angela: Moving On From Moving On. Yes, I had a lot of crap to wallow in, and I could feel sorry for myself for the next five years if I wanted, but I also had a lot to be glad about and from here on in, that was what this diary was going to be about. I emailed it to Mary and sat staring out of the window, occasionally catching my reflection when a car parked up or someone paused to look inside. I didn’t look different any more, I just looked like me. One battle won.

‘Hey, excuse me,’ a tall, skinny girl stood at my shoulder, clutching a takeaway coffee cup. ‘Are you that girl from The Look website?’

‘Oh,’ I said, flustered. ‘Yes, I suppose I am.’

She sat down at my table and beamed, pushing curly red hair away from her lip gloss. ‘I knew it was you, I saw the Marc Jacobs bag. I was just reading your last entry. My friend is like, obsessed with blogs, she forwarded me yours. I’m Rebecca’

‘Oh,’ I repeated. It hadn’t occurred to me that people might recognize me. Eeep. ‘Sorry, I’m Angela. Did you like it? The blog?’

‘Shit, it was hilarious!’ She grinned. ‘It’s like, you’re totally living my life. My boyfriend cheated on me too, he was a complete shit. But your life is way funnier. And I didn’t hook up with two really hot guys, like, days later.’

‘Oh,’ I really didn’t know what else to say. I hadn’t looked at the website since it went live, I just couldn’t bear to see that before picture of myself again. ‘It’s not totally like that, I mean, I’m not, you know.’

‘So it’s not real?’ She frowned. ‘You make it up?’

‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘It is real, it’s just a bit weird talking about it. You’re the first person I’ve met who has read it.’ I managed a smile. ‘Sorry.’

‘No worries,’ she smiled again. ‘You’re just a total hero to me. I wish I had got up and done something amazing when I found out about my ex, instead of throwing up for three days and then burning all his stuff.’

‘I wouldn’t have been against burning his stuff. Between you and me, I might have peed in my ex’s toiletry bag. I know, it’s disgusting.’

‘Oh my God,’ she squealed. ‘That’s awesome. I didn’t think British people did shit like that. Are you going to be in the magazine?’

‘I don’t think so.’ This was fun, I was a minor celebrity! ‘It’s just a little online thing. I can’t believe you’ve even seen it.’

‘Are you kidding me?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Haven’t you seen how many hits your page has had? It’s like, thousands.’

‘Really?’ I asked, looking at my laptop. Was she serious?

‘Yeah, like, so many more than the other Look blogs. Yours is so the best thing on that site.’ She stood up, leaving her coffee cup half empty, behind. ‘I’ve got to run back to the office, but it was so cool to meet you. I hope they print the diary, I’m totally going to email them.’

‘Bye, nice to meet you!’ I called after her. The second she was out of the coffee shop, I was back online. There it was, TheLook.com, The Adventures of Angela. And according to the counter, there had indeed been thousands of visitors to the site. Hundreds of thousands. Thousands of people reading about me. It felt out and out weird. And then, when I thought about what I’d written, it felt scary. Forget Alex’s mum, what if my mum read it? And Mark. He had no right to know what I was doing. Who I was doing … The post about my night with Tyler, oh my God. Not good.

While I sat scanning my previous posts, wondering if Mary would let me go back and edit, an email popped up in my inbox from her Look email address.

Angela,

Got today’s entry, really interesting. So did you see the blog is a big success?

Can you make a meeting on Friday? 4.00 p.m. my office.

Thanks,

Mary

I pulled out my mobile and hit Alex’s number. It clicked through for a moment giving me just enough time to think and hang up.

He hadn’t called.

Why hadn’t he called?

It had been more than a whole day since I had left his apartment. Instead, I dialled Jenny at work, hoping she had made it to the concierge desk on time.

‘The Union,’ she answered in a sleepy monotone. Still playing sleep catch-up from the night before, clearly.

‘Jenny, it’s me,’ I said quickly, rambling the whole story about the blog and the hits and the redhead fan and Mary’s email, leaving out the part where I faux-called Alex. I had promised not to go into the boy stuff until I’d sorted out the Angela stuff after all.

‘Wow, that’s so cool,’ she yawned. ‘You want to come over here? I’ve got a break in half an hour.’

‘I’m supposed to meet Tyler for dinner,’ I said cautiously. ‘I should probably go and get changed or something.’

‘You should go and buy something fabulous,’ she said, giving me permission to abuse my credit card without even knowing it. ‘Seriously, I’d totally celebrate. And you need more stuff if you’re going to be a celeb.’

‘I really don’t need more stuff!’ I shut down my laptop and placed it back in my (sigh) bag. ‘I think my credit card is about to snap. See you tonight.’

‘You’re not going to stay at Tyler’s?’ she asked. I wasn’t sure if this was a test or not.

‘Don’t think so,’ I said, as offhanded as I could manage. ‘I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow and I’m sort of thinking about breaking it off.’

‘Cool,’ she yawned again. Clearly too tired to be testing me. ‘Well, I’ll be home around midnight. Provided that Disney bee-otch staying in the penthouse doesn’t decide to throw another orgy I have to cover up. See you then?’

‘I love that this is your everyday life. Have you thought about counselling her?’

‘I told her she was worth more when I found her butt naked on the balcony with three of the Gossip Girl cast this morning,’ Jenny sighed. It was a beautiful image. ‘And she told me she was worth exactly seventeen point six million at the last count and could I bring up some clean towels. She’s eighteen. I’ve started to worry about my future as the next Oprah. Oprah wouldn’t want to knock her ass over the balcony.’

‘Try and refrain from manslaughter and remember it’s all material,’ I said, hanging up.

I checked my missed calls list.

Nothing.

I was so annoyed with myself. I really thought I’d got somewhere today and now, here I was, obsessing over why Alex hadn’t called me.

‘Why don’t you just call him?’ asked the little voice in my head. It seemed like a good idea, why didn’t I? Before I had the chance to second guess myself, I dialled and let it ring. And ring. And eventually, go to answer phone.

‘Hi, Alex, it’s Angela, uhhhhh,’ I started. One day I’m going to have the perfect answer phone message. Just not today apparently. ‘I just wondered if you wanted to do something tomorrow, but don’t worry if you’re busy or something. Talk to you later. Bye.’ I hung up and frowned.

Maybe I did need a little bit more stuff.

CHAPTER TWENTY

When Tyler rang my buzzer at seven, Alex still hadn’t called. I refused to think about what that did or didn’t mean and instead, took one last look in the mirror and checked out my make-up. It looked fairly good, better than I would have managed two weeks ago. And my new Nanette Lepore dress was gorgeous. Seriously though, why hadn’t Alex called? I checked my phone once more, then threw it into my (wonderful) bag and walked out of the door.

From the moment I ducked into the cab, I knew I should have cancelled. Tyler was his usual lovely self, asking me questions about my week, which I evaded by bouncing them right back.

‘Same old, same old,’ he smiled easily, directing the taxi driver downtown. ‘Been running a lot, work’s been a pain in the ass the last couple of days. I actually could really use a break. Just a couple of days away somewhere.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, staring out of the window, watching the Washington Square Arch zoom by. ‘It’s good to get away.’

‘You want to do it next weekend?’ he asked, squeezing my hand. He looked immaculate as usual. Yes, he was a city boy like Mark, but the similarities really did start and end there. His hair was ruffled from product, not a slightly off-putting nervous hair-tugging habit and his suit was immaculately cut, and I was fairly certain it wasn’t M&S crease-resistant. It certainly wasn’t machine-washable. ‘My friend has a house in the Hamptons, and he’s going to be away on business. You would love the Hamptons, parties to go to, it’s way cooler than in the city, and there’s the beach. Did you bring a swimsuit?’

‘Oh, uh, swimsuit?’ I asked, caught off guard. I’d been staring at his forearms for just a second too long. Was it wrong to have a fetish for forearms? They were more tanned than Alex’s, but maybe not as nice. Not that I was thinking about Alex. At all. ‘Where are we going tonight?’

‘Oh, Balthazar, it’s great. The moules frites are perfection, and it’s probably just cool enough for you,’ he teased. ‘Been to any gigs lately?’

‘Not since I saw you last.’ I didn’t want to think about gigs.

‘Are you OK?’ Tyler asked as the cab pulled up. ‘You seem a little out of it.’

‘No, I’m fine.’ It hardly seemed fair, mooning over Alex’s forearms when he hadn’t even called, and Tyler was here, taking me out to dinner, offering to take me away for the weekend. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve just been thinking about the website and stuff. My editor asked me to come in again, but I don’t really know what for. I suppose I’m a bit worried.’

‘It’s all good though, right?’ he asked, directing me inside. The restaurant was stunning, a packed-out little French bistro, crammed with beautiful people. More Brownie points for another amazing venue. ‘The website thing?’

‘You haven’t looked?’ I was half surprised and entirely relieved. ‘Apparently, it’s doing well.’

‘I did mean to take a look,’ he confessed, smiling comfortably at the maître d’ and sailing past the waiting couples. We were seated at a quiet corner table for two and quickly presented with iced water, bread, and champagne that Tyler had apparently preordered. I’d got so hot and bothered about a certain non-existent phone call, I’d forgotten how much fun it was to be with Tyler. ‘I’ve just been so busy at work and I hardly ever go online at home. Sorry, I’m glad it’s going so well though.’

‘Don’t be, I’d rather you didn’t look,’ I smiled, trying to invest myself in the date. ‘It’s completely embarrassing. This girl came up to me in a café this morning because she recognized me. I nearly died.’

‘If I’d known I was dating a celebrity, I’d have dressed up,’ he said, ordering appetizers for both of us. I could feel my brain turning to mush and a silly smile taking over my face. Sod the non-phoner.

‘I am not a celebrity!’ I wondered what he classed as dressing up. Relieved of his suit jacket, his shirt crisp and smart, and as usual, he smelled delicious. ‘And you know you look great.’

‘You don’t look too bad yourself. That’s a great dress,’ he grinned, tapping me under the table with his foot. ‘I can’t help but think you’d look better out of it though.’

‘Really,’ I laughed, colouring slightly as the waiter hovered at Tyler’s elbow with the champagne. I was starting to be glad I hadn’t cancelled, and also starting to worry as to whether or not I’d be able to keep my gorgeous new dress on at the end of the night. What a slut!

Dinner was divine. Tyler really knew his food, and for the most part, I managed to put Alex out of my mind. During the appetizers, we planned our dream holidays – me taking in a cross America road trip in a turquoise Cadillac, Tyler touring Europe in a private plane – and by the time the waiters cleared away our entrées, we’d covered favourite films, TV shows and books. At last I was really starting to think I knew something about Tyler.

‘And I already know you’re into your hipster music, right?’ Tyler smiled, accepting the dessert menu. ‘I bet you love all those skinny boys with greasy girls’ hair and band names that start with “The”.’

I smiled and shook my head, trying not to remember soft, smoky-smelling hair brushing against my lips. ‘What about you?’

‘I like everything, I guess,’ he shrugged. ‘I like all music.’

Biting my lip, I thought back to what Alex had said in the coffee shop. Saying you liked all music meant you didn’t love any. God, he was so arrogant. And why hadn’t he called me?

‘I just have to go to the bathroom,’ I excused myself, rifling through my (beautiful) bag before I’d even made it down the stairs. Shit, three missed calls. All from Alex. I ran my wrists under cold water in the bathroom, then towelled off before I dialled my voicemail, promising myself I’d only listen to his message once.

‘Hey, it’s Alex,’ he began, ‘you still want to meet tomorrow? Give me a call.’ That was it. I looked at my watch, it was only 9.30. I still had time to call for tomorrow, but not while I was out with Tyler, that was too weird.

‘I wondered if you were coming back,’ Tyler said as I took my seat. ‘Something exciting happening in there?’

‘Oh, it was really busy,’ I said, hoping he didn’t know how many toilets there were. ‘Too many women, not enough loos.’

‘Loos,’ he shook his head smiling. He really was incredibly good-looking, I thought, trying to concentrate. The wavy hair, mussed up from a day in the office, his crinkly, smiley eyes, his light tan. But when he took my hands in his, all I could think about was his manicured nails and Alex’s calloused fingertips, and they just didn’t compare.

‘You want to get dessert?’ he asked, leaning across the table and lowering his voice. ‘Or do you want to head back to mine and get something really good?’

‘I, uh, I have to meet my editor at nine,’ I mumbled, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks, the tingle in my belly. ‘I think I really ought to be in my bed tonight.’

‘I have to be up early too,’ he shrugged, waving the waiter over to bring the bill. ‘Unless you just really want me to see your room.’

‘Oh, I sort of meant, maybe not tonight.’ I was so red, I was practically glowing. ‘To be honest, I’ve had a headache all day. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. If you’re not well …’ he trailed off, looking around the room, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘Do you want to do something later in the week?’ I blurted out. God, what was wrong with me? I was going to end up married to him out of politeness if I wasn’t careful. ‘I could cook dinner, Friday night?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he nodded, still not looking at me. ‘Sounds great.’

We headed out on to the street in an awkward silence, luckily flagging a cab down right away. I tried to think of something to say, but there was nothing there at all.

‘Great restaurant,’ I tried. Tragic.

‘Yeah, it’s always good.’

‘Great.’

‘Yeah.’

Clearly this wasn’t going to be made easy. I tried placing my hand on his knee and giving him a sweet smile, but he just covered it with his own without looking at me. I stared out of my window, racking my brain for something to say that wouldn’t end in me asking him up for a coffee. Before I’d had time to muster up another pathetic attempt at conversation, we were cornering onto Lexington Avenue and pulling up outside my flat.

‘Friday, then?’ I asked, as he let me out. Pissed off he might be, but Tyler was always the gentleman.

‘Yeah,’ he said, softening slightly for a goodnight kiss. ‘You take care of yourself. No headaches allowed on the weekends.’

I smiled and waved him off, before opening my bag, taking out my phone and calling Alex. It felt slightly shitty waving one man off and then calling another, but I couldn’t help it.

‘Hi, Alex?’ I tried to sound casual when he picked up on the third ring. ‘It’s Angela.’

‘Hey,’ he yawned. Yawning at ten p.m.? Not very rock and roll. ‘Sorry I missed your calls, I’ve been in the studio the whole time since you left. I’m so fucking tired.’

‘The studio?’ I asked. Another fabulous question from the world’s greatest conversationalist.

‘Yeah, I wanted to demo some of those new songs,’ he said. ‘I just completely lost track of time, and, well, what day it was. Where are you?’

