CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
________
EMMA
“Emma! Get out of the bathroom. I need to pee!” Amanda shouted outside the toilet, her fist slamming against the door. She must have come back early from her mother’s.
I wasn’t in the toilet. I was struggling to get out of my bed, laughing because I wanted to see her face when James opened the door.
I went up behind her as she bounced from one leg to the other.
“Emma, for God’s sake, open the bloody door!”
I was about to tap her shoulder when the doorknob moved.
James stood with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his brown hair wet and wild and his skin slick with the steam of the shower. He smiled at Amanda, a crooked and playful smile, one that could stop traffic.
“There you go, Amanda. I wouldn’t want you to have a little accident outside the door.” He winked.
Amanda stood straight and the wriggling stopped. She cleared her throat and composed herself.
With a nervous laugh, she said, “That wouldn’t happen. I’m a grown woman.”
But even though she tried to look sophisticated, her mouth was still wide open and she wouldn’t budge from the doorway.
I knew what was in her thoughts. That if she wished hard enough, and waited patiently, the small white towel would fall to the floor. I know this because those were my exact thoughts.
“Would you like to come in?” he said, his hand gesturing into the bathroom.
She cleared her throat once again and stepped inside the doorway.
She turned around, probably to catch a last glimpse at James’s sculpted back, and instead caught sight of me with my hand over my mouth to stop giggling. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes were full of laughter. She mouthed, “You have to tell me everything,” and with her manicured hand she fanned herself.
I rolled my eyes. Typical Amanda, only thinking of the male species.
I shuffled back to my bedroom where I knew James was getting ready to go. He was going back to the US, back to his fancy, luxurious life.
I knocked. “Are you decent?”
“Always,” he said from behind the door.
“Are you dressed?” I asked, knowing that to James, being decent didn’t mean fully clothed.
To save myself embarrassment, I waited until he agreed.
I went in and saw him standing beside the window, his hair still messy and wet, but now dressed in jeans and a simple grey V-neck jumper.
He was looking out the window with a damp towel in his hand. Without looking, he dropped the towel on my bed.
“Ralph should be here soon. Well, it was awesome to see you,” he said.
I rocked on my heels, unsure of what to say or do.
He smiled and my pulse stopped. It was a warm smile, sincere.
“You say that as if it is a goodbye,” I replied. “It kind of is, isn’t it?”
He walked towards me. “I was thinking more like a see you later, which reminds me, I need your number so we can keep in touch.”
“Yes,” I said, smiling like a schoolgirl, rummaging through my bag until I found my phone and a pen.
There wasn’t any paper. I used the receipt from the arcade we visited two days before.
Before I could start writing it, he passed me his phone. “Just type it here.”
After realising that a lot of women handed their numbers to him, I wrote the school we went to for safe measure. I wasn’t sure how many Emma Mitchells were out there, or if any of them gave him their number, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
“What’s the first thing you are going to do when you get back?” I asked, out of the blue, but actually interested.
He placed his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans and replied, “See my agent and maybe go to the gym. You?”
“Oh, you know… just about the same,” I tried to joke.
A car horn beeped outside, making me jump.
James came closer, dropped his bag on the floor, and hugged me, lifting me up in his arms and squeezing. When I was safely back on the floor, he smiled and tenderly took a loose strand of my hair and placed it behind my ear. The simple movement sent fireworks down my spine.
“I’ll see you soon,” he said, before smacking a kiss on my forehead and walking out the door.
I stood rooted in the same place, my fists clenched and my mind in turmoil. Part of me was glad that he’d left. I was confused, and resisting him would’ve been impossible if he’d stayed longer, but the other side of me, probably the biggest part, was heartbroken at the thought of not seeing him again.
“Emma, thanks for tidying up the living room,” Amanda shouted from the stairs as she made her way to my room.
She must have known that James had left.
“It wasn’t me. It must have been James,” I replied.
I heard her come to stand at the doorway.
“I thought it was too good to be true. You cleaning? No way!”
I didn’t answer, didn’t move from my position, and Amanda moved to stand in front of me, blocking my view through the window.
She bit her lip and smiled. “So, not only is he hot, but tidy as well? The man of my dreams. He must have a flaw.”
“He bites his nails,” I replied, trying to smile, but my eyes started to sting and my chin wobbled.
“Disgusting. I can’t live with that. Best you keep him.” She lifted my chin and looked into my eyes before asking, “Are you all right, pet?”
