Chapter Two
Mystery Man
I kept going over things in my head, analysing this morning’s events with Iain. By the time evening came around, I’d talked myself into getting my life back on track and going in a direction that I chose. Instead of just letting life happen to me, I wanted control. It was time. No more settling for second best, no more feeling sorry for myself and burying my head in the sand. This was it. My chance to really turn things around. Why should a prick like Iain get the cheese? Unfortunately my new found bravado was met with a wall of internal cynicism and serious self-doubt and I couldn’t sleep.
You can’t write Naomi, you’re not good enough. It’s just a pipe dream. Stick to what you know. Said the voice in my head. Do you know how many people manage to publish a book? Proofing is as close as you’re going to get!
“Oh shut it Jiminy Cricket!” I shouted at the voice. But what if the voice was right? What if I wasn’t good enough? Then what would happen to all my big plans? Iain’s smug face flashed in my mind. Throwing the bed covers back I sat up and with renewed determination, turned on the lamp, strode over to the lounge and got out my notepad. The first thing I noticed was the page of scribble that had so mysteriously appeared on it the night before. A myriad of inked ‘Joe’s’ lay before me. I thought I had thrown that sheet away? Maybe not. I shrugged and screwing the page up, threw it in the bin. A slightly outrageous thought formed in my mind and I promptly retrieved the paper, smoothed it out and laid it on the table. I stared at it for a few seconds and went over to my work desk, opened the filing cabinet and took out Laney Marsh’s manuscript.
All The Best Boys By Laney Marsh
Copyright Laney Marsh 2016
Final Draft.
I stared at the hefty document in my right hand. The fingernails of my left hand tapped rapidly on the metal cabinet. It’s only the paper copy, no one would know. I bit my lip. It’s only practice. Sitting down with my red pen, I flicked through the pages of Laney’s manuscript until I found the page I was looking for. This was the scene that introduced Joseph Ferrantino. I began reading,
‘I noticed the silver haired man behind the bar. He was the type of man you couldn’t fail to notice. Tall, lean but athletic and toned. Six feet two inches at least and much younger than his hair colour belied. Mid-thirties at a guess. He leaned over the bar, both hands in front on the counter top, arms straight. Engaged in conversation with a woman, he smiled and chatted with her, no, flirted with her. I could tell that from the way she played with her hair and laughed over enthusiastically at whatever it was he said to her. I smiled and glanced down at the book on my table. I took a sip of my wine- red, obviously, being in Italy. It was good even though I wasn’t particularly a red fan. But like they say, ‘when in Rome’… well Florence in my case. I loved what little I’d seen of the city so far.
The book bar I currently sat in could quite easily become my favourite place to hang out during my stay. I certainly liked the view anyway. I smirked again, chancing a quick glance at the sexy barman. He was looking at me. No longer talking to the woman. He shot me the most bewitching smile and I felt my heart flutter. He straightened then walked out from behind the bar and started towards me. The man’s eyes never left mine and his enchanting smile still held my gaze. God he was gorgeous! From the tips of his carefully messed up hair, right down to his self-assured walk, every inch of him screamed sex. My nervous fingers played with the stem of my wine glass as he approached. He stopped in front of my table and looked first at me and then down at the book in my hand. He said, “Love is a condition in which the happiness of another is essential to your own.”
“Hmm?” was all that came out of my mouth.
“Robert A.Heinlein.” He nodded towards my book. I looked down at my copy of Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert.A.Heinlein.
“Oh! Yes, you’re right.” I said, amazed. Gorgeous and literary, I thought. “Wow, you really know your books.”
“It is one of my favourites.” His deep Italian accent floored me. Could this man get any sexier? “Do you like science fiction?” He asked. “Because if you do I can recommend you some classics.” He offered, hitting me with a smile more dazzling than the sun.
“Thank you! Yes. I do um, like science fiction. That’d be great, thanks.” I beamed at him knowing my smile was nowhere near as bright and fetching as his.
“Why are you here bella donna?” He stepped closer and pulled out the chair opposite me. “Posso sedermi con te?” He asked. I had no idea what he just said but my insides melted.
