It Started With a Kiss (17 page)

The following Saturday was Sophie’s birthday. In addition to the meal planned for the evening, Wren and I had arranged a ‘girly day’ of shopping, chatting and eating – or, as Sophie calls it, ‘the holy trinity of girlieness’. After Tom revealed that Cayte felt she didn’t know us well enough yet, Sophie decided to ask her to join us. So at nine am, the four of us met for breakfast in the chic restaurant in Selfridges.

One of the most endearing things about Sophie (and, believe me, there are many to choose from) is how excited she gets about her birthday. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who adores their special day quite as much. No matter what she does or where she spends it, she has an astounding ability to transform herself into a giggling child, finding wonder and awe in everything.

This birthday was no exception. When Sophie laid eyes on the pale pink and green balloons we had tied to her chair, she whooped so loudly that she nearly gave an elderly gentleman sitting by the window heart failure. The barista, who Wren had sweet-talked earlier into helping us (helping herself to his phone number in the process), brought over a heart-shaped cookie and a cappuccino topped with an ‘S’ dusted in cocoa, which earned him a kiss from Sophie.

By the time she’d been treated to a manicure, a slice of elegant Swiss gateau for elevenses in Drucker’s patisserie and a good two hours’ worth of shopping, Sophie was practically effervescent. Over lunch in the Chinese quarter, she finally paused for breath.

‘I am having the
best
day. Thank you so much!’

Wren hugged her. ‘Just as long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters.’

‘Is she
always
like this?’ Cayte whispered to me, when Sophie and Wren were animatedly extolling the attractions of the hunky barista from breakfast.

I smiled. ‘Always. Birthdays do this to her – it’s so sweet.’

‘It’s
exhausting
,’ Cayte laughed, adding quickly, ‘but sweet, too.’

Perhaps it was because I didn’t know Cayte well enough yet, but her forthrightness and ability to pass wry judgement on any and every subject was taking some getting used to. Wren and I would make wry observations on things we saw around us, but Cayte would take it to the next level, mercilessly dissecting everything within her sight. Even Sophie, in the midst of all her girly birthday glee, commented on it later that afternoon.

We were wandering around the Ikon Gallery, people-watching as much as appreciating the art, when a group of three ladies in their forties came in, talking and laughing loudly. Instantly, our attention was drawn to them and Wren nudged me.

‘That’ll be me, you and Sophie in twenty years’ time.’

I laughed. ‘Bring it on. I think I’d be the one in the green with the perma-tan and the Fendi suit.’

‘Not to mention the embarrassingly loud voice echoing around the gallery. What a nightmare,’ Cayte added, her smile vanishing in an instant when Sophie, Wren and I turned in shock to face her.

Sophie’s perennial brightness dimmed noticeably. ‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’

Cayte gave a nervous giggle. ‘I was only saying … I didn’t mean anything by it, I just …’

‘No, I get it, Cayte. But we’re here to have fun, not engage in character assassinations.’

‘OK, look I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin your birthday.’

As suddenly as it had disappeared, Sophie’s smile returned. ‘You haven’t at all. Let’s just have fun, yeah?’

Uncomfortable moment thus averted, our afternoon continued, although I was aware of Cayte approaching each topic of conversation with pronounced caution from then on.

An hour later, we collapsed in the opulent sofas of a Brindley Place wine bar for an end-of-shopping drink before going home to get ready for the evening.

Sophie piled her shopping bags beside her and smiled at us. ‘What a lovely day. Thanks, girls, it was just what I needed.’

‘Glad you had fun – and it’s not over yet,’ I smiled.

Sophie’s eyes sparkled. ‘I know. So, how goes the quest?’

All eyes turned to me. ‘It’s still going. There have been a couple of dead-ends that threw me a little, but I’m staying positive.’

‘I looked at your blog the other day and I couldn’t believe how many fans you have now,’ Sophie said, taking a sip of her sunset-coloured Bellini.

‘They’re not
fans
…’ I protested.

‘What quest is this?’ Cayte asked, her eyes suddenly alive.

‘Romily’s searching for a gorgeous stranger who rescued her at the Christmas Market last year,’ Sophie squeaked. ‘It’s
so
romantic!’

