Stuck On You Read online

  25

  Stepping into The Hopeful Ghost pub is like meeting up with an old friend you haven’t seen in years, but when you do meet up it’s as if you’ve never been apart. Kind of like when I bumped into Ivy yesterday, only far less embarrassing for me.

  It’s a reasonably big pub/restaurant, with a large round bar at the heart of it.

  I especially love it around Christmas time because they always have such gorgeous, classic Christmas decor, roaring fires and Christmas music. They often have live music here and tonight is no exception. There’s a man with a guitar in the corner of the room, doing acoustic covers of popular Christmas songs. The thing I’ve always loved the most about the live music at the Hopeful Ghost is the fact that it’s only ever intended to be background noise. Even though a real person is playing it, you could be forgiven for thinking they were just streaming something. It’s always the perfect volume – just loud enough to hear but quiet enough for you to have a conversation.

  After everything Damian has paid for today, I have insisted on buying his drinks this evening. We’ve had some local fruity ciders, sitting on a sofa by the fireplace, and we’ve chatted for a couple of hours now. For the last thirty minutes I’ve been petting a chocolate Labrador. I have no idea who he belongs to – I assume he’s here with a human and hasn’t just brought himself for a pint and an ear-scratching, but I’m giving in to his demands and messing with his ears.

  ‘Everything up here has a sort of rustic charm, doesn’t it?’ Damian observes as he swigs his drink.

  ‘I guess it does,’ I reply. ‘Wait, do I have a rustic charm?’

  ‘Your family does, kind of – I don’t mean that in an offensive way,’ he babbles. ‘You don’t have a rustic charm. You’re like a child of the world.’

  ‘I’m not sure what that means but I’ll take it.’ I laugh. ‘What are your family like?’

  Damian’s face falls.

  ‘You tell me, you email them,’ he jokes.

  ‘Damian, come on, humour me,’ I insist.

  Damian puffs air from his cheeks.

  ‘OK, fine, fine. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Just tell me about them – pretend I haven’t been emailing them as you for months,’ I suggest with a cheeky smile. ‘Pretend I’m a date, but instead of texting your assistant under the table, asking me how you get rid of me, actually talk to me.’

  I don’t know why I worried earlier, when Damian said, ‘It’s a date,’ because it’s absolutely not a date. For the first hour we were here all we talked about was work. He brought his camera with him, just in case something caught his eye. He’s been showing me his pictures so far and, even on his small camera screen, they look fantastic. I love this new direction he’s taking, and I think everyone else is going to love it too.

  ‘OK, well… My parents are Ray and Gloria Banks. They live in Banbury, where I was born, raised and could not wait to leave.’ Damian starts out kind of jokey but then he gets more serious. ‘I have one brother – Si – who is six years younger than me. He works for the family business. I don’t. He’s married. I’m not. He has a baby called Stella, who really is the cutest baby to ever exist. The closest thing I’ve ever had is a goldfish and even he jumped out of his tank. Si isn’t even thirty yet. I’m thirty-five. I shot Leonardo DiCaprio for a magazine cover and he invited me to his birthday party on a yacht… but Si took over the family business so he’s the impressive one. Is this what you wanted?’

  I think he’s just realised he’s ranting.

  ‘Yes and no,’ I reply. ‘Don’t worry, we don’t have to talk about it.’

  I don’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. He’s not exactly struggling to open up about it but it’s clearly not his favourite subject to talk about.

  ‘We should probably get going soon. The causeway closes at eleven,’ I say. ‘If we’re getting a taxi we need to give the driver plenty of time to get back across here – I bet you didn’t have to worry about that growing up in Banbury.’

  ‘Sadie, it’s eleven o’clock now,’ Damian says.

  I glance over at the clock on the wall.

  ‘The clock behind you says ten…’

  ‘OK, but my Apple Watch says it’s 10:58,’ he says, holding it up to show me.

  ‘Shit,’ I blurt. ‘Shit, quick.’

  We grab our coats and hurry down to where the causeway starts. I don’t remember exactly what time it closed – it was just after eleven – but now that we’re here, looking out into the darkness, there’s no way anyone would attempt to drive us across, and obviously walking is out of the question.