“Um…” I crinkled my brow slightly and gave a little shake of my head. “I’m so sorry, um, no speako Italiano.” I explained. He let out a small laugh. Oh my God even his laugh was sexy! I was definitely visiting this place again.
“I asked you if I could sit with you bella?” He raised an eyebrow questioningly. I nodded without hesitation. “I asked you why are you here? Are you on business or holiday?”
“Holiday. For two weeks. I’m spending the whole two weeks in Florence.” I informed him. “I arrived yesterday.” I added, hoping this would convey that I was at the beginning of my stay and therefore had plenty of time to get to know him. I flashed him what I hoped was an encouraging smile. Not that he seemed like he needed any- he was bold as brass so far.
I chanced a closer look at his face as he sat and adjusted his chair. His mouth captured my immediate attention. His lips were full, sumptuous and downright kissable and accentuated by his strong chin. His face was angular but slim, with high cheekbones. He sported a casual scruff and short moustache that matched his salt and pepper hair. My eyes travelled upwards to his and I took in a sharp breath as two deliciously, deep set, pools of hazel brown looked directly back at me. Wow!
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Melissa” I replied.
I crossed out Melissa and replaced it with ‘Naomi’. As soon as the words appeared on the paper in the bright red ink, I felt a rush of adrenaline. I felt like a naughty child and I rather liked it. Filled with rebellious determination, I turned a few pages and found another scene. As I read through it I began crossing out whole sentences and rewriting them as I would’ve written it, unashamedly including myself in the story.
Melissa became me and gradually, paragraph by paragraph, Joseph Ferrantino became mine. Granted, it was only in the literary sense, although I had claimed him in my heart long ago but it felt good nonetheless. I supposed if no one was going to see it what harm could it do? I was just practicing my writing skills and giving myself an extra treat at the same time. I knew it was a little crazy, claiming a fictional character as my own and even crazier writing myself into his story. I didn’t know what would happen if Laney ever found out. I’d probably get sued or put in an institute for the mentally insane, but it felt satisfying seeing his name next to mine in print. Rereading what I’d written gave me an insurmountable feeling of childish euphoria. I made no apologies for indulging my most intimate fantasies. Right now, at this very moment in time, in my heart and in my own weird way, I had started to create a life with my perfect man.
It was nearing dawn when I stopped. I had spent at least two hours writing and reviewing, changing things I didn’t like and moving scenes around. It hadn’t taken long for me to get back into the swing of things. I found myself smiling as I wrote because for the first time in two years I felt a flicker of happiness. I shuffled off to bed and climbed in, realising that for all I was exhausted, I felt at peace for once. No anxiety, no frustrations. It was bliss. My head hit the pillow and I felt myself start to drift off.
“Goodnight Joe” I managed to whisper. As my eyes closed and my breathing steadied, just for a brief moment, I thought I heard someone reply,
“Buonanotte Naomi, amore mio.”
A small, contented smile graced my lips for a second before what was left of the early hours claimed me.
***
When I opened my eyes again the clock had moved forward three hours. My dreams had been particularly vivid, I distinctly remembered a man’s voice calling my name. I loved it when I remembered my dreams. I always tried to analyse them. I was convinced the human brain had some secret ability that we hadn’t tapped into yet and that the universe talked to us, sent us signs that most failed to notice. I believed my dreams were trying to tell me something. I guess you could say I believed in magic of sorts. I wasn’t religious in the traditional sense. I didn’t believe in God, heaven and hell. I was more of a spiritual soul. I liked to think I had a secret connection with the earth and everything in it. Mum said I was born in the wrong decade that I was a bit of a dreamer at heart and would’ve made a perfect hippy. She was probably right, although I couldn’t see myself dancing naked round a fire singing folk songs or wearing floral mix dresses and daisies in my hair. But, I liked to walk in the woods or barefoot on a deserted beach and listen to the wind and the waves. It was people I didn’t particularly connect with.
After my nasty divorce, I became a bit of a social recluse, although I laughed and joked outwardly when I did manage to get out and visit people, inside I just wanted to go home. I had a handful of friends and acquaintances but in general I preferred my own company. These days I suffered badly with depression and social anxiety. Sometimes I couldn’t even face walking out my front door. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I still loved reading so much. On a bad day all I had to do was open a book and forget the world.