‘I’ve just been at dinner with a friend,’ I said, leaning against the wall. The evening was still pleasantly warm, but Alex’s sleepy voice was giving me goosebumps. ‘So, what about tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, I’m not doing anything.’ I could hear music on low in the background. It sounded like Alex singing. ‘I could give you the tour of Williamsburg if you’re free?’ he suggested.

‘Sounds good.’ I smiled to a passing stranger who looked at me oddly. ‘Where should I meet you?’

‘Uh, at the Bedford Avenue station? About eleven?’ he yawned again. He really was too cute.

‘I’ll see you there.’ I yawned a little myself. It was even contagious on the phone. ‘Hope you sleep well.’

‘I will, I’ll be saving my energy for tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Sleep tight.’

I smiled as I hung up, date with Tyler forgotten, date with Alex buzzing around my mind.

It was still so early, I’d beaten Jenny home from work. I grabbed my laptop and lay on the sofa, thinking about what to write. If I stored a blog entry now, I could just email it from Alex’s without interrupting our day tomorrow. I quickly bashed out the details of my date with Tyler and made some vague references to my day out in Brooklyn with Alex, Balthazar or Brooklyn? before logging off and dozing on the sofa. Mary had said her readers would go crazy for a Wall Street type, so after all, I was just giving the people what they wanted.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The thirty-minute journey to Brooklyn felt like an eternity. What if Alex hadn’t rushed to call because it wasn’t as incredible for him as it had been for me? After all, he wasn’t the one who had tripled the number of people he had ever slept with inside the last fortnight. Just before the train stopped, I pulled my compact out of my handbag, quickly swiped at my shiny nose with powder and ran my fingers through my hair. Thank God it was supposed to look messy.

I skipped up the steps of the subway station, pulling Jenny’s sunglasses down off my head and over my eyes, searching for Alex. Despite the oddly high numbers of hipster types littering the streets at a time they really ought to be at work, I spotted him almost immediately. He was leaning against a lamppost, arms folded, bobbing his head gently to whatever was on his iPod. His black hair shone almost blue in the sun, and his daily uniform of jeans and T-shirt clung to him like a second skin. I lifted up my sunglasses and watched him, bleached out by the sun for a moment. The whole scene was almost too perfect to disturb.

‘Hey,’ Alex shaded his eyes with his hands, when I finally burst the bubble and went over. ‘I didn’t see you sneaking up on me.’

‘Well, that’s the point in sneaking up on you,’ I smiled, kissing him hello. Hopefully, there would be lots more kissing. ‘You OK?’

‘Yeah, a little tired, but really good,’ he took my hand and we started down the street, passing cute little boutiques, dark vintage clothes emporiums and poky record shop after poky record shop after poky record shop. ‘You want to get something to eat?’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ I said. For the first time in the last couple of days, nothing felt complicated. I was in the sunshine, I was holding hands with a beautiful boy and I was happy. Yay!

We ducked into a tiny diner for coffee and bagels while Alex gave me a brief history lesson on his neighbourhood. Williamsburg had been home to hundreds of artists and musicians, he told me, generally all kinds of creative types that had been driven out of Manhattan due to the crazy spiralling rents. It had been his home for almost ten years, and he loved it. He loved going to bars where he knew everyone, he loved feeling like he had a neighbourhood, and he loved that in less than fifteen minutes, he could lose himself in the city. Unfortunately, he hated the fact that property prices were starting to go crazy around him, that the musicians and artists were being replaced by rich hipsters with nothing to do but buy up real estate and make it harder for people to live there. And most of all, he hated that a lot of his friends had started moving away again, either further into Brooklyn or back to Manhattan.

As the sun slipped over the Manhattan skyline, we stopped in a dark little bar back on Bedford Avenue. The walls were lined with tankards and beer mugs, the dim lighting was only boosted by a TV screen showing sport, and someone, somewhere was cooking chips. It felt scarily like a real pub.

‘Beer?’ Alex asked as I slid into a chair. Wandering around, blissfully happy, was exhausting. Sitting in a chair, staring at Alex’s rear bent over the bar in his sexy low-slung jeans, was much easier. He returned with two pints, actual pints, while I tried to pretend I hadn’t been totally ogling him. ‘So, you like it here?’

‘I do,’ I said, gratefully sipping the cold lager. ‘I would never have thought to have come here. It’s so different to the city.’

‘You can still get this stuff in Manhattan.’ Alex sipped his beer thoughtfully. ‘It’s just a little harder to find, a little harder to afford.’

‘Well, I’m glad I got to see it,’ I said, squeezing his hand. ‘I’m glad you offered.’

‘Me too,’ he smiled, squeezing back and holding my gaze for a moment too long. ‘How long are you going to stick around for, Angela?’

‘You know, I’ve managed to go a really long time today without thinking about that.’ I nursed my beer and tried a wry smile that wouldn’t stick.

‘Sorry.’ He looked down into his drink. ‘What can I say, I’m a planner?’

‘That’s not very rock and roll, is it?’ I asked, pushing my hair behind my ears, really wanting to comb my fingers through his. ‘What happened to living for the moment?’

‘Living for the moment doesn’t really work if what’s making this moment so great might disappear to another continent in a couple of weeks,’ he smiled, taking my hand back and shrugging. ‘I really like being with you.’

‘Yeah.’ I looked at him, not knowing what else to say.

‘Too much?’ He half smiled, half frowned. ‘Sorry. I forget the real world isn’t ready for my over-emoting sometimes. Fuck, that even sounded pretentious to me. Sorry.’

‘Over-Emoting is OK,’ I said, biting my lip. ‘It’s just all so weird. I keep getting these flashes where this starts to feel like real life, like this is something I could have, and then, bang, I come back down and remember this is actually just a glorified holiday.’

‘Doesn’t have to be,’ Alex said. ‘There’s nothing stopping you from getting a visa, getting a job. There are always options if you’re prepared to work for them. If living here, having a life here, is what you want.’

‘Apparently, my problem is not knowing what I want,’ I sighed. ‘Just the idea of having to go back there …’ The thought of home was instinctively tied to thoughts of Mark and my stomach seized.

‘So don’t go,’ Alex shrugged. ‘Seriously, you could at least look into it. If you could do absolutely anything, nothing at all stopping you, what would it be?’

‘I asked someone else that question once,’ I smiled, shaking my head. ‘And they said they’d follow the Yankees for a year.’

‘Then they had no imagination.’ Alex squeezed my hand. ‘And that’s why you’re here with me. What would you do?’

‘Right now? If I could do anything?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘If I could do anything, I would magic myself a work permit, start getting paid real money for writing at The Look, and stay here as long as I wanted. Not running away, not being on holiday, just living. Going to the supermarket, paying bills, doing the washing, just having a life.’

‘Then do it. You’re young, you’ve got work here, just apply for the visa. Stay.’

‘Everyone likes to make things sound so easy,’ I said, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. ‘I wish they were.’

‘You know what would be easy?’ he said, reaching a hand across to my cheek, guiding my eyes back into his. ‘Just going back to mine. Just not thinking about any of this right now.’

I put my drink down, not even half finished and stood up. ‘I’m so sick of thinking,’ I nodded, holding out my hand.

That evening, that night, the early dawn hours, everything was just as intense as the first time. By Thursday morning, I was emotionally and physically knackered, but in so deep, I didn’t know how I was supposed to find a way back out. It was hard enough finding a way out of the bedroom. After several attempts, we finally managed to install ourselves on his sofa in T-shirts and underwear, to listen to his new demos. They were totally stripped back, just Alex and his guitar, nothing like the songs I was used to hearing from his band.

‘Is this how all your songs start out?’ I asked, my head resting in his lap.

‘Yeah,’ he nodded, gently tapping out the rhythm on my collarbone. ‘They all start this way. Sometimes they get built up, sometimes they get thrown away. These are still really new though.’

‘I think they’re beautiful,’ I said, nodding along. ‘They’re so soft.’

‘Glad you think so,’ he said. ‘They’re kind of about you.’

‘Really?’ I craned my neck up and looked at him. ‘They are?’

‘Uh-huh,’ he said, pushing me up gently and curling his body around mine. I could feel his heartbeat speeding up against my shoulder blade. ‘About you, me, about this. Meeting you has really helped me clear my head up. I think I’ve figured out what I want again.’

‘That’s funny,’ I felt my heartbeat find its rhythm against his, ‘you’ve managed to have the completely opposite effect on my life. I don’t have a clue what I want.’

‘I think you do,’ Alex said, ‘you’re just not ready to deal with it yet. That’s OK. I’m just ready, that’s all.’

‘You’re not going to split up the band, then?’ I asked, resting my head against his chest just underneath his chin.

‘I’ll give it another shot,’ he said. ‘It was me that was messed up, not the band. I wasn’t being fair.’

‘Well that’s good news. You’re really feeling better?’

‘Really, really,’ he nodded, stroking my hair. ‘What about you, how you doing working your stuff out?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said, rolling over and looked at him, all sharp cheekbones and dark eyes. ‘I’m getting a fairly certain feeling about some stuff.’ I stretched up and kissed him gently. ‘And I can’t stop thinking about what you said, about staying here. Maybe it is possible.’

My hair dropped down into my eyes as I turned, just as Alex’s long, messy fringe flopped into his. Before I could reach out to comb it back, his long fingers were brushing the hair out of my eyes.

‘Well, why don’t we just work more on the stuff you’re certain about?’ He kissed my forehead gently. His hand stroked my hair, then moved back down my cheekbone, tracing the line of my face all the way down my chin, my throat, my collarbone. I pushed against him, wedging my body underneath his, forcing him on top of me. ‘And once you’re absolutely positive about that,’ Alex whispered, ‘we can start thinking about everything else.’

Afterwards, when Alex had dozed off, I slid off the sofa, pulled my underwear out from its hiding place under the coffee table, and logged on to my Gmail. I sat, gazing at him sleeping and really didn’t know what to write. I didn’t want to pretend this wasn’t happening any more, even on the blog. I absolutely had to end it with Tyler and find out where this was going. I looked at the empty screen and decided to be honest. With Tyler, with Alex, with Mary and with myself.

The Adventures of Angela: Last Exit to Brooklyn

So, I’ve been writing to you for about two weeks now. Does it feel loads longer to you? I feel like I’ve been here for ever.

Since I left London, it’s been the craziest two weeks of my life. I’d forgotten that there were lots of cool and interesting people out there who can make your life incredibly exciting if you let them. I’ve had the most amazing opportunities and well, between me and you, I’ve met a couple of people I think might change my life for ever. Even as someone who loved London with a fiery passion when I moved there, I can’t get over what an unbelievable place New York City really is.

When I found out about my ex and his extracurricular tennis lessons, all I could think about was what a horrible, awful thing he had done to me. And I’m not making excuses for him, he still is a great big giant scumbag, but, and this didn’t even occur to me until today, if he hadn’t done what he did, if I hadn’t caught them at it in my car, if I hadn’t completely destroyed my best friend’s wedding (that actually feels worse every time I mention it) I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be writing to you at all. I wouldn’t be in Brooklyn, blogging in the living room of a wonderful man who is asleep on his settee with a smile on his face. A man I would never even have met if it weren’t for that turd and his two-timing.

So, and I really mean this, thank you, Mr Ex, you hateful little scumbag, I hope you’re having fun back in England.

I’m learning how to have fun again and it feels nice.

I emailed the entry to Mary. It felt good to get that out, but it hurt to admit it. At least some stuff was finally starting to make sense, I had to let go of the past before I could move on to the future.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

For someone who had flat out refused to go to Brooklyn for one evening only one week ago, I returned to the apartment on Friday morning to find a note from Jenny saying she was staying at Jeff’s for the weekend. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t been in our apartment since we’d had dinner at Scottie’s on Monday, but it was weird how the place already felt like home to me, whether she was there or not. Jenny had been quick to add some photos of us from Gina’s leaving party to her clip-frame montages, and since we had terrifyingly similar taste in films and TV (read hot actors), heaps of my favourite DVDs were lying around the place. I’d even picked up some copies of books by my favourite authors at The Strand second-hand bookshop. I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed from the flat in London. Not one single thing.

Necking what was left of my iced coffee, I logged on to check my email. I had precisely two hours before my meeting with Mary and in that time I needed to shower, choose an outfit that said ‘please don’t fire me’, and come up with my very first ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech for dinner with Tyler that night. Flicking through the acres of spam in my Gmail account, I played the scenario over and over in my head. I was sure he would be fine, we could just be friends, it would be great. Absolutely fine. And I definitely wasn’t going to be terribly terribly English if he wasn’t OK with it, and accidentally sleep with him. Nope. Wasn’t going to happen. I was just reassuring myself that one single polite goodbye kiss would probably be OK, when I spotted an email from The Look. But it wasn’t from Mary or Cissy, it was from someone called Sara Stevens.

Dear Angela,

I hope you don’t mind me emailing, this was the only contact information on The Look server.

Firstly, I just want to say I absolutely love your blog – so much fun! I really feel like Im in New York with you.

So here comes the exciting bit. We’re currently setting up the UK version of The Look, launching in January and I would absolutely love to talk to you about you working with us as senior staff writer. Everyone here thinks your style is perfect for our magazine, and we’ve been tracking the popularity of the blog here in the UK as well as in the US, you’re a hit!

Obviously I’m not sure how long you’re planning to be in New York, but we’d need you back in the UK by the end of August to prepare for the launch issue.

Give me a call, my numbers are at the bottom of the email and we can talk over any questions you might have, salary, benefits, etc.

It was almost one-thirty here, so six-thirty in London. Only one way to find out if she was a late worker.

‘Sara Stevens.’

Yes, yes, she was.

‘Hi, Sara? It’s Angela Clark here.’ This was officially the last time I was going to dial a phone number without having a blind clue what I was going to say if someone answered. ‘I just got your email.’

‘Angela, I’m so excited that you called me! We absolutely love you here in the UK office. Are you excited? It’s exciting isn’t it?’

So far, so different from Mary.

‘Erm, yes? It is?’ I plopped down on the back of the sofa.

‘Oh my God, it SO is!’

I wasn’t sure I was OK with Sara showing such an early propensity for screeching.

‘So, when are you back, hun? I love that you nicked off to New York for a jolly instead of sitting around being a lil miss victim. Very fun. But we need you back here! When’s your flight booked?’ she yelled.

‘I haven’t actually booked a flight back.’ Sara might only need to stop for breath every seven minutes, I was struggling. ‘I don’t know if I’m actually coming back.’