I could only nod, because if I spoke, a waterfall would start, and after the last few weeks, I wasn’t sure if I could stop it.
That was when we heard a loud noise coming from outside, as if there were a crowd of people. We rushed to the window to have a look.
Dozens of journalists stood outside our little flat, ready with cameras and microphones, all of them shouting as James opened the front door. He had his hood up and ran towards the car, where Ralph waited.
Shit! How was I going to make it into work on time?
“Fuck me! Where on earth did they come from?” Amanda muttered. She closed the curtains and said, “I think I need a drink. Do you want one?” she asked.
I looked at my watch and said, “But it’s only nine o’clock.”
“So? You look like you need one.”
“I’ll have an Irish coffee but without the whiskey.” I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my pyjamas.
“How about one without the coffee?” she said, leading the way to the kitchen.
I sat in front of Amanda and watched the complicated way she had to eat breakfast. The simple act of eating toast seemed a premeditated battle against the crust. Before spreading the butter and jam, she cut the crust with a butter knife, her movements precise and coordinated. While she worked, she talked, endless chatter about her night at her mother’s, from the new leopard-print dress she’d bought to her mother’s new boy toy—who, in her description, lacked brains and a neck but had muscles to spare.
I, on the other hand, stared at her, my stomach growling with hunger and feeling almost faint, but instead of complaining or taking over the task, I just smiled and said the right words at the right times.
My mind drifted to James and the folk standing outside. Would they be there the whole time or would they leave once they knew he was gone? I hoped it was the latter.
“…I mean, he actually grabbed her arse and she giggled just like a schoolgirl, and she had that look. You know the one, like she’s loved up. I told her, ‘Mum, you’re almost sixty. He could be your son.’ You know what she said?” she asked, not expecting an answer. “‘Oh, pet, the men my age hardly last. Joe here can last all night,’ and then she had the bloody cheek to wink at me, as if there was a secret language.”
This time she shook her head and kept quiet for a mere two seconds. Worst of all, and I didn’t have the courage to tell her, was that she was exactly like her mother. Not exactly a commitment phobe, but she liked playing the field.
“There’s plenty of fish in the sea. I can’t be happy with just the one,” she would say in a nonchalant way.
________
JAMES
Last night was impossible. I should have won an award. Not for acting, but for self-restraint. I was left panting on the sofa as Emma disappeared into the kitchen. Part of me regretted touching her. Even though it was something we’d done years ago, it hadn’t been welcome, as confirmed by how quickly she hid her feet. But I couldn’t resist; her skin was velvety soft and I was drawn to it like a magnet. The whole setup seemed homey and oddly familiar.
The tattoo was new, a simple and elegant vine of purple flowers that twisted around her ankle and crept to her leg. I couldn’t help but wonder how far up it went and fantasise about how her skin would taste as I traced the pattern with my tongue. I’d thought we were on the same page, but I’d obviously been mistaken. Maybe it was too soon. After all, I’d been away for seven years. If that was the case, I could wait. I’d waited all these years; a few more wouldn’t make a difference.
Every fibre in me had wanted to stay with her, to reach out and touch her, to tame that unruly curl that rebelled and rested on her forehead. But I had to wait and make sure she was ready, which she wasn’t, not yet anyway. If I were honest with myself, neither was I. I needed to get help, and that would start as soon as I got home.
I should’ve expected the press outside her flat. The chick from the video shop would’ve posted the pic and it would have run like wildfire. Less than twenty-four hours later, I had been found.
I had to make them leave Emma alone.
In the comfort of the car, I heard Hugh crack his knuckles. He wasn’t one for making noises, and that particular one drove me insane. Cringing, I waited until he was done.
“Are you hungry?” Ralph asked, his eyes glued to the road.
I nodded, my stomach suddenly growling at me, punishing me for not having breakfast.
“Her roommate was quite cute.” Hugh’s voice came out of nowhere, his comment like his personality: unpredictable.
I opened my eyes at the shock of knowing that the tin man actually did have a heart.
Ralph almost choked on his own spit.
“Amanda? Yeah, she sure is,” I said, looking for any trace or crack that his wall might crumble. I saw nothing. “Do you want me to introduce you?”
This time, he flinched. Maybe even a slight amount of colour tinted his cheeks. Was it possible?
He cleared his throat and nodded.
Fantastic, for once I saw Hugh crack. But it didn’t last long, so I slumped back on the seat, humming to the cheesy, yet catchy tune of the Proclaimers as we headed to the airport.
My thoughts drifted back to Emma.