‘Oh? Tell me more.’

Sophie and Wren then launched into an enthusiastic briefing of the pertinent details of the quest, sparing no twist, turn or disappointment. Cayte, meanwhile, listened on the edge of her seat, drinking it all in.

‘And you’re spending the whole year searching for him?’

I nodded. ‘It’s more than just looking for a random stranger. It’s about following my heart. And it wasn’t until I started my blog that I understood how many people have had a similar thing happen to them, except they didn’t pursue it. I know people will think I’m crazy, but if I don’t try to find him I think I’ll always wonder what might have happened if I’d taken the chance.’

Explaining my quest to Cayte reminded me of the excitement I had felt about it before the disappointing CCTV photo and the Sebastian dead-end. With a kick of joy I realised that my desire to find him was as strong as ever, the setbacks of recent weeks serving only to further increase my determination.

That evening, we gathered around a large circular table at Bella, the Italian restaurant not far from my parents’ house, for the culmination of Sophie’s birthday celebrations. After the recent tensions regarding D’Wayne, it was wonderful to see my friends relaxed and happy again. Once we had finished eating and Sophie had squealed her way through the box of presents we had pooled our money to buy, Jack – who had been busy tapping various glasses, wine bottles and the blue-glass bud vases on the table, pouring water in and out to establish the correct pitches – proudly performed ‘Happy Birthday’ for his delighted girlfriend, accompanied by the rest of us singing in four-part harmony, much to the amusement of the other diners. This one moment perfectly summed up everything I love about my friends. And it must have been the only time in that restaurant when a rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ has elicited calls for an encore …

While Wren and Charlie were working out the bill, Cayte swapped seats with Tom to sit next to me.

‘I had fun today, Rom, thanks for having me.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘And, hey, I’m sorry if I upset anyone. I know I can be a bit opinionated – it’s an occupational hazard, I’m afraid.’ She pushed her long blonde hair behind her ears, suddenly looking so contrite that my heart went out to her. I often forget how daunting it must be for new partners to enter into our close-knit group, especially if they are unsure of the boundaries.

‘You didn’t upset anyone. It was nice to get to know you.’

She smiled. ‘Thanks. Look, I was thinking about what you told me this afternoon – your quest? I reckon there’s more you can do to get it out there. You need to achieve the most exposure you can to increase your chances of reaching the man in question.’

I twisted in my seat to face her. ‘What were you thinking?’

Cayte’s baby blue eyes lit up and she clapped her hands. ‘OK, this is what I was thinking: I write freelance articles for Newsfast – the group that owns most of the local papers in the region. The features that I write are syndicated across the Midlands, both in print and online. I think, if you agree, I should write an article about you and your quest. Like you say, it’s obviously something that lots of women experience but few act upon, and I think your story is inspiring.’

It was a bit of an unexpected suggestion, but the thought of spreading the word further had definite appeal. ‘So what do you need from me?’

Cayte’s smile lit up her already perfect face as she pulled  a  notebook and pen from her handbag. ‘Tell me
everything
.’

The next day the warm late spring sunshine was dancing in glistening globes on the ripples of the deep blue-green canal as I wheeled my bike along the hard-pack ground of the towpath. After a night spent at my parents’ a ride out was exactly what I needed – as was the joy of having some real quest-related news to share with my uncle and aunt. Cayte and I had talked for almost an hour in total, beginning in Bella and continuing at Jack and Sophie’s into the early hours.

Auntie Mags was in the throes of a mammoth baking session when I arrived. Clouds of flour dust rose and swirled in the air and the irresistible smell of baking filled the whole interior of
Our Pol
. Elvis, trembling as much as ever, was curled dejectedly in his bed by the cooker, his grey furry chin slumped on one of my uncle’s slippers, a weariness in his terrified canine eyes.

‘Everything good here?’ I asked cautiously, taking tentative steps around the stacks of cake tins on the floor.

My aunt wiped her floury hands on her blue polka-dot apron and hugged me. ‘Your uncle is driving me loopy.’

I hid my smile. ‘Why? What’s he up to now?’