When Laney Marsh’s part manuscript had appeared in my mailbox a year ago, I had been ecstatic. It’d been ages since I’d had a fiction to proof and it’d come just at the right time. My sister Immy had moved across the other side of the planet and I had never felt so lonely. A good meaty romance novel was just what I needed to take my mind off the mess that was my life. Not getting much sleep wasn’t helping either. I looked like a total zombie again today.
“Today is a good day young lady!” I told my mirrored self. My large satchel bag held the manuscript and my red pen, I decided to go out for a few hours, take a walk and settle in at the coffee house for an afternoon of reading and editing. Staying indoors too much was making me look like a member of the Cullen family so I grabbed my bag and headed out.
“Hey Mrs Crabtree, how are you?” I said, smiling at my elderly ground floor neighbour, who stood at the bottom of the internal stairs. She stared at me, not returning her usual cheery greeting.
“Um, everything OK?” I asked.
“No it isn’t.” She replied- a little alarmed. I frowned. This wasn’t like her at all, she was normally full of the joys of spring.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is it anything I can help you with? You’re not unwell I hope?” I liked to keep an eye on her, she always put my post in my designated basket in the lobby for me, always had a kind word and an enquiry after my mother whenever we crossed paths. I’d hate to think of myself as a neglectful neighbour- social recluse or not.
“I heard noises last night, thought it was number 3b’s cat had gotten out again and was knocking my plants over on the step.” She said. Slinky, was the big fat ginger fur ball that lived in 3b with Nelly Parker. Nelly was a young lawyer who had just landed her first job at a big firm in Newark so she commuted every day. Unfortunately it meant she kicked her cat out every morning and occasionally he didn’t come back till the early hours. There was no cat flap on the front door so Mrs Crabtree or one of the other residents would let him back in when they found him mewling on the front step.
“I came out to let him in,” she continued. “I went to the front door and he was making a right old racket, hissing and spitting like a banshee!” She emphasised the hissing and spitting with dramatic noises of her own, re-enacting the scene for my benefit. “I thought it was maybe another tom cat and he was defending his territory, you know?” She was well into her story now, I could tell she’d been dying to tell someone whatever it was that had happened. I wondered if she’d been waiting for someone to come downstairs. “Anyway, he shot upstairs like a bat out of Hell when I opened the door, never seen the like.” She tutted and shook her head, “Poor thing, he must have scared him.” She dropped her voice and leaning into me, touched my arm and whispered, “Mind you, he scared me. I don’t mind telling you love. Just standing there in the rain he was, soaked through, looking up at me.”
“He who?” I asked. Her dramatic performance had drawn me in.
“Don’t know. Not seen him before but he looked a bit odd. Just stood there looking like he did, shirt all wet.” Iain? was the first thought in my head. Surely not though? Mrs Crabtree knew him and besides why would my ex-husband- whom I’d not seen for two years until the other day- be standing outside my building in the rain? I sighed, was he having second thoughts about his new upcoming nuptials? Ha! Bloody typical, he was a total commitment-phobe
“Thought it was a ghost at first, what with his hair and everything.” Mrs Crabtree said.
“Wait. What?” My heart stopped. “What about his hair?” I demanded.
“White like a ghost!” She replied. “Well, least it looked to me anyway.”
“Did he say anything?
“Couldn’t tell you lovely. I shut the door, right sharpish I did. Didn’t like the way he was looking, like he wanted to be inside. Good looking fella though, it’s a shame if he’s turned out a bad ’un. Get all sorts of criminals these days you know. He was a fast ’un I can tell you, the minute I’d locked the door and looked up he’d gone, quick as a flash!” Her expression turned to a look of concern when she noticed my own. “Oh dear, love. Are you alright? I haven’t scared you have I?” She patted my arm. “Just I thought everyone should know, you know? Be aware, on alert so to speak.”
My mind raced. White hair. Like silver hair? It had to be just a coincidence. Probably some old guy, or some drunk that had taken a wrong turn and thought it was his building. I told Mrs Crabtree as much but she didn’t look too reassured.