‘What? You haven’t married that Wall Street banker have you? Not that I would blame you! No, really, it’s better. We will absolutely pay for your flight back, Virgin Upper Class all the way, baby! So the senior writer position is really exciting. You’d be writing about just about anything you think would be interesting to The Look readers, so there’s lots of scope for getting around. I was reading your blog and it just hit, pow! This girl can write fashion, dating, travel, food, sex—’

‘What did Mary say?’ I interrupted. Yes I know it’s rude, but she wasn’t going to shut up if I didn’t.

‘Mary?’

‘Mary Stein? My editor here.’

‘Oh,’ Sara actually paused, ‘I haven’t exactly spoken to her. It’s not really poaching is it? You’re British, you’re coming back to London, we need a writer. Really, we’re just keeping it in the family. I’m sure she’ll be pleased as. And I don’t want to be vulgar, but Angela, the money on this position is going to shit all over whatever pennies the web team are paying you.’

‘But you will speak to her?’

‘Oh yeah, right now, I’ll call her right now. I just need you to say you’re coming to work for me, you ridiculously talented woman!’

‘OK, well, this is really interesting,’ I just wanted to get off the phone as soon as humanly possible, ‘but I actually have to dash off to a meeting, and—’

‘I need to know by the end of the day, your time, on Monday,’ Sara said bluntly. All the giggles and enthusiasm gone out of her voice. ‘Unfortunately I don’t have time for you to think too long and hard about this – I didn’t think you’d need to actually – I have a writer to recruit in a very short space of time. I’ll email the job spec and salary and you can reply. Right?’

I suddenly realized she couldn’t see me nodding down the phone. ‘Yes.’

‘Right. I’ll speak to you Monday. Bye hun, have a great weekend in the Big Apple!’

‘Bye. You too. In London, I mean.’ But she had already hung up. I looked around the apartment, still holding the phone to my ear and softly bit my lip. ‘Bugger me.’

As if Sara’s phone call wasn’t enough to mess with my tiny mind, the tourists on their way to Times Square really didn’t want me to get to my meeting with Mary on time. I’d spent far too long scrubbing at my hair in the shower and troughing Goldfish crackers, watching The View instead of doing any of the things I was supposed to do, and now I was late. I could understand why Alex loved Williamsburg, it was so chilled out, but I was still in love with Manhattan, despite the maddening crowds. The noise, the people, the feeling that anything could happen at any given second. That was what inflated my blood pressure, that was what sent adrenaline surging through me as the streets got narrower, more congested. I loved the neon billboards, the giant Target ads, the garish Hershey store, Bubba Gump’s Shrimp Co, Virgin, Sephora, Toys us. They were just adverts, stores, restaurants, but it was the clicking cameras and the pushing people with the happiest faces you’d ever seen that made the place what it was. And it was amazing to me.

Also amazing, was the hit of the air conditioning when I walked into the Spencer Media building. Bliss. I was late, but sent straight up to Mary’s office and without a lecture and shockingly, given coffee and iced water and, Jesus, a smile, by Cissy, as soon as I stepped over the threshold.

‘Angela Clark, get in here!’ Mary yelled from behind her desk.

‘I’m in,’ I said nervously, balancing the drinks, trying not to spill anything on my bag. ‘Hi, Mary.’

‘So yesterday’s post? Oh my God?’ She was actually grinning. Not a wry smile, not a disappointed frown. A big fat grin. ‘Great writing, Angela, I can’t wait to post it.’

‘So the blog is still going?’ I sighed with relief.

‘Of course it’s still fucking going!’ Mary stood up and gave me a hug that was much bigger than she was. ‘You’re my little success story. Do you know how many emails we’ve had about your column? More than about anything else on the website. Hell, more than most things in the magazine. Everyone at The Look loves your column.’

‘Everyone,’ I said cautiously. I couldn’t tell whether Sara had called yet. ‘I mean, that’s good. Isn’t it?’

‘It’s really fucking good. People love you, Angela, and they love to live vicariously through someone else. They don’t want to run away to another continent and leave everything they’ve ever known, but they love that you’re doing it for them,’ Mary nodded, perching on the edge of her huge desk and pushing me backwards into a seat. I managed to keep the coffee in the cup, but the water went everywhere. Except on my bag. Phew. ‘It’s good for me and it’s really good for you. So I need to put you on a contract.’

‘What?’

‘A. Contract,’ Mary said slowly. ‘We want to keep the blog going long-term, Angela. I won’t make you sign it in blood, but I will make you sign it.’

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

‘A Sara Stevens hasn’t called you from the UK office has she?’ I asked, gulping down the coffee in case Mary felt like taking it away shortly.

‘The UK Look? How do you know about that?’ Mary asked, hopping back behind her desk at lightning speed. ‘That hasn’t even been announced internally yet.’

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

‘Well, they called me today and asked if I would go and work for them. As senior staff writer.’

‘Are you shitting me?’ Mary’s face went from red to white to purple in what seemed like a heartbeat. ‘They tried to poach my fucking writer?’

‘She said it wouldn’t be like poaching …’

‘What else is it exactly? When was this? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Angry Mary was very, very scary.

‘It was just now, literally, like an hour ago,’ I explained hurriedly. ‘Right before this meeting. I didn’t think I should call to talk about it when we were meeting now.’

‘Right. I suppose I should appreciate your coming to tell me face to face, even if those sly London bitches couldn’t be respectful enough to tell me,’ she shook her head. ‘Congratulations Angela, it’s a great opportunity for you and I think you’ll be very good at it. I’m just fucking furious to have found you and then to lose you.’

‘But I haven’t accepted yet, I have until Monday,’ I bleated, jumping up off the leather chair and leaving half my thighs behind. Ouch. ‘I’m not sure I really want to go back to London, or work for Sara.’

Especially work for Sara, I added silently, she’s clearly nuts.

Mary stared over her desk, not speaking. I didn’t know whether or not that was a good thing.

‘Are you serious?’ she said eventually.

‘About?’

‘About not going home and taking up this huge opportunity to risk it all to write a blog in a city that you’ve lived in for three weeks?’

‘Well, when you put it like that, I know it sounds a bit silly.’ I sat back down, trying to pull my Velvet T-shirt dress underneath me.

‘Don’t you want to go back home to London?’ Mary asked.

‘Does it matter what I want?’ I bit my lip hard. ‘I’ve got to go, haven’t I? Everyone keeps telling me.’ Everyone but Alex, I reminded myself unhelpfully.

‘Well, you’re not a US national, so it wouldn’t necessarily be easy,’ Mary stood up and walked back around her desk. She bent down in front of me, forcing me to look at her. I was so embarrassed. ‘But if you wanted to stay, you would always have a job with me.’

‘Really?’ I blinked back a tiny tear before it could make a real break for it.

‘Angela, I’ve been reading your diary for three weeks now, and it’s quite clear that you really don’t know what you want,’ Mary knelt on the floor, one hand on my knee. ‘That’s why people are relating to your blog, they want to be there when you work it out. I don’t know if that’s going to be here in New York, or back in London, but I do know you don’t have for ever to work it out any more.’

‘I know,’ I said, taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes. I really had to pull myself together.

‘You know I’m pissed about the UK team,’ she said, ‘but if you’re planning on going home, you should go now. This really is an amazing opportunity. If you stay here, who knows? The blog isn’t going to pay as much as a staff job, but it will pay. We can help you apply for a visa, but I can’t tell you what will happen after that.’

I stared at the pavement all the way back to the apartment, only just aware of people and cars and any other potential obstructions. Fumbling my keys into the lock, I rolled straight over the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. I had just worked out I was happy, I had just worked out it was definitely Alex, not Tyler, and now this. Jenny would say it was life testing my decisions. My mum would tell me it was fate bringing me home. I would say, enough, have we got any more Ring Dings. And since I was the only person in the room, I went with my option.

Tyler arrived on the dot of seven to find me on my doorstep, juggling brown paper grocery bags, my handbag and my keys. I’d completely forgotten he was coming over in my wallowing, and by the time it hit me, during the Thanksgiving episode of Friends, I had just enough time to run to the food halls in Grand Central station and pick up pasta, sauce and an enormous chocolate cheesecake. I had been planning to pass it all off as my own work, but I’d spent so long internally debating the merits of cheesecake over tarte tartin, I had run out of time.

‘So this is my romantic dinner?’ he smiled, taking the bags from me.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I grimaced, tussling with the door. ‘I had that meeting with my editor, and it was all a bit, eurgh, just a bit much. I was going to cook properly, honest.’

‘Another meeting?’ Tyler followed me through the door and up the stairs. ‘You must have almost as many meetings as me.’

‘Yeah, it’s a long story,’ I said, turning up the next staircase. ‘I dare say you’ll get the pleasure of it over dinner.’

Walking into the apartment together made me realize what a state it was compared to Tyler’s luxury pad. I desperately tried to kick some of the piles of crap under the settee and distract Tyler with the wine he had brought, but I couldn’t find a bottle opener in the kitchen. Naturally, in the apartment of two singlish girls, it was in the living room. I was relieved that Tyler was in a much better mood than when I had bailed on him earlier in the week, but I couldn’t help but feel that wouldn’t last long once I broached the ‘dumping him’ portion of the evening.

We cooked together (I boiled the pasta, he microwaved the sauce) then we sat down at the coffee table, cross-legged on the floor. For a while, we chatted about nothing, Tyler wolfing down his dinner, me pushing it around my plate. I wasn’t really in the mood for the pasta or the conversation, but I was hoping he would leave before we hit the cheesecake. It had me, Jenny and a weepy bottle of wine written all over it.

‘So what was so bad about this meeting today?’ Tyler asked, topping up my drink.

‘I can’t hand on heart say it was bad,’ I said, grinding more black pepper on my uneaten pasta. ‘I’ve been offered a full-time job.’

‘Really?’ he asked, emptying his plate and starting work on mine.

‘Really,’ I nodded. ‘Staff writer on the magazine. On The Look. Only thing is, it’s in London.’

‘But that’s fantastic,’ he said, leaning over for a quick one-armed hug. ‘It’s a real writing job like you wanted. I told you this blog thing would be your big break.’

‘But it’s in London,’ I repeated, watching him pick up his fork and start eating again. ‘I’d have to leave almost right away.’

‘You were always going to have to leave, weren’t you?’ Tyler helped himself to my untouched food. ‘Isn’t it amazing that you have this to go back to?’

‘Well, the web editor said if I stayed then she would always have work for me.’ I couldn’t stop staring at him. He hadn’t even flinched at the idea of me leaving. ‘So I could stay.’

‘But surely you’re not going to,’ he looked up, mid-mouthful. ‘I mean, the webby thing is one thing, but staff writer on a magazine, that’s a real job isn’t it? It’s being a journalist, not just playing at it.’

‘You think the blog is just “playing at” writing?’ I asked. He was making my worries about breaking things off easier every time he opened his mouth.

‘Angela, honey, why are you getting all stressed?’ Tyler asked. Having finished my food and his, he crawled around to my side of the table and held my face in his hands. ‘I think you’re a very talented writer and I think this job is a fantastic opportunity for you. Now, why don’t we go and celebrate?’

For the want of an answer, I let him kiss me, but it was strange. I didn’t feel anything.

‘Tyler, would you still want to see me if I stayed in New York?’ I asked, breaking away.

‘Of course,’ he murmured into my hair, nuzzling my ear.

‘What if I went back to London?’ I asked, pulling away. ‘What if I went back to London but I wanted to keep seeing you. Do the long distance thing. Would you do that?’

‘I don’t know where all this is coming from,’ Tyler said, tensing slightly. ‘We’re having fun, aren’t we?’

‘Apparently you are,’ I said, pushing up off the floor and grabbing the plates off the table. I placed them on the kitchen counter. Maybe it was slightly more of a slam than a place. ‘So if I went back to England this would be over?’

‘Angela,’ Tyler stood up, ‘I don’t know what’s going on here. Aren’t we just supposed to be having a nice dinner?’

‘Yes, supposed to be. I suppose I just didn’t realize this wasn’t important to you at all.’

‘What the …’ he threw his hands in the air. ‘Like you’re serious about me? For fuck’s sake, you’ve been screwing some guy in Brooklyn while you’ve been screwing me, so don’t come over all “is this going anywhere?” with me.’

‘I’ve been …’ I trailed off. He’d been reading the blog. ‘Why didn’t you say anything if it was a problem?’

‘Because it wasn’t a problem.’ Tyler shook his head. ‘You’ve been seeing other people, so what? So have I. I see lots of other girls. Isn’t this what you were looking for when you ran away in the first place?’

‘I don’t know.’ He wasn’t actually wrong. ‘But it’s not what I’m looking for now.’

‘I don’t think you know what you’re looking for,’ he laughed, making for the door. ‘This is why I don’t do relationships, especially psycho rebound girls.’

‘Psycho rebound …’ I repeated. My God I was not going to miss him after all. Such a charmer.

‘You totally got what you were looking for out of this, Angela. You just wanted to fuck some hot guy to make you feel better about getting cheated on. It’s not my fault that you’re too scared to go back to Britain. I do not have time for this emotional “will I won’t I” bullshit.’

‘Emotional bullshit? You think this is emotional bullshit?’ I asked. Before he could escape, I positioned myself squarely between him and the door. ‘All right then, you may as well have all of it. You know what? Yes, I’ve been seeing someone else, but do you know why I kept seeing you?’

He looked away. The ceiling was apparently very interesting.

‘I kept seeing you because I thought you were nice. No, really! How stupid was I? And just so you know, it certainly wasn’t because you’re so good in bed that I couldn’t help myself, because it turns out there are a few things you could learn there.’

That got his attention.

‘Yeah, cause you were faking that,’ he sniffed.

‘One of the benefits of being a “psycho rebound girl”,’ I smirked right back. He didn’t need to know I was lying my arse off. ‘When you’ve been faking it for ten years, you get really fucking good at it.’

He shook his head, his lips set in a thin line. The last time all my frustrations had built up inside me like this, I’d practically ripped his clothes off in the street. Tonight I would settle for just ripping into him.

‘I thought you were charming, a bit cheesy, but basically a nice guy. God, I even felt bad about seeing you and Alex at the same time. Obviously, I didn’t realize you were seeing so very many “other people”. And even though I was going to dump you tonight, yes, I was, I was hoping you would want to be friends. But if my emotional bullshit is too much, you’d better just leave.’

He looked at me, shaking his head. ‘I don’t have to put up with this just to get laid,’ he said, pushing past me, out of the door.