‘He’s only gone and found a website for “love against the odds” stories. Well, several, to be precise. He’s been holed up in the bedroom for three days and nearly killed our printer with all the things he’s been printing out. I can’t get any sense out of him, daft old beggar. I tell you, Romily, he’s obsessed.’

‘Oh dear. Shall I put the kettle on?’

Auntie Mags sighed. ‘Might as well. I’m at a loss to know what else to do.’

‘Is that you, bab?’ Uncle Dudley’s voice drifted in from the bedroom at the far end of the narrowboat.

‘Morning, Uncle Dud,’ I called back.

‘With you in a tick. I’m just getting things together.’

Auntie Mags rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, you’d think he was researching for flippin’
Panorama
the way he’s carrying on. Anyway, let me look at you.’

Obediently, I did a little twirl, grinning as I did so. ‘What do you see?’

A warm smile greeted me. ‘Well, that’s one determined niece of mine.’ She bent down and began to sort through the cake tins until she stood with an oblong Tupperware box. ‘Perfect! This is the only thing you need when you’re as focused as you are today.’

I would never have thought of millionaire’s shortbread as synonymous with determination before, but when I tasted the rich chocolate, creamy caramel and salty-sweet shortbread, my aunt’s uncanny skill proved correct again.

‘I had a bit of a revelation yesterday,’ I told her, proceeding to explain about the conversation with Cayte and the resulting plan for her article. ‘I think this could really work.’

Auntie Mags chewed her square of chocolate caramel shortbread thoughtfully. ‘It has potential, I grant you. But are you sure this Cayte is the right person to write it?’

‘I don’t see why not. By all accounts she’s a talented journalist – Tom reckons she’ll end up on a national news programme within five years. She certainly seems to know her stuff, so an article from her is likely to gain the attention we need.’

‘When is it going to be published?’

‘I’m not sure. She seems to be so busy at the moment that I guess it’ll be whenever she can fit it in. But we still have seven months of the quest left, so there’s no need to rush.’

There was a loud crash, followed by a muffled curse, and Uncle Dudley emerged from the bedroom, an enormous stack of printed sheets clutched haphazardly in his arms. ‘Flaming ship’s wheel of yours, Magsie,’ he grumbled, dumping the jumbled wad of paper in the middle of the table. ‘Just stubbed my toe on it again.’

Auntie Mags folded her arms and surveyed him sternly. ‘First off, it’s not
my
ship’s wheel, Dudley, it’s the frankly silly ship’s wheel you decided I needed from one of your blessed car boots. And secondly, if you wore your glasses like the optician told you to, you wouldn’t trip over things in the first place.’

Chastened, Uncle Dudley sank down next to me on to the bench seat. ‘You’re lovely when you’re angry, Magsie.’

‘Oh
stop
it!’ Auntie Mags reddened and poured him a cup of tea to distract him from her blushes.

I sipped my builder’s-strength tea and listened to the dull
thwummph
of canal waves hitting the side of the barge as Uncle Dudley and Auntie Mags shared smiles that bore a whole story behind them.

‘Now, I’ve been a bit busy on the tinterweb,’ Uncle Dudley said, spreading out the sheets of paper on the table. ‘After that terrible date with the fake stranger, I thought you could do with a spot of
uppage.
’

Even with my uncle’s famous creativity when it comes to words, I hadn’t heard this one before. ‘Uppage?’

Uncle Dudley looked aghast. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know what uppage is? It’s the only thing that works when life’s been dumping its rubbish on you.’

‘You and your made-up words,’ my aunt tutted.

‘It is
not
made up! My mother said it for years.’

‘Oh well, if your
mother
said it then it must be right, seeing as she was so well-known for
not
being a fruitcake.’

Shaking his head, my uncle pressed on regardless. ‘Uppage is when you find things that lift your spirits from the doldrums. Like when I’ve had a tough week with my arthritis and then I find something special at a car boot. Or when I found out my department needed to lose half its workforce, but then discovered I could take early retirement and not lose any of my money. It’s like finding a shiny penny on a rainy day, or when Magsie cooks a new cake, just when I need it. You’ve had some big downs lately. It’s high time for some
ups
.’

There are times I love my uncle so much I could squish him. ‘So what do you recommend, uppage-wise for me?’