“Mmm, well maybe dear but just you take care when you’re in and out OK?” She asked and I nodded.
“I will, don’t worry. And so should you too.” I said. She smiled at me, back to her usual happy self again and pottered off to water her plants.
I thought about this strange encounter of Mrs Crabtree’s all the way to Starbucks and was still puzzling it out as I settled into a booth at the back of the coffee house, took out my notepad and pen. Today I was going to people-watch, one of my favourite things to do was to evesdrop on conversations. However, I couldn’t get my mind off the mysterious nighttime stranger, who was he? I knew for a fact now it couldn’t have been Iain. The only good-looking white haired young man I knew of wasn’t even real so that was impossible. Then who? It was nagging me a little. A group of people entered and went to the counter to order, the place was starting to fill up as it was almost 11.30am. It’d soon be heaving when the lunch crowd came in. I had my latte and my fruit salad and sat unnoticed in my little booth.
I tried to focus on the snippets of conversations I caught. This was great practice for writing dialogue. People never did speak how you thought they did, it always made me smile. I loved just sitting and observing how people interacted with one another. The hand gestures, the fidgets, the sideways looks fascinated me and it was a useful exercise for a would-be author. I tuned in to the random conversations as people began to filter in and started jotting them down
“She said it would be OK though right?”
“Yeah, far as I know.”
“Eh, order for Laura, Grande and no cream?”
“I can’t tonight sorry. Tuesday?”
“Can you stop?”
“Do you have gluten free?”
“I just need some shoes”
“Nope, that’s fine.”
“Yes but your Dad said…”
“Sir?”
“Espresso please.”
I smiled, looking at the random sentences, tiny glimpses into people’s lives.
“Grazie.”
“What name on the cup?”
“Joe.”
My pen froze. Did I just hear that right? I glanced down to see what I’d written and there it was, right there in print. What name on the cup? Joe. I daren’t move. I wanted to look up and find the owner of that sultry accent but was sure I’d be disappointed. No way it could be Joe, my Joe. This was just the universe sending another one of those signs- signs I was on the right path and finally changing my life for the better. Like the imaginary voice I’d heard in my sleep, me writing Joe’s name on my pad without knowing it and the white-haired man outside my building. Just signs.
The cashier called out for a Joe. I had to look, I just had to. Why couldn’t I look damn it! My palms were sweating, blood pumped furiously in my ears. Just look for goodness sake! The sound of the door closing snapped me out of my frozen state. I looked quickly around the coffee house but saw no hint of silver anywhere and then out the corner of my eye I saw him. He was walking away, already crossing the road. I just caught a glimpse of a tall, slim figure with slicked back silver grey hair. I shot out of my seat and headed for the door just as a woman struggled through with her pram. Are you kidding me?! I held back the door, impatience tempered my polite smile.
“Oh, thanks.” She said, dragging her shopping bags through after her.
“No problem.” I replied through gritted teeth. She must have caught my tone because her expression went from exasperation to apologetic in one go.
“I’m so sorry.” She said in a quiet voice. Oh god, now I felt awful! That wasn’t like me at all to be rude. I looked across the road for the mystery man but there was no sign.
“No, really, it’s fine. I’m the one who’s sorry. That was rude of me. Let me help you?”
“Thank you. Could you just take this bag while I find a seat? Thanks.”
“Yes, of course. Here, you find a seat and let me buy you a drink?” I offered”
“Really? Oh, that is so kind.”
She looked a little emotional and it crossed my mind that she might be having a bad day. “What can I get you?”
“Oh, um…I’ll just have a large tea please. I’ll take the bag.” She smiled shyly and sat down, turning to face her baby in the pram who was now screaming. “Oh god, he’s hungry, sorry.” She began unfastening the safety straps in the pram and arranged the baby on her lap to breastfeed. I went to the counter and ordered. The cashier took my money and I asked him,
“Hey, the guy that just left, with the silver hair?” The cashier looked at me, a polite smile on his face. “What did he look like?”