  ‘It’s not an exact science, right?’ Damian says, hugging himself to keep warm.

  ‘I think it might be one of the most exact sciences there is,’ I reply.

  ‘OK, so what happens now?’ he asks. ‘I assume this has happened before?’

  ‘This was the bane of my life growing up,’ I say with a sigh. ‘It’s no wonder I moved to London, where pretty much everything is connected.’

  ‘Back to the pub?’ he suggests.

  ‘It will be kicking-out time soon,’ I remind him. ‘I might have an idea – let’s see if this still works…’

  ‘What still works?’ Damian asks as he follows me along the edge of the water.

  ‘Wait and see,’ I tell him. ‘It might not even still be a thing.’

  We pass the pub, following the water along until we hit a small dock. You can only just about see it in the dark.

  ‘You might want your phone torch for this bit,’ I say. ‘The floor is kind of uneven and it’s only going to seem darker as we get closer.’

  ‘It’s bloody freezing,’ he tells me, as though I haven’t realised.

  As soon as we both have our torches on Damian can see clearly where we’re headed.

  ‘Is that a boat? Don’t tell me you know how to drive a boat… Are you going to drive us across the water?’ he asks.

  ‘Shh, just, give me a second,’ I insist. ‘Wait here.’

  I stand outside the boat, facing inland. I just need to remember the numbers…

  ‘I take fifteen steps inland, turn left, ten steps, turn forty-five degrees…’

  ‘This really isn’t doing anything to dispel my Wicker Man fears,’ he whispers.

  I shine my torch at the tree in front of me. There it is, the rock I’m looking for, on the floor in front of it. I hurry back to Damian with it.

  ‘Oh my God, Sadie, are you… are you going to steal a boat? Please don’t steal a boat,’ he insists.

  I twist the fake rock to reveal a key hidden inside it.

  ‘Did you seriously think I was going to steal a boat?’ I ask with a laugh.

  ‘It is pretty cold out,’ he says with a shrug.

  I unlock the door to the boat’s cabin before we both step inside. I search around for the switches that bring everything to life. The lights, the heater – everything we could possibly need.

  ‘Whose boat is this?’ he asks.

  ‘You know… I’m not sure,’ I admit. ‘Let’s get comfortable and I’ll tell you all about it.’

  ‘OK, but only if this doesn’t get me arrested,’ he replies.

  The cabin has a small living room with a little kitchen. The living-room area has a U-shaped sofa – perfect for two people to snooze on until the causeway opens again in four hours.

  ‘Cup of tea to warm you up?’ I ask.

  ‘Erm, yes, please,’ he says with a laugh. ‘This is so weird.’

  ‘So this boat has been here for as long as I can remember,’ I tell him as I make our drinks. ‘Everyone knows about it. It’s a sort of port in a storm for locals who miss crossing the causeway and can’t get home.’

  ‘Does it move?’ he asks.

  ‘Nah, I don’t think it’s worked for years. The power, I think, is from the pub… The idea is that, if you use it, you bring something to leave in it the next time you’re passing. That’s why it always has teabags and long-life milk. Blankets, books, bo
ard games…’

  ‘This might honestly be the loveliest thing I have ever heard of,’ he says. ‘Don’t people abuse it?’

  I hand Damian his mug before I wrap myself up in one of the blankets and sit down next to him. I cradle my mug in my hands to try and warm up faster.

  ‘Small-town life is lovely,’ I tell him. ‘Everyone takes care of everyone in the hope that one day, when they need help, there will be a line of people waiting to do whatever they can. That said, yes, when I was a teen I used to come here with my boyfriend.’

  ‘Sadie, I didn’t know you were a bad girl,’ Damian teases.

  ‘Everyone is a horrible teenager – even you were a horrible teenager,’ I remind him.

  ‘I wasn’t, I was an angel,’ he informs me. ‘I was a photography nerd. I didn’t lose my virginity until I was nineteen.’

  Wow, that was honest.