‘And neither do I!’ I yelled after him, slamming the door right behind him.

For a long time after Tyler had gone, I stood completely still, absolutely furious. But I didn’t know who I was more angry at, Tyler or myself. He was right, I had been using him, so why was I so pissed off that he had been doing the same? If I did go back to London, it wouldn’t be Tyler I’d be lying awake at night thinking about. Finally freeing my feet, I picked up my mobile and dialled Alex. I just needed to talk to him.

But he wasn’t there. I couldn’t call Jenny, she was having her big romantic evening with Jeff. I thought about ringing Erin or Vanessa, but I didn’t really feel close enough to them. Instead I did what any confused, angry girl would do when the shops were closed. I opened another bottle of wine, I took the entire chocolate cheesecake out of the fridge, and I sat down in front of the TV. Sod the diet and pray that this season will favour the smock, I thought as I chowed down. By the time I couldn’t force another thing into my mouth, I’d eaten more than half of the cheesecake and drunk the entire bottle of wine. It wasn’t going to feel good in the morning, but the sugar-wine coma I was slipping into felt great at that moment.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I was expecting to be woken by an overwhelming desire to vomit, but instead, it was a loud slam of the door on Saturday morning. I pushed myself up, peering over the back of the settee and praying it wasn’t burglars. Or murderers. Maybe burglars wouldn’t be so bad actually, I thought, cautiously peeping. It was neither. Instead of huge threatening men dressed in black, I saw a tiny, harassed-looking Jenny, dressed in her underwear and a man’s T-shirt. It was an interesting look for her, and one, and this was just a hunch, that was not attached to a happy story.

‘Jenny?’ I started cautiously. ‘You OK?’

‘We broke up,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief. Her eyes were fixed on something in the middle distance only she could see. ‘He dumped me. Again.’

‘What?’ I tried to stretch and move over as she stumbled around the room and collapsed onto the settee. If her fashion forward ensemble wasn’t weird enough, she absolutely reeked of booze. ‘You and Jeff broke up?’

‘He said he loves me but he can’t be with me.’ She screwed her face up, still staring straight ahead. ‘He said every time I leave he’s worried I might cheat again, and he doesn’t think he can live like that.’

‘But he loves you,’ I said, pulling her in for a hug, ‘and you love him.’

‘He says it’s not enough.’ Her voice was getting quieter and quieter. ‘He says he doesn’t trust me.’

‘God, Jenny, I’m sorry,’ I said, pulling her feet up underneath her. She was just like a ragdoll.

‘I thought he was going to ask me to move back in with him.’ She tried a smile. ‘I was so worried about how I was going to tell you I was moving out. But he doesn’t even want to see me, let alone live with me.’

‘But he loves you, it’s obvious to anyone,’ I said, trying to break through to her. I was getting scared by the glassy stare. ‘Maybe he just needs time to realize it.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘He’s had the time. He’s had all the fucking time in the world. I’m the one who’s been sitting here for the last year, my entire life on hold waiting for him to realize how much he needs me.’ A deep, loud sob escaped. ‘I can’t do it any more. I love him so much.’

‘Did you tell him that?’ I asked, relaxing my grip as she began to shake.

‘What do you think?’ she asked, covering her face with her hands. ‘He doesn’t fucking care. It’s all shit! He loves me too much? Fuck, he doesn’t even know what love is. If he did, he wouldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.’

‘I’m starting to think most blokes don’t get it at all,’ I sighed in agreement.

Jenny stared at me. Apparently not the right thing to say.

‘Are you serious?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t sit here and listen to you cry about who you like, who you love, why your ex didn’t love you, again. It’s not all about you sometimes.’

‘That’s not what I was going to say,’ I tried to defend myself, to remember that she didn’t mean it when she got like this. ‘I was just going to say, even when you think they’re good guys, sometimes they’re not. Maybe that’s Jeff too. You’re too good for this Jenny.’

‘Fuck!’ she shouted. ‘There you go! It’s just not true, Angela. We go around talking all this shit about how men are all assholes and we’re poor little women, used and abused, but it’s just not true. Jeff doesn’t love me because I cheated on him. Your ex doesn’t love you because, fuck, I don’t even know, how could he? How can he love someone who doesn’t even like herself?’

‘This wasn’t about Mark,’ I said, standing up to leave. I had to get out of there before I said something I regretted. Before I couldn’t forgive her. ‘I was talking about Tyler actually. He turned out not to be such a nice guy after all.’

‘Who gives a fuck? You were only screwing him because he reminded you of your ex. Oh and yeah, he was really fucking rich,’ she carried on. I turned to watch her empty the remains of my wine into a mug and down it. ‘At least now you can get on with your little “I’m with the band” fantasy.’

‘I’m just not going to listen to this,’ I said, grabbing my bag from by the door. ‘I don’t have to. I don’t know how you dare put yourself across as this great person who really cares, who really wants to help people, when you can’t even help yourself.’

‘Why don’t you just run back home?’ Jenny waved me away. ‘And leave me and Alex and everyone else to our real lives. It’s been fun, but maybe, just maybe, when you get home, you’ll stop trying to be something you’re not. Had you thought about that, Angela? Maybe the reason you couldn’t work out who you wanted to be is because you’re already her. This dumbass indecisive fuck-up of a person is who you are. It’s who we all are, and the sooner you realize that, the better. I’m sick of holding your hand and waiting for you to work it out for yourself.’

I walked out and slammed the door for the second time. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed my phone and dialled.

‘Hello?’

‘Louisa?’

‘Angela?’

I was confused. I’d dialled my mum’s house, not Louisa’s.

‘Where’s my mum?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure I could cope with this.

‘She’s making tea, I just brought the wedding photos around on the way to tennis. I got them yesterday,’ Louisa said.

Just hearing her voice brought it all back. Not the wedding or Mark’s cheating, but my actual life. My twenty-seven years of life. She was having tea with my mum on a Saturday morning, looking at the wedding photos, at me in the wedding photos, as though none of the last three weeks had happened. And I guessed to them, most of it hadn’t.

‘Where are you, Angela?’ Louisa asked. She wasn’t shouting and she didn’t sound angry. ‘Your mum said you’re still in America.’

‘I’m in New York,’ I sat down on the bottom step of the staircase, ‘I’ve been here since …’

‘Gosh, doesn’t it seem like a long time ago,’ Louisa sighed. ‘I wish the honeymoon could have lasted longer …’

‘Louisa,’ I said slowly, ‘aren’t you pissed off with me?’

‘Pissed off with you?’ she asked, sounding shocked. ‘Aren’t you pissed off with me?’

I bit my lip and stared at the doorway, my eyes welling up fast. ‘But I ruined your wedding,’ I gasped, trying not to let the tears go all at once. ‘I am so sorry.’

‘Oh, Angela,’ Louisa sobbed, tears catching in her voice across the line. ‘Is that really what you’ve been thinking for three weeks? I thought you’d be angry with me. I’m the one in the wrong, I should have told you about Mark and that slag Katie as soon as I found out.’

‘Mum said he’s moved in with her,’ I whispered, pulling my knees up. ‘Have you seen him?’

‘I’ve seen them at the tennis club,’ Louisa said reluctantly. ‘But he knows what me and Tim think of him, we’re not exactly sharing a post-match drink. Oh, Angela, please don’t tell me you’ve been out there all on your own thinking I don’t care?’

‘I haven’t been on my own,’ I managed. ‘I’ve been staying with a friend, this girl I met, but I think I’m going to have to come back soon.’

‘Of course you’re coming home,’ Louisa said. Her voice was so familiar, yet it sounded foreign, I’d been immersed in American accents for such a long time now. ‘You can stay with us. We’ll look after you.’

‘I’ve been offered a job, on this new magazine,’ I said, trying to find some strong ground to stand on. ‘I’ve been doing some stuff for the website here, and they’ve offered me a staff writer job.’

‘There you go. It’s not all bad then is it? Why don’t you go and pack your bag and come back. Come back today, I could meet you at the airport tomorrow! I can’t stand thinking of you there, being upset on your own. Please Angela, I just want to know you’re all right. I just want to see you.’

‘I haven’t been on my own,’ I said again, looking out of the door, watching New York buzz by. ‘And I love it here. Honestly, I’ve actually been sort of OK.’

‘You don’t sound it, Angela,’ Louisa sighed. ‘Why don’t you call me when you’ve booked your flight. You know what we need, we need Ben & Jerry’s and Dirty Dancing.’

‘I’ve already done all that, Louisa.’ I shook my head, remembering why I had left in the first place. ‘Things aren’t perfect here, but just coming home won’t make everything better either.

‘Angela, you need your friends, listen to yourself!’ she replied. ‘What Mark did was bloody awful, and we’ll never forgive him for it, but you have to come home sooner or later. You can’t run away for ever.’

‘I don’t think you understand,’ I said, standing up and walking out into the almost fresh air. ‘I’m not running away. I was, when I left, I was, but now I’ve got some real opportunities here. Some really exciting things have happened.’

‘It always seems that way when you’re on holiday,’ Louisa was starting to talk to me as if I were drunk. Or five years old. It was frustrating. ‘But be real Angela, you’ve got to get on with life.’

‘Yes, you’re right,’ I nodded, rounding the corner and looking up at the Chrysler Building. It still broke my heart, it was so beautiful. ‘But coming home wouldn’t be getting on with life, it would be going back to something I was unhappy with.’

‘Angela,’ Louisa was starting to get impatient. ‘I get it, you think you’ve put the Mark-cheating-on-you-thing behind you.’

‘Don’t tell me what I think,’ I said, my voice growing stronger. ‘And yes, Mark is a shit. If I ever see him again, I’m likely to try to castrate him, but what he did to me wasn’t nearly as bad as what I did to myself …’ I could almost hear Alex’s words coming out of my mouth. Fancy that. ‘I hadn’t been happy with him for years. He wouldn’t have looked at someone else if things were good between us. I should have left him, Louisa, but I was too scared. I wasted years of both our lives. Just pissed them away.’

‘But—’ Louisa tried to interrupt, but I wasn’t ready to stop.

‘And in the last three weeks, I feel like I’ve actually been living. Making good decisions, doing good things. If I came back now, what would happen?’

‘You’d be with people who love you and care about you,’ Louisa said. Her voice certainly didn’t sound like that of someone who loved and cared about me. I took a deep breath before I said anything else. Before I could, I heard the call waiting beeping quietly on the line.

‘I have to go, Louisa,’ I said, shielding my eyes and looking back up towards the apartment. I could see Jenny pressed up against the window, looking for me, her phone in her hand. ‘I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, but can you tell Mum I’m OK, and I’ll call on Monday?’

‘Angela, for God’s sake,’ Louisa sounded incredibly cross, ‘you’re living in a dream world. Wake up and come home’

‘I don’t know about that,’ I said, shrugging. ‘But I’ll know by Monday. Love you, Louisa, I’m glad you’re OK.’

Before she could start trying to talk me home again I hung up. Jenny had already rung off, and when I looked up at the window, she had vanished. I wasn’t ready to go back in there just yet, but I wasn’t ready to belly up and go back to London either. I needed somewhere to think.

For an hour I wandered the streets. Down, across, across, up, back down again. I didn’t even realize I’d arrived at the Empire State Building until I walked straight into the queue of people.

‘Watch where you’re bloody going,’ an unnecessarily fat British man tutted and sighed as I backed away with incoherent apologies. ‘Bloody Americans,’ he nodded to his companion, ‘they’re so bloody rude.’

Finding a tiny space outside a pharmacy on the corner of the street, I stared up at the building, but it didn’t offer any easy answers. Just memories forged from countless hours of TV and movie watching, spliced with scenes from my visit with Alex. Feeling choked by the crowd, I shook off the fug and turned on my ballet pump. Uptown. Up and out. For the first fifteen blocks, I thought I was heading to the park, but as I crossed over Fifth and onto Sixth, a different refuge came to mind. Hopefully one where I could fill my head with something other than the hamster wheel of questions that were tracking over and over.

Although it was still fairly quiet, it was a museum after all, MoMA was busier than it had been the last time I’d been there. I paid my $20 and hopped straight on to the escalator, travelling up to the fifth floor. I was surprised at the number of kids running around. Very cool parents, I thought to myself, although secretly wishing the very cool parents would scoop all of them up and take them across the road to FAO Schwarz. Even though there were dozens of people loitering, not one of them uttered a word to me as I sank down against the wall opposite Christina’s World and stared. I didn’t even cry. I just stared, losing myself in every last blade of grass. I ignored the curious whispers, although I did pull a bit of a face when one tit in a cagoule suggested to his girlfriend that I was a performance artist. Was I wearing a bear suit? I just shut it all out, every word of everyone. The people who were there, the people who weren’t. I shut out all of the advice, requested or otherwise, not one of them had told me anything I wanted to hear, but they were all right. Jenny was right, I was a big fuck-up, Louisa was right, I had run away, and Tyler was right, I really didn’t know what I wanted. But it was time to work it out.

An hour or a whole day could have passed before I eventually pushed myself up off the floor, it really didn’t matter. As I wiped away a few sneaky tears that had slipped out unnoticed and pulled my messy hair back into a ponytail, I spotted someone else having a good stare. There, leaning against the escalator, was Alex. He smiled sadly and raised a hand. I froze for a second, and then waved back, not knowing what else to do. He gave me a cool single nod and came over.

‘Hey,’ he said softly.

‘Hey,’ I replied. My voice sounded strange after being silent for so long. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Jenny called Jeff, Jeff called me, I called you, you didn’t answer,’ he said. ‘It’s a big long chain of people calling people until I figured out you might be here.’

‘Oh,’ I nodded. ‘Wait, Jenny called Jeff?’

‘She didn’t have my number, and I guess she thought you might have come over to mine,’ he explained. I couldn’t even begin to think how awful I must look. ‘She was worried about you.’

‘They broke up,’ I said quietly, thinking about how furious Jenny had been. I wished I could go back and try that conversation again. ‘Jenny and Jeff. She’s so upset.’

‘Him too,’ Alex looked at me. ‘I hope they work it out, but it’s hard when you can’t trust the other person.’

‘It’s all anyone seems to be doing, working stuff out. Gets tiring after a while.’

‘It does, but what else are you supposed to do?’ Alex put one hand gently on my shoulder. ‘You want to talk?’

‘Not in here though,’ I said, letting him guide me towards the escalators and outside.

‘So, what’s going on?’ he asked after watching me scratch at a small mark on my jeans for three solid minutes.