“I’m sorry Madam, I don’t remember an old guy.” He said
“No, he wasn’t old. Around mid-thirties? Italian accent?” I prompted. The cashier shook his head. “Ordered an Espresso?” Still nothing. “But you must remember him, you served him!” My voice had risen slightly at the frustration of the guy’s blank stare. He shook his head again. “OK, never mind then. I’ll take a cinnamon roll too please.” How frustrating. How could it be that he didn’t remember a guy with such distinctive colouring, and one he’d just served? It didn’t make any sense. Had I been daydreaming again?
“Here’s your tea.” I placed the large cup down on the mother’s table. “I got you a cake too, I figured he might not be the only hungry one.” I smiled and nodded towards her now content baby.
“Thank you! That is so kind of you.” She beamed back. “You really didn’t have to.”
“Yes I did. I was rude. Sorry.” I shrugged apologetically. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” I went back to my booth and gathered up my things. I’d had enough of people-watching. I needed to walk and clear my head. As I walked I forced myself not to think about Joe but tried to enjoy the sunshine instead. The park should be nice right now, maybe I’d go there and get an ice cream and just sit for a while.
Lincoln was a beautiful place to live. As I turned towards the park I looked up at the old medieval buildings and noted the magnificent architecture. I really didn’t appreciate this city enough. The cathedrals towers dominated the skyline above the city and I could see the flag atop Lincoln Castle fluttering in the breeze. The city’s cathedral quarter was situated right at the top of one of Lincoln’s most iconic streets - Steep Hill. Aptly named as one needed both a sturdy pair of lungs and legs to conquer the climb from the lower part of the city upwards. Its cobbles didn’t make the task any easier either but the vast array of medieval buildings and quaint little boutique shops more than made up for it. One of my favourite places to visit was a second-hand bookshop called Readers Rest, part way up Steep Hill. It offered the weary walker a place to stop, rest and peruse the shelves for a worthy read. Lincoln really was a treasure, I smiled thinking I honestly wouldn’t want to live anywhere else, except Florence, my subconscious piped up. Great! We’re back to Joe again. I rolled my eyes. It seemed no matter how hard I tried I just couldn’t get him out of my head. I really was hooked on him, or the idea of him? I wasn’t sure which, maybe both. Whatever it was it surely wasn’t healthy. I kept telling myself it was just a fantasy and it was harmless, I wasn’t hurting anyone by indulging in it. So, why did I still get a pang of guilt whenever I thought about Laney? I really should read the emails she sent. I knew I was being unprofessional, which wasn’t like me at all. I sighed. Maybe I’d read them when I get home. Make sure you do, said Jiminy. “Oh shut up cricket!” I shot back.
***
‘I stood in the deafening silence. The air around me felt alive, as if it held its breath, watching and waiting. My skin alerted me to his nearness as the hairs on the back of my neck rose in greeting for his much-anticipated touch. I closed my eyes and focused my attention on the sizzling heat that radiated at my back. He was close. The space between us thick with wanting. This was it, the moment had finally come. Joe would make me his at last. His cool breath caressed my skin like a whisper of promise. I ached for him. My whole body cried out with need, desire coursed through me lighting fires at my core, begging to be sated. The heat of his fingers left scorching trails on my skin as he ran them teasingly down my spine. I arched my back and gasped in response. In the next second his arm had slid around my stomach and he pulled me backwards into him. My knees crumbled when I felt the first touch of his lips at my neck. I was instantly ready for him and he knew it. My stomach muscles trembled as his free hand glided over my belly towards the lace trim of my underwear. I parted my legs and felt liquid heat pool in the soft fabric. Drawn to it like a beacon, he moved his hand down further. I cried out when he dipped a finger inside of me. The sound prompted an immediate response from him and he uttered a guttural cry of his own.
“Now, Naomi. I want you, adesso amore.” His hips thrust forward and I felt him behind me. “That’s how much I want you tesoro, that’s how much you drive me crazy. Do you feel it?”