  ‘And here you are, in your wholesome little town, sneaking onto this boat with boys…’

  ‘Erm, boy,’ I correct him. ‘Just the one. Brian Swash. My boyfriend at the time.’

  ‘There’s no way that’s his name.’ Damian laughs. ‘Brian? You dated a Brian?’

  ‘I did,’ I say. ‘For a long time… but we grew apart as we grew up. We wanted different things.’

  ‘Like what, he wanted to play Pokemon cards, but you wanted to play with Barbies?’ he jokes.

  ‘First of all, I’m going to take issue with the blatant sexism in that statement,’ I tease him. ‘But we were together until the day before my eighteenth birthday. I know that still sounds young…’

  ‘Nah, I get it,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t even get a girl to text me back, back then – people were fussy about who they texted on pay as you go.’

  ‘And look at you now,’ I say. ‘You’re not just getting texts, you’re getting softcore porn.’

  ‘What a time to be alive,’ he jokes.

  It’s nice to see Damian taking himself less seriously.

  It’s warming up nicely on the boat now so I let my blanket hang down around my shoulders. I look out of the window while I sip my tea – not that there’s anything to see out there.

  ‘I always pretend I have to work through Christmas,’ he tells me. ‘This will be the third time I’ve done it.’

  ‘Honestly, Damian, you don’t have to talk about it,’ I insist. ‘There’s Scrabble on that shelf behind you.’

  ‘Is that what you and Brian did?’ he asks. ‘Played Scrabble?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I say honestly.

  Well, when you’re a teen in love, sometimes all you want is a bit of time to yourself. Nothing dodgy, you just want it to be the two of you, with no adults breathing down your necks, making you feel like kids.

  ‘I guess I just feel so pointless at home,’ he says. ‘It’s why I visit less; it’s why I don’t read the newsletters. I’ve got fans, critical acclaim, endless opportunities – and I’m so proud of everything I’ve achieved – but… I suppose that isn’t the kind of success my parents wanted for me. To them success is getting married, starting a family, joining the family business.’

  ‘What is the family business?’ I ask curiously.

  ‘I don’t want to tell you,’ he says. ‘You’ll laugh.’

  ‘Of course, I won’t,’ I reply.

  ‘Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,’ he says ‘All you need to know is that I’m the oldest son… So I was just supposed to want to join the family business, or, even if I didn’t, I guess I was supposed to resign myself to it being my job and get on with it. I swear I used to be much easier to work with. You really did rock up at the wrong time. The pressure is mounting, my confidence is wavering. I’m finding it harder to trust people. Not you though, I know I can trust you. And I guess I just know that you’ll always accept me as I am. There’s a great deal of comfort in that. Not for you, obviously… you’re spending Christmas with your boss.’

  ‘Come on, we both know you’re more than just my boss,’ I tell him. ‘You’re my friend. We’ve braved a Dickensian Christmas festival together, in full costume – something like that binds two people together for life.’

  I give him a smile, to let him know it’s OK.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle,’ Damian demands.

  ‘OK… why not?’

  ‘Because I have never seen you look so perfect. Can I take your photo?’

  ‘Can you take my photo? You want to take my photo?’ I ask, completely surprised.

  ‘Yep, all of the above,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Please?’

  ‘Sure,’ I reply. ‘I know what people do, to try and get you to take their picture. I’m not about to turn that down. How do you want me?’

  ‘Just… exactly as you are,’ he says.

  With one click of the shutter Damian locks in this moment forever.

  ‘OK, now we can play Scrabble,’ he suggests with a laugh.

  I smile but, honestly, even though Damian saying I looked perfect makes me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world, I could not feel worse about myself right now. Not because I’m quitting – although obviously I feel terrible about that – but for doing all of it behind his back. Even now, I keep it from him every single day. But wouldn’t it ruin his Christmas if I told him now? And he does really seem to be enjoying it so, so much. I know I'm going to have to tell him but, the longer I leave it, the harder it seems as if it’s going to be. Whether I do wait until after Christmas, or I tell him before, I know one thing for sure. I absolutely shouldn’t tell him right now, not when we’re trapped on a boat together for the next four hours.