‘I’ve been offered a job back in London,’ I said, looking up at him. Seemed like as good a place to start as any. ‘I had a huge row with Jenny and then I called home and had a huge row with my friend there and now, just when I thought I had some idea of what I wanted, I’m sort of back to square one.’

‘Wow, I only saw you yesterday, right?’ he asked. ‘So what do you want to do?’

‘What would you do if you were me?’ I asked, head tipped to one side, trying to read him. He was playing everything pretty close to his chest. ‘If you could go back to your friends and family, have no visa worries and a great job, or you could stay here, where you’re not quite sure of anything.’

‘I can’t make that decision for you,’ Alex said, taking my hands and holding them lightly. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

‘It would if I asked you to.’ I gave him a half-smile, but he didn’t return it.

‘It wouldn’t be fair because I don’t know what you should do,’ he said, squeezing my hand. ‘You know how I feel, but I won’t ask you to stay for me. Besides, it’s not just me, is it? What about this other guy?’

Tell me this isn’t happening, I thought, watching Alex turn away.

‘There is no other guy,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s just you.’

‘I read your blog, Ange, and I just kinda know. Please don’t lie,’ Alex shook his head and slackened his grip on my hands. ‘And Jenny said you’d had this huge row with him? I don’t know Angela, I really like you, but I only just got my head back together, I can’t be in another relationship where I can’t trust the other person. Where I don’t know what’s going to happen.’

‘How can you ever know what’s going to happen?’ I asked, pulling his hands back. ‘But I can honestly tell you there is no other guy. Whatever Jenny might have said, she was so mad at me. Honestly, there was only ever another guy in the tiniest way. And it wasn’t a huge row, I was telling him I didn’t want to see him again. I want to see you. Just you. What did she tell you?’

‘Doesn’t matter. Would you have told me that you had been seeing someone else if I hadn’t fronted you on it?’ he asked. He was smiling now, but it was so, so sad I couldn’t bear it. ‘If I hadn’t had to read about it on your blog?’

‘Oh, God, I wish I’d never even started that thing,’ I groaned. ‘Please, Alex, honestly, it’s just you. I met him before I met you and I just, I was only seeing him because, well, I don’t even know why. The bloody blog, Jenny, Erin … none of it matters. It’s just you. Really and honestly and completely.’

‘OK then,’ he said. His voice was so thick I couldn’t even look at him. ‘What would you do if there was no me, no Jenny, no “other guy”, and you still had the same choice to make entirely on your own? Because that’s what it’s going to have to come down to.’

‘I’m not sure, but I don’t want to be on my own, Alex.’

‘You’re not,’ he said, cupping my cheek with one hand, as the tears starting to track down my face. ‘You’re so not. Do you think Jenny would have put herself through calling Jeff if she didn’t care about you?’

‘No,’ I whispered. ‘But I don’t mean Jenny, do I?’

‘That’s just going to have to have some time,’ he said, after a moment’s pause. ‘I need a little bit more time, and I think you do too. Whatever we might have, I’m pretty sure we shouldn’t be sitting crying about it after only three weeks.’

‘Don’t,’ I stumbled over my words, noticing Jenny loitering. She was still wearing Jeff’s T-shirt, but she had managed to find some jeans before coming out. Thank God. ‘Don’t make it out to be bad.’

‘It’s not bad,’ Alex smiled. ‘It’s good. Really good, you know? Maybe it’s just not right. Not the right time.’

‘Do you think I should go home?’ I asked, willing him not to answer.

‘Maybe,’ he nodded, wiping my tears away with his thumb and leaning in to kiss me. His tears left new slippery tracks down my cheeks. ‘I think you should do what you want to do, what you really want to do. Look, I’m going to go, but I’ll call you. Or you call me when you’ve talked to Jenny?’

I nodded, not wanting to let go of his hand. He wasn’t going to call me. I watched him walk across the courtyard, following him down the street until he was gone.

‘Angela?’ Jenny was the quietest I’d ever known her. She had smudged mascara all around her eyes and her hair was a complete bird’s nest. She looked exactly how I felt. Probably exactly how I looked, actually. ‘Angie?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I whispered as she sat down on the step next to me. ‘I shouldn’t have even mentioned Tyler or anything. I know how much you love Jeff.’

‘Shut up!’ Jenny smiled through a new set of tears. ‘If you don’t stop being so goddamned polite we’re never going to work out as roommates. I absolutely needed to hear what you had to say. Jeff can’t forgive me because I can’t forgive myself, that’s hardly your fault. I should never ever have said any of the things I said to you. And I never meant to say anything to Alex about Tyler, it just all came out at once. I told him he was the one. I would totally understand if you couldn’t forgive me.’

‘Don’t, please just don’t even,’ I said, resting my head on her shoulder. ‘But I think you’re the one that’s been too polite. If you’d just given me a verbal thrashing the first time we’d met, I might never have been in this mess.’

‘So you’re coming home?’ Jenny asked, taking my hand and standing up. Her hands were smaller and softer than Alex’s, but they were just as strong.

‘I’ve been offered a job back in London, Jenny,’ I said soberly. ‘I should just take it, Jenny.’

‘Seriously?’ She sat back down. ‘You would just leave?’

‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ I nodded. ‘It seems like the logical thing. It’s a great job.’

‘You know whatever you want to do, you’re stuck with me now, right?’ Jenny said. ‘You don’t survive two Hurricane Jenny attacks and then get rid of me.’

‘I wouldn’t know what to do without you now,’ I smiled. It was true, I couldn’t imagine her not being in my life. In just three weeks, she was as much a part of me as Louisa.

‘What did Alex say about you leaving?’ she asked.

I tried to smile, to talk, but all I could do was shake my head and let some more tears loose.

Jenny pulled me in close for a tight, long hug. It helped. ‘I don’t think I ate every last crumb of that cheesecake you left in the living room,’ she whispered after a while. ‘Want to go see what’s left?’

I nodded numbly and let her pull me to my feet. Although I managed to stand up, my stomach was still stuck on the step and my heart was so heavy, I thought it might drop out of my chest at any second. Funny how I hadn’t felt this way about Mark, I thought. So this is what it felt like to lose someone.

‘Whatever you decide to do,’ Jenny said, brushing my hair back behind my ears and speaking clearly, as though I might have trouble understanding, ‘it’ll be the right decision, you know that? I didn’t phrase myself too well this morning, but if this confused messy ball of shit is you, then doll, I still think you’re freaking amazing.’

I took her hand and we exited out onto the street. No one stared at us, no one even gave us a second glance. Two weepy girls in last night’s clothes, holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it. If only it was the strangest thing they’d seen on the street that day.

The city was so hot, I started to think New York had frozen the clock until I decided what I was going to do. It was almost nine, and still so light and so unbearably humid, it could have been the middle of the afternoon. But it wasn’t. In the middle of the afternoon I had been sobbing on the steps of MoMA watching Alex walk away from me, and now I was sitting in my windowsill watching Jenny wave up at me on her way to work. It had taken all of my persuasive powers (not something I was renowned for) to convince her I wasn’t going to up and vamoose before she got back, or just throw myself out of the window. At least not without calling her first and giving her a fifteen-minute warning. She’d already skipped out on one shift to come and find me, I didn’t want her to get in any more trouble, but a Ghostbusters/Ghostbusters 2 marathon supplemented with about three pints of Ben & Jerry’s really wouldn’t have gone amiss.

The people below me were literally walking down the street pouring bottles of water over their heads and watching the drops sizzle on the pavement. Even the spire of the Chrysler Building was fuzzed out of focus way up in the heat haze. I was not made for this heat. Or for getting dumped. Or for making many major life-changing decisions in a very short space of time. Next month I was definitely going to try to keep it down to one. Maybe two tops. I really didn’t know what to do. The last few weeks had been amazing, but what was the point in being in New York if it was even harder than being in London?

And how fantastic would it be to go back, to be all super Sex and the City’d up with my fab new wardrobe, my gorgeous handbag and my amazing dream job? I knew in my heart I’d moved on from Mark, I wasn’t afraid of seeing him. Mum and Dad would be, well, they’d like to know where they could find me in case they needed a cat sitter when they went on holiday. And Louisa and I would work everything out. Things would have to be different now. I was different.

‘I’d be completely mad,’ I whispered to myself. ‘If I don’t do this, I’m completely mad.’

I peeled my thighs off the windowsill, leaving several layers of sunburned skin behind, and began the search for my passport. It wasn’t in my (fabulous) handbag and it wasn’t at the back of my bedside drawer. There was only one other place I could think of. Kneeling down, I pulled my travel bag out from under the bed. All that was in there was my passport, my old handbag and a screwed-up hunk of coffee-coloured taffeta.

My bridesmaid’s dress.

I dragged it out into the light and held it up in front of me. Having done nothing but eat for the last three weeks, it looked tiny. For the first time in months, I had no idea what I weighed. Jenny didn’t believe in scales, they had a ‘negative impact on her self-esteem’, and all my new clothes were so fabulously smocky. Couldn’t hurt to try it? Even if going back to London feeling like a porker would take the shine off my triumphant return.

The fabric was cold against my sticky skin and the bodice felt uncomfortable, as if it had been rinsed out with wallpaper paste, but it wasn’t as tight as I had expected. In fact, it wasn’t tight at all. Apparently you can do all the eating as long as you’re doing all the walking around New York and all the shagging of the hot boys. After stumbling over the hem twice and actually going the full length of the room once, I slipped on my Louboutins and teetered over to the mirror, pulled my hair back from my face and held it up into a tight chignon. My eyes were still red and swollen, the dress all scrunched up. It wasn’t a good look, but it was a familiar one. All that was missing was my engagement ring, and I really wouldn’t want to put that on again, given where I had left it.

Jenny had stuck photographs from the last couple of weeks all around my mirror to ‘help me live in the now’. My after photos from Rapture, when Gina had transformed my hair. Me, Jenny and Erin at karaoke. The photo Jenny had snapped of me and Alex at his gig. But the girl in those pictures wasn’t the same girl looking back at me right now. The girl looking back at me was Angela Clark from a month ago. It was the Angela Clark who had slept in this dress and woken up sobbing every twenty minutes. It was the Angela Clark who ran as far away as possible when things got hard. But that was all that I remembered about her. Did I really, honestly want to go back?

The Angela in the photos looked happy. Yes, she was a little bit drunk, but she was happy and healthy and she had pretty good eye make-up. And in the post-haircut photo, she looked positively ecstatic. I pulled down the photo of me and Alex and tossed it onto the floor. No point making myself more miserable by leaving it up there. Nope, even without the hot boy pictures, this girl was much happier.

I wriggled out of the bridesmaid dress and shuffled it across the room and into the bin with my gorgeously shod feet. It felt good to be out of that dress. It felt weird to be in my underwear and Louboutins. Pulling on a T-shirt so as not to scare passing pedestrians, I tottered back to the window. The glass was cool against my fingertips even if the weather was scorching. Everything should still be so exciting and new, the steamy sidewalks, the psychic who hovered outside Scottie’s Diner, the twenty-four-hour deli below us, but all I could think was that we were out of milk. Completely random thought, but completely comforting. Before I knew it, I realized my face wasn’t wet from the lack of air con in the apartment, but because I’d started crying. Crying at the thought of never going to get milk from the twenty-four-hour deli again. Well Angela, I thought to myself, wiping the tears away, well done, you’ve reached a new and pathetic low. You’re crying over milk, and it’s not even spilt. It’s not even bought yet.

I bent down to slip off my shoes, and spotted the picture of me and Alex peeking out from under the bed. Looking at it now, even I was surprised by the expression in my eyes. Looked a lot like love. Alex was beautiful, even in a guerilla shot taken precisely two minutes after he had come off stage. Couldn’t help but notice he looked pretty happy too.

I was already finding it hard to picture Mark clearly. I might have been living with him just three weeks ago, but I hadn’t looked at him for months. I could close my eyes right now and see every strand of Alex’s hair. Taste that insanely strong coffee on his breath. Hear him singing to himself in another room. Feel the callouses on his fingers against my skin. But he was gone. And maybe so was the Angela in the other photos.

So I wouldn’t be Mark’s Angela if I went back to London, and I couldn’t be Alex’s Angela if I stayed in New York. But I could be someone new. Someone I didn’t know yet. And I could go and get the milk. It was a start.

‘I am completely mad,’ I whispered out of the window. ‘Completely, bloody mad.’

EPILOGUE

It had been snowing solidly for three days, and New York was tucked in under a beautiful sheet of thick white snow. Each day, the city turned out and turned the snow into slush. And each evening, a new blanket was laid out. Criss-crossing the streets and avenues, drifting up the park, icing the skyscrapers. To a new New Yorker, it was breathtaking. But as pretty as the snow might be, it was a shock. After a mild Christmas full of strappy dresses and parties, January was terrifying. And they said it was cold up north.

I sat at my desk tapping away, in jeans, a hoodie, fingerless gloves and Ugg boots.

Inside.

With the heating on full.

It hardly made it easy to write an article about feeling frisky in spring time. Luckily, the DHL man was in cahoots with my procrastination and rang the doorbell as I apple-A, apple-Z’d the whole thing.

‘Wouldn’t fit in the box,’ he said, handing over a wide flat package in a yellow plastic bag, ‘but it says urgent on it.’

‘Thank you,’ I smiled, snatching up the package and ripping it open. There it was, the first ever UK edition of The Look. I gazed at the front cover for a moment. With shaky (and not just from the cold) hands, I turned to the staff page.

There I was.

My name, my picture and my title.

Angela Clark, editor-at-large, New York

‘Is it here?’ Jenny wailed from the bathroom. She came running out, toothbrush in her hand, wearing only a towel. ‘Is that the magazine?’

‘It is,’ I held it back at a safe distance, ‘and you’re not touching it until you’re dry.’

‘What, you’ve got like twenty copies,’ she gestured to the other three magazines in the plastic bag. ‘Shit, look at you! You’re so my hero, doll.’

‘Come on,’ I said, taking the spare copies and stashing them on a shelf next to the US edition of The Look in which my columns had already featured. ‘You’re going to be late for work.’

‘And you’re never going to get that spring fling piece to that psycho Brit bitch if you don’t do it today,’ she reminded me needlessly. ‘Did your mom see it yet?’

‘They’re still on the Christmas cruise.’ I closed up my laptop and slipped it into my (slightly battered but still amazing) Marc Jacobs bag. ‘They won’t be back for a couple of weeks.’

‘She’s gonna freak when she sees you in a magazine!’ Jenny danced around the living room in her towel. ‘Last time we talked, she was so excited for you.’