I could hardly speak, so overcome with wanting all I could manage was a gasping “Yes!” and a nod of my head. I was done with waiting. It seemed that Joe was too, he yanked down my knickers, exposing just my bottom. Releasing me momentarily, I heard the light thud of his boxers hitting the floor behind me. The thrill of what was about to happen, was briefly tinged with the self-consciousness of being with someone new for the first time. Should I wait here or turn to face him? I wanted to turn around so badly and kiss him but in that moment of indecision his strong arms were around me again. He pressed his taught body against me. His skin burned with desire. He was so hard against my back I thought I would explode if he didn’t take me now. His mouth ravished my neck rendering me useless. My toes curled into the rug underfoot, as one of Joe’s hands caressed and played with my breasts. The other slipped between my open thighs, exploring the warm wetness that showed how receptive I was to his touch. His kisses moved down my back, followed by little flicks of his tongue. As he neared the small of my back he pulled my knickers down further to my ankles and I stepped out of them. Joe remained on his knees behind me. I had no idea what he was going to do to me. I felt his hand slide back up my body and he gently pressed on my back,
“Bend over.” He instructed. I hesitated, unsure of what his intentions were. “Naomi…” was all he said and pushed again on my back. Slightly confused but so in need of him, I did as he said. Bending forward I rested my hands on the back of the chair in front of me. A few torturous seconds passed as I stood there, vulnerable and exposed to his gaze. Only when he buried his face between my legs did I realise I’d been holding my breath and I let it go in a loud cry. His tongue licked me slowly and his lips kissed and sucked at my flesh as if he was kissing my mouth. The scruff on his chin grazed the delicate skin of my inner thighs as he devoured me, bringing new sensations to the fore. I thought I would die from the sheer pleasure of it. I knew I wouldn’t last too much longer, I was torn between wanting him to stop so we could make love and wanting to give in to it, to reach my climax. My body gave me no choice as he suddenly flicked his tongue over my bottom at the same time as he pushed his thumb inside of me and used his fingers to caress my clit. The shock of being licked in a place no one had ever touched before had me reeling, I bucked backwards onto his mouth, my body taking over. I came so hard and so fast my legs wobbled but Joe steadied me with his free arm. My ears were ringing, I stood panting, allowing myself a few moments to get over what had happened. I’d never reacted like that with any man before. Joe had taken me to heights I’d never reached. He’d licked my backside! He wasn’t finished either, he began muttering in Italian, the urgency in his voice was clear. Each mumbled phrase followed by a kiss or a teasing bite as he rose behind me. I could feel all of him as he pressed himself firmly against my rear. A small hint of panic crossed my mind, did he want me like that? I’d never done that before and I was probably too far gone to say no. The state of sexual intoxication I was in I’d most likely agree to anything but I wasn’t sure I could take that so soon.
“Joe, wait...” I began in protest.
He groaned. “Tesoro, darling, no more waiting, please. I need to make you mine.” Joe spun me around to face him, cupping a hand to my face, he let his thumb brush my bottom lip. “Don’t you want me bella? I want to make love to you Naomi. I want to give you pleasure, only pleasure.” His lips replaced his thumb and in that moment I was lost forever. The taste of me on his mouth mixed with his own divine musk was like a drug. I wanted more, I wanted all of him. I wanted his pleasure, I decided, however it came.
Oh God, yes Joe. I want you, so much.” I was breathing so rapidly between his urgent kisses on my mouth and neck I barely got the words out but he heard what he needed to hear. Bending slightly I felt his arms slide down past my ass and grab my legs. He hoisted me up in one move and I wrapped my legs around his waist. The tip of his flesh rested teasingly on mine, I felt insanely exhilarated. His chest hair tickled my nipples fuelling the fire, I was desperate now, and all I could think of was having him inside me. “Joe, please.” My begging barely a whisper. The anticipation was killing me. My plea was his cue and he carried me towards the bed. Words of amore poured from his lips, I had no idea what he was saying but it drove me wild. Everything about him screamed sex, his accent was just the cherry on the top. I lay on my back, legs open and ready for him. Joe stood naked and shameless at the side of the bed, drinking in the sight of me. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was magnificent, perfect. Every inch of him gleamed from the heat between us. He positioned himself over me, kissed me once and entered me in one swift, blissful thrust.
“Mine.” he whispered.