  26

  To a recovering bumpkin like me there is something so impossibly cool and intimidating about Hyde Park’s Winter Wonderland. Hyde Park is more than a third of the size of the island I grew up on – and that’s before you add in the Winter Wonderland, which creates a disorientating festive maze in the large open space. Pretty much minutes after you walk through the gates, it only takes a couple of turns for you to lose your bearings. Sure, you can use some of the impossibly tall rides – each so different from the next, but all having in common the fact that I will never ever go on them – to figure out where you are, but only in the context of the fair. Life outside the walls, where bright lights turn to shadows, almost ceases to exist.

  Our Winter Wonderland is nothing like that. Here it has more of a small-town vibe, highlighting all the festive goodness the town has to offer.

  It’s more open, for one thing. A series of stalls, rides and various other attractions all set up on a large grassy area down by the seafront on the mainland. It’s a real mixture of everything but I always get excited about the same few things. The stalls that make up the Christmas market have all sorts of wonderful Christmas decorations, and the food stalls – God, the food stalls – offer all kinds of festive yummies. I’m a big fan of the street-food vendors too. You can usually find a pizza oven, freshly made doughnuts, marshmallows dripping with melted chocolate and covered in pretty much anything you can think of!

  I do have one other favourite attraction – one that has nothing to do with food, surprisingly – and that is the Christmas tree maze. It’s exactly what it sounds like – a hedge maze made from Christmas trees – but it isn’t the walk in the park it you might think. It’s big, with tall trees, and enough twists, turns and dead ends to keep you entertained for a while. The first time I went in it, when I was a kid, I was so excited I just charged away from my parents and my sister, determined to conquer it alone… Of course I got lost, and cried like a baby, and it takes someone a few minutes to rescue you because it is literally a maze. I waited a few years, before I tried it again alone. I used to think I could memorise it for the following year – I don’t know how many years it took me to realise that was never going to work because they change the layout each time.

  So every year I’m excited to find my way to the centre and back out again, but even to this day I’m always a little anxious about going in, just in case I wind up crying o
n the floor again. It’s amazing, how much we hold onto from our childhood, just to avoid getting hurt.

  It’s not even lunchtime yet and the Winter Wonderland is overflowing with people. Men, women, children of all ages, dogs – it feels as if everyone is here today.

  It’s cold, but not too cold. It never really does feel all that chilly in the thick of the festivities though. Perhaps it’s a combination of a lot of people gathered together, surrounded by heat-generating fairground rides and street-food vendors. It definitely makes a much nicer experience. It’s better than shivering, clutching at hot drinks to keep warm, losing the feeling in your toes because they’re oh-so cold. You get all the magic of a winter wonderland without any of the, you know, winter.

  We have been walking around for an hour now, stopping so that Ben can go on rides, my mum can buy new Christmas ornaments, or so Damian can take photos. With each shot he takes that he thinks he can use, he takes down the details of the subject, so that he can let them know if he’s going to use it.

  Right now my dad and Mark are in the beer tent, my mum, Selena and Ben are on the big, old-fashioned carousel, and Damian and I are queuing outside a little hut to get gingerbread lattes. They are all I can smell right now. To say I was desperate for one would be an understatement.

  ‘You’ve got me all whipped up for this maze,’ Damian says, shifting back and forth on the spot like an excitable child. ‘I’ve never been in a maze.’

  ‘I’ve been in this one plenty of times,’ I tell him. ‘It’s still my nemesis. Back again, just in a different form. Like a comic-book-movie villain.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got me with you today,’ he says with a smile. ‘I’m the Pepper Potts to your Tony Stark.’

  ‘Ooh, I like what you’re doing with gender roles today,’ I say. ‘Is this because I teased you about your choice of boys’ and girls’ toys last night?’

  ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Last night was, well—’

  ‘Oh my God, that’s Brian,’ I blurt, spotting him over Damian’s shoulder. ‘Is it? I think it is… I don’t remember him being so, I don’t know, manly when I was with him.’