‘I can’t even begin to tell you how uncomfortable I am with the fact that you two have weekly chats,’ I smiled, taking off my hoodie, layering up several T-shirts and finishing up with my coat. ‘How is the life coaching going?’

‘She’s my best client since you. Seriously, if you would talk to your parents without my having to start the call every week, I wouldn’t have to know about Avon’s special offers and Anne-next-door’s curry night, would I?’

‘We talk.’ I sighed, throwing underwear at Jenny. Our weekly Sunday evening phone calls home had become a ritual for Jenny and I, whether I liked it or not. ‘I just don’t think I need to talk to my mother every time you speak to yours. It’s not a requirement of my visa. Now get your knickers on, Lopez. We’re leaving.’

We walked arm-in-arm, trying not to slip in the snow, all the way down to The Union, where I hugged Jenny goodbye and left her at the door. Union Square Park looked picture perfect in the snow, but it was too cold to go and sit right now. Every time I went outside at the moment I remembered Alex’s promise to take me back up the Empire State Building to see the city in the snow.

No, bad Angela, I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him. I turned left and tiptoed down to the music shop on the corner, hoping some new CDs might inspire me to go home and get it on with my laptop. God knows I hadn’t got it on with anyone else in months. As I passed through the security gates, I beeped loudly, attracting the attention of the guard, but I smiled, holding up my mobile phone.

‘Just a text message,’ I said. He smiled back, but he also followed me into the store.

Just got my copy of The Look. I’m so proud of you! Louisa

x x x

I re-read the message a few times until I had burned it onto my retinas, then I stashed my phone back in my pocket overly dramatically for the security guard’s benefit.

I browsed contentedly for a few moments. I’d been sort of out of the music loop since the summer, all part of my Alex Reid cold turkey programme prescribed by Dr Jenny Lopez. I hadn’t called Alex and he hadn’t called me. As much as I knew he was right, that it was all too much too soon, I really didn’t think I could face bumping into him at a gig, with some skinny hipster girl on his arm and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to do the ‘let’s just be friends’ nonsense. What I hadn’t reckoned on was bumping into him right there and then. I froze, my heart lodged in my throat. There he was, staring back at me, slight smile on his face, hair perfectly dishevelled, his green, green eyes staring right into mine. It was a great photo. I picked up the magazine and flicked to the interview without thinking. Quickly, I paid at the counter and abandoned my CD mission, heading for Starbucks. Before I could cross the road, thinking I would go and say hello to Johnny, I realized I was opposite Max Brenner’s. I looked down at the picture of Alex on the magazine and across to the hot chocolate Mecca.

Running across the road and dashing into the wonderfully warm restaurant, I flipped through the pages. For half a second, I looked around, wondering if he would be there. Of course he wasn’t, why would he be? It was eleven-thirty on a Monday morning in January. He would still be in bed or in the studio or … I shook my head and smiled at the hostess, yes, table for one. Thinking about Alex wasn’t getting me anywhere. Not thinking about him had been getting me along quite nicely, and it had taken a good month of cold turkey (Jenny had confiscated my iPod and CDs and deleted my Stills albums from my iTunes) before I could even get through a day without wondering what he might be up to. Once my hot chocolate arrived, I grasped my mug gratefully and sipped the thick chocolaty soup, opening up the interview. I skipped through their art school beginnings, the first two albums achieving critical acclaim. Like every other underappreciated New York band, they had a huge UK following. Slight exaggeration, I thought, but I’ll let it go. But now they were releasing their third album. I put down my drink and read on. It was a more deconstructed sound, the sound of a band that had stripped themselves apart and put themselves back together again.

‘“If it sounds that way, it’s because that’s what it’s about,” says lead singer, Alex Reid.’ I whispered out loud to myself. ‘“The album was written really quickly and recorded in a couple of weeks. It’s just what we were going through as a band, some stuff I was going through personally. It’s about what happens when you have your whole life pulled out from underneath you and how you go about working out your place in the world again. I think pretty much everyone can relate to that.”’

I pushed the magazine across the table, closing it and turning it over. He hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. I’d thought about it, a million times. I even thought I’d seen him at a welcome back party we threw for Gina at some hip club on the Lower East Side before she upped and left for Paris permanently. I tucked the magazine into my bag, knowing I should just throw it away. But I was so proud of him. His face peered out of my bag, next to my copy of The Look UK. He would be so proud of me.

I took a deep breath and rustled my phone out of my pocket. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of five months of aversion therapy, I dialled.

‘Hello?’ he answered on the first ring.

‘Hey,’ I said softly, thrown by his voice. ‘Alex?’

‘Angela?’ he asked. He sounded sleepy.

‘Yep,’ I smiled. When was I going to learn to think about what I was going to say on the phone before I called people? ‘I was just thinking about what you said? About seeing the city when it snowed. And I saw the interview. About the new album.’

‘Interview? Snow?’ he yawned. ‘Angela, are you in New York?’

‘Yes,’ I said, hopefully. ‘Actually, I’m in Max Brenner’s. I was thinking about – about, well, you.’

‘You were?’ he asked. I hoped I could hear a smile in his voice.

‘I wondered if you fancied a hot chocolate?’ I asked, crossing as many of my fingers as gripping my phone would allow.

‘Uhh,’ he paused for half a moment. ‘Angela?’

‘Yes?’ I said. Please don’t hang up, I prayed silently.

‘You took a really long time to call me,’ he said. ‘But I’m really glad you did.’

‘Me too,’ I said happily. ‘Now get your arse out of bed and come meet me.’

I hung up and put my phone in my bag, taking out The Look. I opened it on my page and looked at the intro.

The Adventures of Angela. Twenty-something ex-Londoner, Angela Clark, guides us through life and love, finding friends and finding her way in the Big Apple.

It wasn’t a very complete description, I thought, but at least it was somewhere to start.

I HEART HOLLYWOOD

CHAPTER ONE

The wedding was perfect.

Just ten people at City Hall, no hymns, no readings, no fuss; and then over to Alta in the West Village for the reception. Tiny candles flickered in the faces of my favourite people: Jenny, Vanessa, Erin. And Alex. God, he looked pretty in a suit. I made a mental note to get that boy a three-piece more often. Like maybe at our wedding … no, bad Angela, too soon to even think it. Dum-dum-dee-dum …

‘So you don’t think I’m making a ridiculous mistake?’ Erin whispered over my shoulder, bringing me back with a bump. ‘I mean, it can’t be six months since I was telling you I would never get married again.’

I shook my head. ‘Not at all.’ I glanced over at the new Mr Erin, or Thomas as he was known to his friends. Or ‘that mad hot piece of ass’ as he was known to Jenny. ‘You wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t absolutely the right thing to do.’

‘Uh, which it totally is. Hello?’ Jenny Lopez swung in and planted a great big kiss on the bride, smudging Mac Ruby Woo lipstick all over her face. ‘He’s a super-hot, super-rich lawyer and super in love with you. I’m pretty sure they are the main three factors to take into consideration before you hitch your wagon. Plus, wow, classiest wagon ever. Even better than your last wedding. And way better than the one before that.’

‘My God, you are so rude,’ Erin playfully slapped Jenny’s mass of chocolate brown curls. ‘But you’re right. I couldn’t not marry him. He’s so sweet.’

‘Yeah, sweet. I’m totally only getting married when the guy can rent out my favourite restaurant for an entire Saturday evening.’ Jenny sighed and sank a full flute of champagne. ‘Doesn’t Thomas have any single friends? And I do mean, single, rich lawyer friends?’

I couldn’t stop smiling. The last wedding I’d been to hadn’t been such a roaring success. I had started the day as a blushing bridesmaid with a devoted fiancé and ended up a high-heel-wielding hand-breaker, whose devoted fiancé was at it with some tart in the back of their Range Rover.

After leaving everyone in the wedding party in tears and/or hospital, I had hotfooted it over to New York only to be taken in by Jenny: an entire family, best friend and therapist all in one. It hadn’t been a walk in Central Park but I’d found my way eventually. A job blogging for The Look magazine, great friends, an actual life, all the things that had been missing for so long. As a hand slid around my waist and pulled me close, I was reminded of the other thing I’d found in New York: Alex Reid.

‘So this is the nicest wedding I think I’ve ever been to,’ he gently pressed his lips against my skin. ‘And I have the hottest date here.’

‘Firstly, there are only eight girls in the entire wedding and secondly, it’s still not even true,’ I said, turning to brush Alex’s long black fringe out of his eyes. ‘Erin looks stunning, Jenny is ridiculously pretty in that dress and Vanessa—’

‘Will you please just take the compliment?’ Alex shook his head. ‘And I don’t care what you say, there’s not a girl in the whole city that could compare with you right now.’

I wrinkled my nose and accepted a kiss, silently thanking my lucky stars. We’d met just after I had arrived in New York and got far too serious, far too quickly. He had put the brakes on and I had spent six months cooling my heels, pretending I wasn’t ready to start dating but really wondering when it would be OK to call him. Eventually, I’d picked up the phone, cashed in all my karma chips and, thank God, Buddha and Marc Jacobs, he’d answered. Now I was just trying to have fun and ignore the constant burning feeling in my stomach, that this was it, that Alex was the one. There was no way I wanted a repeat performance of last time. I’d spent ten years with my ex and not once, not for a moment, had I felt so scared to lose him as I did when I lay wide awake at night, watching Alex sleep.

For the last two months, he had been the most attentive, thoughtful, heartbreakingly wonderful boyfriend I could ever have imagined. He bought me little gifts, like the beautiful sunflower, my favourite flower, he’d brought to pin to my olive green Cynthia Rowley shift for the wedding. He surprised me with indoor picnics when I was on deadline, ran out to pick up breakfast before I woke up and even trekked all the way over from Brooklyn to Manhattan with the handbag and keys I’d left at his apartment as well as a huge hangover-friendly pizza when Jenny and I had both managed to lock ourselves out of our place at three a.m. We never did find out where Jenny had left the keys … But, most impressively, when I’d drunk far too much at a wine tasting I was supposed to review for The Look, he’d held my hair back while I threw up. Outside a very fancy restaurant. While everyone was watching. On his shoes.

And it wasn’t just that Alex was competing for the title of World’s Best Boyfriend, there was also the little fact that he was also a total rock god to take into consideration. His band had released their third album while we were on our ‘break’ and, despite a little commercial and a lot of critical success, he was still being a complete angel. While Jenny was loudly insisting that he should be out snorting coke out of groupies’ belly buttons, Alex was lying watching America’s Next Top Model, eating Chinese takeout on our sofa.

I peered up and down the table as we sat down for dinner and couldn’t remember a time I’d felt so happy or so at peace with myself. So what if these weren’t the people I’d grown up with, or the people that had taught me to ride a bike? They were the people that had taught me to ride the subway and to stand on my own two feet. Or at least how to get back on them after I fell on my arse, drunk.

‘Hey, how much does she make you want to puke?’ Jenny nudged me. ‘How come she’s been married, like, seven times and I can’t even get laid.’

‘I was just having a lovely quiet moment, thinking how lucky I am to have found such amazing friends,’ I tapped Jenny’s hand. ‘And then you go and ruin it.’

‘Aww, you love me,’ Jenny leaned her head on my shoulder and chucked me under the chin. ‘And you know I love you too. But seriously, I’m going to cry. If you and Brooklyn over there think you’re getting married before me you’re so wrong.’

‘Jenny!’ I looked over at Alex but he was giving one of Thomas’s investment banker friends his very best listening face. ‘Shut it. We’ve been together for about two minutes. You’ll jinx it.’

‘Not possible honey.’ Jenny swept her hand over the candle in front of her. ‘How many nights have you spent apart since you got back together? Three? Four tops. He is totally into you. And I know you’ve got the wedding march on replay in your head. I will bet you anything that you have a ring on your finger inside the year. You want me to direct him to some of the more tasteful options? I know he’s all, like, ‘creative’ but you have to get something you can wear for the rest of your life.’

I combed down my long light brown fringe nervously. ‘Seriously, stop it. We’re taking things slowly and you know it.’

Jenny smiled. ‘I know but it’s totally obvious. And you know that I’m really pleased for you, it’s awesome. But Angie, we have to get me laid. It’s been like six months, for crying out loud. Oh, thank God, food.’

‘Yes, because I really feel like eating right now,’ I muttered.

Dinner passed by altogether too quickly, the food amazing but not soaking up the champagne as quickly as I would have liked. A sausage roll and chicken drumstick would really have helped, but this was a classy New York function, not a Clark family knees-up. As dinner turned into speeches and speeches turned into drinks, I excused myself from a fascinating research analyst who almost passed out when I told him I didn’t have a pension, and went to look for people I actually wanted to talk to. Erin and Vanessa were busy fulfilling bride and bridesmaid duties at the door, Jenny was giving several of Thomas’s friends her best nodding and smiling while Alex was presumably hiding from the same people in the bathroom. He could dress up in a suit and comb down his messy black hair but he couldn’t hide the look in his eyes when Thomas and his friends started discussing stocks and shares. Without anyone to protect me from the same death by conversation, I vanished up to the balcony to hide.

‘You planning on spying on people too?’ Alex asked as I rounded the top of the stairs. He was leaning over the banister, nursing a champagne flute, his tie and collar loosened.

‘So this is where you’ve been hiding,’ I took a sip from his glass. Well, one more couldn’t hurt. ‘I thought maybe you’d left with your new boyfriend from dinner.’

‘Yeah, I think we’ve hit it off. You know I’ve always been fascinated by high-yield bonds.’

‘I knew the band was a front. So who are we spying on?’

He pointed down towards the makeshift bar at the back of the restaurant. ‘Well, it was you but then you vanished, so mostly Jenny. Just trying to work out who her target is this evening.’

I spotted her immediately, leaning against the bar, all glossy curls and red pout. She sipped on a clear cocktail and checked her nails, ignoring the guy standing next to her, who was awkwardly trying to attract her attention with a weak cough and terrified smile.

‘Looks like she’s over Jeff at last,’ Alex nodded.

‘Looks like,’ I frowned. ‘But I don’t really know. One minute she’s all “I want to get laid, I want to get laid”, but then she’s sat at home every night watching Nanny 911. See? It’s like he isn’t even there.’

‘Maybe she’s just choosy?’ Alex suggested as the hapless banker gave up and moved on to Vanessa. ‘Or maybe she just really likes Nanny 911?’