I read the scene again. Damn that was hot! I was so pleased with myself, the more I wrote, the better I felt. It was addictive. I couldn’t explain the pull that Joe had on me. The small shadow of guilt I had was buried under the sheer thrill of writing my story. My story? I chuckled to myself. Well it kind of was mine now. No one else was ever going to read it. Creating this make-believe life, roll-play or whatever you wanted to call it had taken over me. Somewhere inside ‘Jiminy’ protested but I shut him out. I knew I was behind with my professional work, especially my accounts and I promised myself I’d get to it at some point but not now. Now was about me and Joe. The scene I had just written was an amalgamation of many fantasies and late night dreams I’d been having lately. The dreams seemed to increase the more involved I got with this rewrite but I wasn’t complaining, I was inspired! I told myself I was getting my confidence back, beginning a new chapter in my life. That the writing was giving me new direction, a new goal and a path to success. Which, was true to a point but what I really didn’t want to admit was that I just wanted to write about me and Joe, together. As crazy as it might sound to an outsider, I was in love with him. There was no point trying to pass it off as fantasy anymore, he was in my head, he was part of me and this was the only way I could ever be with him. I was sure I’d be certified insane if anyone ever found out. I was aware how mad it all was, even slightly scared by the depth of my feelings for him. But it was real, to me anyway. He spoke to me, touched me, and loved me all through the pages of a book. No one was ever going to take that away from me.
I had briefly glanced over the emails from Laney, they started out as enquiries as to how the proofread was going and was I able to meet the deadline, and then progressed to genuine concern for my lack of correspondence and finished with, ‘If I do not hear from you by the end of the month I must conclude that you are unable to complete the task and I will be forced to end our contract with no issue of payment.’ I had to admit, the last one had worried me. I hadn’t realised just how long it had been since I had last contacted Laney. We never communicated via phone or in person, she was a self-professed recluse and only ever got in touch via email. The paper manuscript she’d sent came with a P.O box number only, no return address. She liked her privacy for sure. I was worried because I needed payment to clear my bills and pay my rent, not because of what I’d done to her manuscript. That in itself made me sound like a horrible person but I really wasn’t. I just felt, I don’t know…alive when I was writing it. I couldn’t explain it, it felt right, maybe not in principle and certainly not on a professional level but it was right for me. I just knew it and because of that, I had to carry on.
I had quickly sent a reply with some lame-arsed excuse of an ongoing stomach bug and a dodgy internet service as my reason for not being in touch. Hoping that would be enough to buy me some time, I made a mental note to send a genuine report of proofing back to her as soon as I could muster. The sane, logical part of me felt bad because, essentially, Laney had sent Joe to me. So, it was my duty to at least do the job she was still, hopefully, paying me for. I say the sane part of me because, when I took a moment to think about how far I had let myself sink into this absurd fantasy, I realised just how cuckoo I must be. Maybe I should go talk to someone? A therapist or something? I knew I was being irresponsible and half of me just didn’t care and that was worrying. I could see Mum and Dad were right to be concerned, maybe I did need a break. That family holiday in New Zealand began to look quite appealing. Thoughts of my sister Imogen filled my head and I suddenly needed her. I checked the time on my phone, it was late here so it would be early morning in New Zealand. I clicked the Skype icon on my laptop and clicked the call button next to Immy’s profile, praying that she would answer.
“Hey you! Long-time no speak.” I smiled at the camera on the screen, giving my sister a wave when she came into view.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” She quizzed back.
“Har har! That’s original.” I said wryly. “How’s things? Any gossip?”
“Well to be fair, sister dear, it has been a while since I’ve seen that beautiful mug of yours. I was beginning to think you’d dropped off the face of the earth!” She laughed. I missed her laugh. “Let’s see, gossip huh? Well, the firm have renewed my contract for another two years, so I guess I’ll be staying here for a while…and they gave me a pay rise which, is enough for me to move further into the city, so yeah.” She was positively beaming.
“Wow! Immy, that’s brilliant. I’m happy for you, really. Mum and Dad will be too. Have you spoken to them? Mum said they were making plans to visit. Hey, would you mind if I decided to tag along? I mean nothing definite but you know, just in case.” I shrugged my shoulders.
“Yeah, I spoke to them already. They’re coming as planned now. Mum mentioned about you coming…” she paused, “Um, I mean obviously you’re welcome and we’d love to see you, you’d love it here!” She paused again, I sensed her trepidation.
“OK. Spit it out, I feel a ‘but’ coming on. What is it?” I admit I felt a little rejected. I mean I know I hadn’t been exactly keen on the idea when Mum mentioned it but I had hoped Immy’s inevitable excitement at us all visiting together would ignite my own. Now I felt quite deflated.
“No, Naomi, of course you can come! It’s just that it’s only a small two-bedroom apartment and the sofa isn’t big enough. I’m not sure where you’d sleep.” I was confused. Could I not just share her room? Her next sentence explained why that wasn’t an option. “I met someone, Sis. His name’s Fletcher, he works at my firm and well…he kind of moved in so…” she pulled an apologetic face.
“Well could he not just move out for a few weeks?” The retort flew out of my mouth before I could stop it. I regretted it instantly. This wasn’t how I’d wanted the conversation to go at all. I needed my sister. I needed to offload on her and her news had blindsided me. “Sorry, Imogen. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just… look it doesn’t matter, it was just a thought. I wasn’t seriously thinking about coming this time anyway. I can’t afford time off work, you know? I ran my palm over my face and scrunched my eyes up. Why did I feel like crying?
“Hey, what’s wrong?” came her crackled reply. The camera feed wobbled. “You called me for a reason, didn’t you?” She had a look of sympathy and concern, not what I expected after I’d just snapped at her. I really wished I could hug her right now. I felt the tears brimming in the corners of my eyes.
“Why did you have to move so far away?” I sobbed. “I miss you babe. There’s no one to bloody talk to here,” the tears spilled from my eyes and I let them, “everything’s turning to shit and I don’t know what to do.”
“I heard about Iain, the wanker. Mum told me, she’d seen the announcement in the paper.”
“God, is there anything Mum doesn’t know about! I swear she has radar or sixth sense or something.”
“She’s worried about you. So am I now. You were in a good place, what happened? Do you need to see someone? Counselling again?”
“No, I just. I don’t think so. I’m just having a bad time is all. Work’s getting on top of me a little and some other stuff on my mind.” My stomach knotted, should I tell her about Joe? Would she think I’d gone crazy? Of course she would! “I just needed a sympathy chat with my sister that was all.”
“Well then you should call more often.” She teased softly. “I might be on the other side of the world but I’m always here for you, you know that. Why is work getting you down anyway? I thought you liked it. Didn’t you get the rest of that story you liked? The Italian guy?”
Oh if only you knew. I laughed suddenly at the irony of it all.
“Yeah, it’s turning out to be a bit more than I can handle. It’s…intense.”
“Nothing you can’t handle though?”
“I guess. It’s making me want to write again. I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed by it, the work and the fact that Iain has moved on with his life and you’re settling down and have this great job and you live in New Zealand for God’s sake! And, where am I? Nothing’s changed for me Immy. Where’s my happy ending? I’m just fed up with everything, you know?”
“Well, it’s great that you want to write though? I mean you always wanted that so do it. What’s stopping you?”
“Nothing. It’s complicated. I can’t explain it now.” The laptop screen flickered and the camera feed momentarily froze. “Immy? You still there?” A crackling sound began, like when a TV emits white noise. The screen jumped again and allowed a brief distorted picture of my sister to come through. She appeared to be waving at me. I couldn’t work out if she was waving to indicate she was still there or waving goodbye. “I can see you, sort of, can you see me?” More waving. She was out of her seat now, leaning toward the camera. She appeared to be shouting at me. What the hell is wrong with her? “What? I can’t hear you!” I shouted back. She stopped waving and started frantically pointing at me. The picture remained distorted and jumpy and the sound had gone altogether. I hated Skype sometimes. “Listen, Imogen. I’m going to turn it off, OK? I don’t know if you can hear me but it’s not working. I’ll call you later!” I saw her shaking her head and gesturing towards me. She looked upset. Jesus, calm down drama queen! It’s only Skype. I blew out a frustrated breath and pressed the shutdown button on my laptop. I waited a few moments for the screen to turn black, as I reached up to close the lid, I saw my reflection and a man with silver hair standing right behind me.