‘Well, yes she does and she ought to be choosy, she’s gorgeous, but it’s more than that,’ I said. ‘I don’t know. She goes out, she meets men, they give her their numbers and she never calls. And then at the same time she’s rattling on all the time about how she’s not getting any. I just don’t know what to do for the best. I know she’s hung up on Jeff still but it’s the one thing she absolutely will not talk about. Sober.’

‘Does she still think they’ll get back together?’ Alex leaned his head against mine.

I shrugged and pouted. The official line was that she was totally over her ex, but the unofficial, drunk-at-two-a.m. line was, ‘I’ll never get over him as long as I live, he’s my soul mate.’ But I had a feeling that wasn’t something she wanted to share with Alex.

‘So I don’t tell her that some blonde moved in with him yesterday?’ he asked. ‘Sorry I didn’t say anything earlier. I totally forgot.’

‘Seriously?’

Alex nodded.

The fact that he had refused to sell his apartment just because it was in the same building as Jenny’s ex was usually reason enough for her to decide she wasn’t talking to him for days at a time, so it seemed to make sense to keep this little bit of information to myself. ‘No, she cannot find out about that. She’d probably take to her bed for a month.’

‘Sounds fun,’ he smiled, one hand sliding up my back, the other holding fast to the balcony. ‘Can we do that now please?’

I looked up into Alex’s ridiculously green eyes, his fringe catching in my eyelashes as he dropped his face to mine for a long kiss. His body was warm against the thin silk of my dress and the balcony pressed into the small of my back. I felt my clutch slip out of my fingers and drop, not sure if it had fallen over the balcony, not sure if I cared.

‘I should probably leave soon,’ I said, my voice catching as Alex ran his hand down the back of my neck, curling the hair at the nape around his long fingers. ‘I have a meeting with Mary at nine.’

‘So my place is closer by subway, yours by cab.’ Alex’s eyes were dark and dilated, his breath quick. ‘And I don’t think people on the subway would be OK with what I have planned.’

‘Cab then,’ I smoothed down my dress and scooped up the bag. Thank God it hadn’t actually gone over the edge and bashed anyone. I’d assaulted enough people at weddings in my time. ‘Have to say, didn’t think you’d be the sort of bloke to get turned on by weddings.’

‘What sort of “bloke” did you think I was?’ Alex smiled. ‘And it’s not so much weddings as you. Now get your ass in a cab.’

CHAPTER TWO

The next morning was grey and cold, just like every morning had been since the end of November. The hardwood floor in my bedroom felt like ice as I gingerly poked my toes out of the bed and felt around for my slippers. I knew it was stupid not to wear my giant bed socks when Alex stayed over, but we hadn’t been together that long, I just didn’t think he was ready for it and so I suffered. Like an idiot.

March was the opposite of July. I’d sweltered from the moment I stepped off the plane but now I sometimes wondered if I’d ever be warm again. Hot and sticky summer had given way to a cool and crisp autumn, which was all too quickly overtaken by subzero temperatures and snow storms. As pretty as three feet of snow was, I had learned already that it was a) not a rarity in the city and b) not a good thing. When it snowed at home, everything stopped. My mum waited until the gritter had been around the streets, then trekked up to the shops in her wellies, walking in the road, to buy unnecessary quantities of canned food and eight pints of milk that would go off before she could force my dad to drink them all to avoid them going off. When it really snowed in New York, the roads jammed and the subway stopped but life didn’t. And walking in the bitter winds with a face full of sleet did not make it easy to lead the glamorous life that my family in England might have imagined me living. Although that could also be because my emails and phone calls rarely mentioned the fact that I’d been walking around with a Rudolph-red nose, bundled up like the Michelin man for months.

I flicked at the curtain to check the state of the streets. At least it hadn’t snowed in the night, but the sky looked grey and threatening and, below, people dashed backwards and forwards, bundled up for an arctic expedition.

‘What time is it?’ croaked Alex, rolling towards me and pulling the curtain back across the window.

‘Seven-thirty,’ I sighed, allowing him to pull me back into bed, my feet disappearing under the quilt. Alex was like my very own human hot-water bottle. No matter how cold the apartment was, he was always like a furnace. Aside from the obvious, it was one of my favourite reasons to have him in bed with me. ‘And as much as I don’t want to, I really do have to get up.’

‘See, I go around telling people how awesome it is having a writer for a girlfriend,’ Alex grumbled as I pulled away again, ‘because she doesn’t have to be in an office at nine a.m. every day. And here you are, at seven-thirty …’

‘I can’t help it,’ I said, wriggling away from him and braving the icy floorboards again. I pulled on my giant fleecy dressing gown and looked back at him, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, the covers up around his nose. ‘Do you really tell people your girlfriend is a writer?’

‘Mmm,’ Alex rolled himself over under the covers, hiding his head as I flicked on a lamp. ‘What else am I supposed to tell them? You’re a British refugee who can’t go home because you broke some guy’s hand?’

‘Arse,’ I grabbed a towel off the radiator, heading into the bathroom. ‘You can tell people whatever you want.’ As long as you tell them I’m your girlfriend, I added silently with a great big smile.

The Spencer Media building was on Times Square, one of my least favourite places in all of Manhattan. Even today, on a frigid Monday in March at eight-fifty in the morning, the streets were pulsing with tourists, clutching their Starbucks and digital cameras with inadequate knitted mittens. I had never thought I’d consider a North Face padded coat a necessity, but then I’d never tried to live through January in New York with nothing but a pretty Marc by Marc Jacobs swing coat and a feeble H&M leather jacket. Never, ever in my entire life had I been so bloody cold. Now I understood the need to forgo my newfound interest in fashion and put on As Many Layers As Humanly Possible before I left the apartment. It was insane.

I pushed past a group of school kids taking it in turns to snap shots of the group, one switching in, one switching out to take over photographer duties, and wondered exactly how many tourists’ pictures I had managed to land in since I started working for The Look. There were probably millions of shots of a disgruntled-looking girl tutting and sighing in the background all over Facebook.

The views from Mary’s forty-second floor office almost made the trekking across Times Square worth it. The higher up I got, the more amazing New York looked to me. At ground level I could sometimes forget where I was – H&M here, HSBC there?– but up in the office, surrounded by skyscrapers, watching the rivers sweeping around the island, I couldn’t be anywhere else but Manhattan.

‘Mary’s been waiting for you,’ an uninterested voice came from behind a huge computer monitor as I tried to locate the group of kids below.

‘Aren’t I early?’ I asked the monitor. Mary’s assistant, Cici, had never been my biggest fan but she usually gave me the courtesy of a dirty look. Unfortunately I was wearing so many layers, I couldn’t find my watch, and Spencer Media was a little like Vegas, they didn’t bother with clocks, presumably so their staff wouldn’t realize how late they were working. Not many days went by when I didn’t get emails from Mary and the other editors at nine, ten in the evening.

‘Mary gets in at seven, your meeting was due to start at nine.’ She stood up and swept around the desk. I couldn’t help but hope she must have some really, really warm clothes to change into. Her teeny tiny bottom was squeezed into a skater skirt that just about covered her stocking tops and it didn’t look as if she had any thermals on under the gauzy, pussy-bow blouse that topped it off. In fact, it didn’t look as if she had anything under it. Oh my. ‘It’s now three after nine. You’re late.’

Was it right for a PA to make me feel like a naughty sixth-former?

‘Angela Clark is finally here,’ Cici purred ahead of me as we passed though Mary’s big glass doors. ‘Can I get you anything, boss?’

‘More coffee, and do you want anything?’ Mary was wearing her standard uniform of skinny jeans, cashmere sweater and steely grey bob, but something about her was different. I realized she was smiling. This had to be a good start.

‘I would love a coffee.’ I tried a small smile at the assistant who huffed a little and flounced off. ‘How are you, Mary?’

‘Good, you?’ She leaned across her desk and didn’t wait for a reply. ‘I have a treat for you. You’re going to love me.’

‘Sounds good.’ I began to disrobe. Gloves, scarf, coat. ‘I like treats.’

‘Well, you know everyone here loves your blog.’ Mary templed her fingers under her chin and smiled back. I had been writing an online diary for TheLook.com since I’d arrived in New York, thanks to Jenny’s amazingly well-connected friend Erin and my complete lack of shame at spilling the details of my private life all over the internet. And to humour my journalistic ambitions, my editor occasionally threw me the odd book and music review for the magazine when they needed an extra hand. But the most exciting part of it all for me was my column in the UK edition, much to my mother’s disgust. She didn’t like that Susan in the post office knew what I was up to before she did. ‘We have a new project for you. How do you feel about branching out?’

‘Branching out?’ I paused in my outerwear removal. This sounded an awful lot like a firing. ‘Branching out from The Look?’

‘No, not at all,’ Mary nodded thanks as Cici arrived with her coffee. I looked up hopefully. No coffee for Angela. I was definitely being fired. ‘This is it, Angela, your big break. An interview has come up and we want you to do it.’

‘I’ve never interviewed anyone before,’ I said slowly, not wanting to jinx anything.

‘Sure you have, you interview people all the time.’ The very fact that Mary couldn’t look at me proved she didn’t even believe herself. What was going on?

‘I have asked questions of the fourth runner-up of America’s Next Top Model cycle eight and waited in the queue for the toilets with an Olsen twin. They aren’t interviews, Mary,’ I said. ‘Don’t you have loads of writers that –?you know – specialize in interviewing?’

‘We do,’ Mary said, looking up and staring me out. ‘But this one is yours. Are you telling me you don’t want to do it?’

Miraculously, a steaming coffee appeared in front of me, but Cici had turned on her heel before I could say thanks. Baby steps, I thought to myself.

I took a deep breath. Of course I wanted to do an interview. How hard could it be to ask some random a few questions? ‘Of course I want to. It’ll be great. I’ll be great. I’ll manage. I’ll try.’

‘No try here, Angela.’ Mary pushed her frameless glasses up her nose. ‘This is a biggie. One week in LA with James Jacobs.’

‘James Jacobs? The actor?’ I asked, sipping tiny scorching gulps. ‘Me?’

‘Yes you,’ Mary leaned back a little in her chair. ‘And yes, the actor. The very hot British actor.’

‘You want me to interview him for the website?’

‘Not quite,’ she replied. ‘It’s for the magazine.’

‘You want me to interview James Jacobs for the magazine?’ I wondered if I’d slipped and cracked my head on the shower this morning. That would explain why I thought Mary was suggesting I should interview this very hot British actor.

‘That’s right,’ she carried on. ‘You go to LA, you bond over being British, talk about, I don’t know tea and crumpets, and you get the inside scoop. He hasn’t done an awful lot of press but apparently he really wants to do this. Let his female fans in on the “real him” or some other shit.’

‘From what I’ve heard, he’s already let rather a lot of female fans in.’ I pulled off my last jumper, hot and flustered all of a sudden. ‘Isn’t he a bit of a slag?’

‘If you mean, has he been “linked with several Hollywood starlets”, then yes.’ Mary made bunny ears around the quote. She typed something into her Mac at super speed, then swivelled the monitor to face me. ‘But this is what we want to get past. His team are worried that all this “attention” could create a negative vibe with his female audience.’

The screen showed a Google image search. James Jacobs was tall, broad and athletic and there was no denying he looked good in a pair of swimming trunks. His dark blue eyes and damp, dark brown curls just added to the overall ‘Abercrombie at play’ look.

‘Doesn’t look very British to me,’ I commented, taking the mouse and clicking through a few more pictures. ‘Where’s he from again?’

‘Uh, his Wikipedia entry says London.’ Mary took the mouse back and flicked through to what was obviously her favourite shot, halfway down the page, James staring directly at me, dark brown hair tickling his cheekbones, bow tie loose, top two buttons of his shirt undone. ‘So you fly on Saturday.’

‘Sorry, what?’ I snapped back from the pretty pictures and looked at Mary. She had her, ‘I’m really not kidding’ face on. Not a favourite of mine. ‘But, it’s Monday?’

‘Which gives you almost a whole week to prep.’ Mary started to click at other things on her screen. A sure-fire sign that the meeting was all but over. ‘So, Cici will book your flights, your car, hotel and organize all the other stuff. Cash, credit card, BlackBerry, whatever.’

‘But, seriously, is this a good idea? Maybe I don’t have the experience for this. I’m not a professional interviewer, I’m a talker at best –?and, when I’m lucky, people talk back. That’s really not a qualification.’ I leaned over the desk. Was Mary not feeling well? ‘And I’ve never been to LA before. What, I mean is, really, this doesn’t make that much sense, surely?’

‘Look, Angela,’ Mary’s eyes flickered across her screen. ‘Here’s the thing. I’m not supposed to tell you but they asked for you.’

‘What?’

‘Hey, I’m as surprised as anyone else.’ Mary pulled a face. ‘Not that I don’t think you’re great but, like you said, you’re not a professional interviewer: we both know that. But James’s people wouldn’t have anyone else. It was the only condition of the interview.’

I didn’t know what to say. What could I possibly have done that could attract the attention of James Jacobs’s ‘people’? I didn’t think they would have been that impressed with my critically acclaimed series on which Manhattan department store was the best to hit for a free makeover before you went out (Bloomingdale’s, Soho).

‘If you’re not going to do it, just say,’ Mary went on. ‘The entertainment team on the magazine are already incredibly pissed off. They can get someone else like that—’

‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘It’s not that. I absolutely want to do it. It’s amazing. I just – I just don’t get it.’

‘Me either.’ Mary really didn’t believe in sugar-coating anything. Even when I would have preferred it. ‘I can only tell you what they told me. James’s team doesn’t want a polished, super celebrity reporter who is going to stiff them with some horrible sordid Hollywood exposé. They want someone who is going to help show James as – you know – a fantasy guy. The whole point of the article is it needs to be fluffy, not scandalous, sort of a “My Dream Week with James Jacobs”. Almost like it was written by a reader.’

‘So basically an amateur not experienced enough to weasel out the details of his secret love child?’ I surmised, slightly relieved and slightly offended at the same time.

‘Yeah, pretty much.’ Mary had either missed or chosen to ignore the part where I was slightly offended. ‘The entertainment editor thought it was maybe because, you know, you’re British so he’ll trust you.’

‘Britain isn’t just this little quaint village where everyone makes jam and says good morning to their neighbours, you know,’ I grumbled half-heartedly. ‘Margaret Thatcher was British and no one trusted her.’

‘So, like I said, Cici will get you everything.’ Mary pointed towards the door, where Cici stood, clipboard in her hand, hateful look on her face. ‘And you’ll blog from LA, OK? You can say you’re doing an interview but it’s probably best not to give too much away. Save it for the magazine. It’ll be good for you.’

‘And people weren’t that mad on Tony Blair towards the end,’ I added thoughtfully. ‘And Sweeney Todd. Was he real?’

‘No, Angela, he wasn’t,’ Mary looked back across the desk. ‘Angela, they have asked for you. We are sending you. Against the wishes of the editorial team. Against the wishes of the publishing team. Do not fuck this up. You don’t want to lose your visa, do you?’

I bit my bottom lip. It was like getting told off by my mum. ‘Lose my visa?’

‘This is a major interview for the magazine and, if you do it right, could even go international,’ Mary explained. ‘If this goes wrong, the publishers are hardly likely to want to continue with your blog, are they?’

‘No,’ I said, suddenly feeling very sick.

‘Look, no one’s expecting a Pulitzer prize-winning article, just go out there and talk to this man. There are a lot worse ways to spend a week in March. You’re getting an all-expenses-paid trip to LA, plus you’re getting paid. Suck it up, go buy a bikini and interview the handsome man.’ She waved me out of my seat. ‘I’ll see you in two weeks. And don’t screw it up.’

I felt a bony grip on my shoulder and rose tentatively out of my chair. Please let it be Death, I prayed silently, gathering up my sweaters, gloves and coat.

‘Can we please hurry this up?’ came the snide voice attached to the Vulcan death-grip. ‘I have other things to do today.’

‘Oh, Cici,’ I said, trying not to be disappointed. She might be as bony as Death but Cici was a lot more dangerous.

‘And then, as if I wasn’t freaked out enough, she basically said they only want me because I’m an amateur.’ I dropped my head onto the table in Scottie’s Diner, across the street from our apartment, toppling the tomato sauce into Jenny’s fries. ‘Shouldn’t I be insulted?’

‘OK, firstly, you kinda are an amateur, aren’t you?’ Jenny gulped her Diet Pepsi and shrugged. ‘I just mean you’ve never interviewed anyone before, right? And uh, hello, you’re going to LA on Saturday?’

‘Yes,’ I started, ‘but—’

‘Shut. Up.’ Jenny held out her hand. ‘You’re being paid to fly to sunny, hot LA from cold, fugly New York. In March. To interview one of the hottest men in the entire world. Who has specifically asked for you. And they’re paying you for it. I see no bad here. It’s a massive step for your career, you’re interviewing one of the hottest men in the world. And you’re going to LA. With one of the hottest men ever. In LA.’

‘I can see that you’ve found a couple of positives.’ I frowned, sipping my hot chocolate. ‘But – and I know I sound like a whiny cow, but the more I think about it, it just doesn’t feel like a good idea. I don’t want to take on such an amazing opportunity and then cock it up because I don’t know how to interview someone, let alone some Hollywood super-stud. Plus, I don’t really want to disappear off to LA for a week on my own. Not at the moment …’ I tailed off and looked into my hot chocolate, painfully aware that I had said absolutely the wrong thing.

Jenny shook her head. ‘Uh-uh. You are not doing this: it could be my only chance to meet James Jacobs. And, you know, it would be nice to head out to LA again,’ she pointed with a floppy fry. ‘If you even suggest turning this down because you’ve just got back into Alex’s shorts, I will be so angry with you.’

‘Firstly, that’s not what I meant,’ I lied, pulling the fries across the table. Most days, I loved that Jenny knew exactly what I was really thinking, no matter what actual words made it out of my mouth, but sometimes it was just irritating. ‘And secondly, when were you last in LA? And thirdly, you’re coming with me?’

‘Firstly, yes I am, secondly a few years ago, I’ve so told you before and you never listen and, thirdly, that is exactly what you meant and it’s bullshit.’

‘It’s not that I don’t want to go, or at least not because of Alex. I–I don’t know. I’ll miss him. Is that the saddest thing ever?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Jenny gave me her best ‘you’re being ridiculous’ look. ‘You don’t think he’s going to cheat on you?’

‘No, of course not,’ I shrugged. The thought might have crossed my mind. ‘Things are just going really well right now. But things were going really well before and look what happened.’

‘Oh Angie,’ Jenny said, ‘it’s different this time. Any idiot can see it’s real between you two.’

‘Wasn’t it real before?’ I asked. It had been everything I could do not to even think these things all day and now here I was, saying it all out loud. ‘And he walked away. And did God-knows-what with God-knows-who. Who’s to say I go away and he’s out with his friends and, well, you know. Have you seen him? He’s bloody gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, so over that and hello? He won’t cheat on you because he loves you.’ Jenny stabbed at me with a fry loaded with ketchup.

‘He hasn’t said so.’

‘Have you said it?’

‘Nope.’

‘Do you love him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Huh. So you’ve been thinking it but not saying it?’

‘Er, yes.’

‘So what makes you think he isn’t thinking it but hasn’t said it either?’ Jenny reasoned.

‘But what if I say it and he thinks I’m moving too fast and dumps me again?’ I countered.

‘So you don’t say it,’ Jenny held up her hands. ‘Or you do. Whatever.’

‘Hmm.’ I nibbled a fry thoughtfully while Jenny wolfed down a whole handful. ‘You were there on holiday?’

‘Where, LA?’ Jenny asked through a mouthful.

I nodded, trying not to look at the big potato-ey mess. For a very beautiful girl, Jenny could be foul sometimes.

‘Way to change the subject. OK, don’t laugh, but before I decided to become the new Oprah and before Tyra frickin’ Banks beat me to it, I thought I might give acting a shot. So I spent a while in LA, stayed out for the pilot season, but it wasn’t for me so I came back to New York. It might be nice to go back out, see some friends. Maybe we could stay at The Hollywood. I could take a week’s vacation and you know, you can introduce me to James Jacobs.’

‘OK, OK, this is too much.’ I couldn’t help but grin at Jenny. ‘And don’t you dare try and change the subject – that’s my thing. You went to Hollywood to be an actress?’

‘And I’d have been a silver-screen goddess but the West Coast wasn’t for me.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘Can we leave it?’

‘Fine, I just – well, I can’t imagine you playing anyone other than Jenny Lopez,’ I said.

‘It’s the role of a lifetime.’ Jenny gave me a quick flash of jazz hands. ‘You do mean me and not the other one, right? Because I’d have to kick your ass.’

‘You’re more of a diva,’ I agreed. ‘So what’s The Hollywood?’

Jenny waved at the old silver-haired man behind the counter. ‘Sister hotel. It’s The Union in New York and there’s The Hollywood in LA, The Strip in Vegas and, uh, The Something Else in Paris. I can never remember. Scottie, could we get some more fries, please?’

‘How many times do I tell you, my name it is not Scottie, it is Igor,’ the guy behind the counter trundled over with more fries. ‘I buy this place from Scottie, this is why it is called Scottie’s Diner.’

‘Thanks, Scottie,’ Jenny gingerly picked up scalding hot chip and blew on it, ‘you’re good people.’

‘Are you sure we could stay there? The magazine said they would put me up in an apartment somewhere.’ I couldn’t believe the amount of crap Jenny could eat and never gain a pound. A true disciple of WeightWatchers, I had forgone almost all foods with a calorie content higher than that of a carrot for a whole year to slim into my ill-fated bridesmaid dress. Walking the streets of New York City every single day helped, but I could never be one of those girls who scarfed ice cream, pizza and chocolate all day long without putting on weight. A girl like Jenny, who only ever put on a couple of pounds – tops; which went straight to her already curvy curves and never ever to her tiny waist. If she weren’t such a great friend, I could really get around to hating her.

‘We are totally staying there. Tell the magazine you’re fixed,’ Jenny was already halfway through the new plate of fries. ‘As if I would let you stay in some skanktastic apartment. Who knows where you would end up. Besides, my friend Joe is managing the bar and I’m due a whole heap of vacation days. The hotel totally owes me. And Joe and I totally have history, he’ll look after us.’

‘By history, do you mean you shagged him? And by “us” do you mean “you”?’

‘Well, yeah.’ Jenny’s eyes glazed over slightly. ‘So if it doesn’t work out with me and James Jacobs, I can always call on Joe. I need to get laid already.’

‘Really? And Joe, this is Hot Joe who used to work at The Union?’ I asked, testing the waters. ‘You’re sure you’re up to seducing movie stars and bartenders?’

‘I’m fine,’ Jenny replied, without looking up at me. ‘Seriously, I’m all shiny and new.’

‘Good, because I’ve been worried.’ I slapped her hand away from the fries. ‘You haven’t been your usual irritating self for ages.’

‘It’s just winter,’ she said. ‘I know I’ve been out of it a little. I’ve been thinking about taking a break, so well done on the perfect timing.’

I smiled. Going to Hollywood with Jenny could be fun. ‘So, we’re off to LA then?’

‘Angie, honey, when have I ever steered you wrong? It will be awesome,’ Jenny replied, scooping up the last fry. ‘And I’m sure Alex is just delightful if you’re into skinny hipsters, but Joe is almost, almost as hot as James Jacobs. You organize the flights, I’ll organize the hotel and the booty call.’

‘Ick,’ I shook my head. ‘Just ick.’

I hopped on the L train at Union Square after abandoning my overexcited best friend outside the hotel. As the train trundled over to Brooklyn, Jenny’s giddiness started to wear off. I’d almost forgotten that this wasn’t a girls’ holiday, it was a job. It was a interview that, if I screwed it up, could cost me my job, my visa, everything. Climbing up the subway stairs, it just seemed like such a bad idea and, on top of everything, as tragic as it was, I really didn’t want to leave Alex. I couldn’t tell him I loved him in case he panicked and ditched me, but if I didn’t tell him, how would he know not to cheat on me with every groupie in Brooklyn while I was away?

And the potential destruction of my personal and professional life aside, what was in LA anyway? A seven-hour flight, a whole city full of super-hot, super-bronzed beach bimbettes and, most terrifying of all, a week-long interview with a real-life, genuine movie star.

Writing my blog was easy: there was always something interesting to talk about, and anyone could review some books and even a few CDs – that just meant winging a couple of hundred words. But there was no way I could bluff my way through this. There was no denying that it could be a great opportunity for me as a writer, but it was also a fabulous opportunity for me to fall flat on my arse. I was just an ‘amateur’, after all. The vision of me throwing myself off the ‘H’ of the Hollywood sign clutching a signed photo of James Jacobs played over and over in my mind until I reached Alex’s apartment.

‘Hey.’ He opened the door, pulled me in and pushed me backwards against the wall, kissing me hard on the lips.

‘I am so cold,’ I breathed, shaking my scarf, mittens and coat off onto the floor. ‘Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t go to LA on Saturday.’

‘The pizza sucks?’ Alex muttered, hoisting me up onto his kitchen counter, pulling off my top two sweaters in one swift move.

‘That’ll do,’ I nodded, trying to kick my boots off behind his back but succeeding only in bashing him in the hip seven times.

‘That actually really hurts.’ Alex tugged the boots off for me.

I crossed my legs behind his back as he stumbled with me into the living room. ‘Yeah, it’s never like it is in films, is it?’

Alex’s place was just as dishevelled as its owner, with books, guitar strings and worn T-shirts strewn everywhere. Luckily, the beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the East River to Manhattan made up for the disgusting kitchen. Lying full stretch on the sofa while Alex strummed something new on his acoustic guitar (and I pretended not to be watching Gossip Girl with the subtitles on) was officially my new favourite way to spend a Monday night. I yawned, gazing out at the skyline. When you weren’t outside, New York was gorgeous in the snow. The sun, sea and sand could never compete.

The apartment was also about twenty degrees hotter than mine and now, thoroughly warmed up, I was perfectly happy wearing nothing but Alex’s T-shirt and my pants, moulding myself against his slowly rising and falling chest on the sofa, my bare legs tangled in his long, warm limbs. We hadn’t quite made it into the bedroom, something I was always proud of. I’d come a long way from the Angela Clark who spent five or so years tucked up in her winceyette PJs before her ex came home so she wouldn’t have to endure his huffing, puffing and generally uncomfortable fumblings.

‘So, any reason in particular I should be trying to talk you out of going to LA on Saturday?’ Alex asked, combing his fingers through my mussed-up hair. Between getting back together with Alex and the terrible weather, my do was very much a constant don’t. ‘That was a pretty random request, even for you.’

‘The magazine wants me to go and interview this actor.’ I waved a hand around, working very hard to come across as very casual about the whole thing. ‘But they want me to go on Saturday and I’ve never really interviewed anyone before so I don’t know. I’m sort of in two minds about it.’

‘Sounds like a great opportunity,’ he offered diplomatically. ‘LA’ll be warmer than New York.’

‘Yeah,’ I said, twisting my neck around to get a better look at him. ‘I know, it could be amazing. It’s just a long way and stuff.’

‘It is,’ he agreed. ‘But you never know, you might like it?’

‘Do you?’ I asked. ‘Like LA, I mean.’

‘Mehh,’ he held his hand up to mine. My small pale hands, with the nibbled-at fingernails filed down, palm to palm with his long, calloused, guitar-playing fingers. ‘I don’t love it.’

‘So you wouldn’t want to come with me?’ I asked, only briefly considering Jenny’s wrath. ‘It’ll only be for a week or something.’

‘However will I survive without you?’ Alex kissed my hand.

I paused for a moment to feel his heartbeat. Perfectly even. ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know if I should do it. Even if it could be incredible.’

‘Then don’t go.’ Alex’s heartbeat started to slow, I could tell he was about to drop off. That was my only bedroom-based problem with the boy. He always needed a post-shag nap whereas sex left me wide-awake. And since I overthought every situation at the best of times, his post-coital narcolepsy wasn’t ideal for me. Depending on how the day had gone, I was either planning our wedding (I thought barefoot on the beach in Mexico; I’d never been but it sounded sort of fabulous) or panicking that the whole relationship was about to fall apart again.

I tried to toss and turn quietly, torn between running off to LA with Jenny and staying exactly where I was for ever and ever when my phone starting buzzing inside my beautiful bag. Slipping out of Alex’s arms, I shuffled down the sofa and answered.

‘Hello?’ I whispered, creeping into the bathroom.

‘Angela, it’s me,’ a voice crackled from a long way away. ‘Are you there? You’re so faint?’

‘Louisa! How are you? Is everything OK? You never call my mobile.’ Louisa was my best friend from for ever. We’d grown up together, gone to the same university, moved to London at the same time, basically done everything together – right up until I broke her husband’s hand at their wedding. But since we had resolved that tiny issue, our regular weekly phone calls could go on for hours. She wouldn’t mind if I had a wee while we chatted. I hoped.