Running Late

My phone pings as I leave the office. A message from Jenny. Table booked at the Bella Vista for 7pm. Don’t be late.

              Ordinarily, I’d enjoy the prospect of Italian food, followed by a night of dancing at Jimmy’s – the hot, new nightclub that’s just opened in town. But today just happens to be my birthday – a fact I haven’t shared with Jenny and Amanda, my housemates for the past three weeks.

              Don’t get me wrong: it’s not that I don’t like Jenny and Amanda; I just don’t know them very well yet. If we’d bonded more, perhaps I would have felt able to tell them it’s my quarter-century and that I’d like to celebrate by doing something decadent and a little different from normal – like a spa weekend at Hardwick Hall, the luxury health resort five miles away, or an arts and crafts mini-break in that William Morris-inspired hotel I saw on the internet. Jen made such a fuss about Jimmy’s, though, that I didn’t have the heart to suggest anything else – let alone say it was my birthday.

I’m standing on Platform 12, waiting for the train that will take me closer to the celebration that I don’t particularly want, when someone bumps against my shoulder. I do the typically English thing of beginning to apologise even though I was standing still when the stranger walked into me, then stop short as I find myself gazing into coffee-coloured eyes I could quite happily drown in.

              ‘Lucy!’ the stranger says in delight, hastily correcting it to, ‘I mean Lizzie, sorry.’

              He obviously knows me, but where from?

              ‘I’m Tom,’ he continues. Noticing my blank expression, he adds, ‘I used to go out with Amanda.’

I knew he was familiar. This is my housemate’s boyfriend. Hang on – what tense did he use?

‘I didn’t know you’d split up,’ I mumble. Then again, how would I know? This is only my third weekend of living in the shared house I found via an ad on the internet, and I was in Worcester for a friend’s wedding the first weekend and in bed with flu the second. I must have clocked Tom leaving or arriving once or twice in that first week after I’d moved in, but Jen and Amanda still felt like relative strangers, so I hadn’t asked questions about the tall, dark hunk in front of me. I’d just assumed he was a brother or a boyfriend or even a work colleague. There are a thousand and one possible scenarios for a good-looking man to be coming and going in the house where you live.

Tom’s phone vibrates and he glances at it quickly before stuffing it back in his pocket. ‘Fancy a drink? There’s a bar just round the corner from here.’

I hesitate, torn between the undeniable attraction I feel towards this virtual stranger and the social conditioning that dictates me not keeping people waiting if they’ve asked me to be somewhere by a specific time. 5pm. I could catch the 5.30 train and still be home in time to shower and change before leaving for the Bella Vista.

‘Okay,’ I say, and Tom takes my hand and leads me out of the station towards a pub that’s aptly named The Railway.

We sit in semi-silence for the first few minutes, neither of us sure what to say.

              ‘Do you work round here?’ tom ventures at last.

              I nod. ‘Dillon and Mackenzie.’

              ‘The accountancy firm? I applied for a job there once, but they didn’t even call me for interview.’

              ‘So, you’re an accountant too?’ With looks like that, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find he was a film star – or a professional sex symbol.

              ‘Not anymore. A friend of mine set up his own tech company two and a half years ago and I work for him as his operations manager. I’m making a lot more than D and M were offering.’

              ‘So,’ I say after a while, ‘what happened with you and Amanda? Why did you break up?’

              ‘Oh, you know… The usual…’

He seems a little uncomfortable as he says it, and I wonder if it’s an oblique reference to him not being as much of a sex god as his looks suggest.

‘What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Not at the moment,’ I say, feeling myself blush involuntarily. Luckily, I catch sight of the clock on the giant TV screen playing MTV and realise I have an escape route. ‘I’d better go,’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘We’re going out for a house meal tonight and I promised I wouldn’t be late back.’

‘You’ve got time for one more, haven’t you?’ His fingers catch mine, and a jolt of electricity sparks through me.

5.30. If I leave at 6, I can still be home on time.

‘Just let me message the others,’ I say, my thumbs flying over the keys. Missed my train. Sorry. Should still be back in time for dinner.

But 6 comes and goes, and then 6.30, and I know I won’t make it to the Bella Vista for 7.

You’ll have to do the restaurant without me, I type, trying to pretend I haven’t fallen under the spell of Tom’s hypnotic brown eyes. He’s my housemate’s ex – doesn’t that mean he’s off limits? I’m sure it’s illegal or immoral or… something… to be entertaining lustful thoughts about someone who knows your kitchen better than you do.

              ‘You know I fancied you the first time I saw you,’ he says. ‘Even though I was still with Amanda then.’

The look he gives me now is definitely flirty. I feel my insides melting.

Okay. Jen’s reply makes me jump. It’s almost as if she’s spying on me – making sure I don’t get too cosy with Tom. Do you want to meet us at Jimmy’s? We should be there by 9.

I’ve lost interest in dancing tonight. I want to sit here with Tom for as long as I can, prolonging the moment when we go our separate ways.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asks suddenly. ‘I could murder some chicken wings.’

We order a sharing platter, but I’m too nervous to eat anything. Instead, I watch as Tom devours the plateful, imagining myself licking the sauce off his fingers in some sort of weird 9½ Weeks parody.

He’s Amanda’s ex, I remind myself. Off limits. Don’t go there.

And I’m trying so hard to do the right thing, but it’s not easy when a guy this good-looking is touching my shoulder one minute and my arm the next, not to mention making eye-contact the whole time. And when he finally leans across and kisses me on the lips, the lines blur totally so that I no longer know where my loyalties lie.

When we break apart, I find another message from Jen. If you don’t make it to Jimmy’s, we’ll see you tomorrow.

              Feeling a bit tired, I text back. I might just head home for an early night.

              It’s not really lying, I tell myself. I’m certainly not in the mood for clubbing after spending several hours sitting in a pub with a man I can’t stop thinking about – a man whose kiss has just made this the best birthday ever.

              Tom’s staring at his phone. I feel a sudden pang of doubt. I know nothing about him – apart from the fact that he’s Amanda’s ex. What if he’s already found a new girlfriend and she’s messaging him to ask him where he is?

              ‘Work,’ he says, catching my eye. ‘It can wait. I’ve got more important things to do at the moment.’

              The way he looks at me when he says the last bit makes my heart sing. I don’t want to be disloyal to Amanda, but I really, really like this guy – and he seems to like me too.

We leave the pub at around 9 and head for the station. ‘I’ll see you home,’ he says, checking the screens to see when the next train is.

              I know it’s out of his way – he lives in the opposite direction; but I run with it and let his arms snake around me as we wait on the platform. When the train comes, we sit close together; and then we walk back to my house holding hands.

The house is in darkness – not surprising considering the others are out at Jimmy’s. As we reach the front door, I feel suddenly shy. I want to ask him to come in, but this is all moving too fast. And what would I tell Amanda in the morning?

              ‘Aren’t you inviting me in – for coffee?’

How does he manage to make the last word sound so seductive?

‘I suppose I am,’ I say, as lightly as I can, my chest hammering in anticipation.

And then I open the door, aware that what I’m about to do might totally ruin my budding friendship with my housemates.

I’m wondering how this is supposed to work. Do I take him into the kitchen first? Offer him a drink? Or do we head for the bedroom straight away?

              Tom seems to be making the decision, opening the door that leads to the living room. We can sit on the sofa – it’s less suggestive than a bed but it still has potential. If that first kiss in the pub is anything to go by, I know there's a definite chemistry between us; but it's not just something physical: you don't kiss someone like that unless it means something...

 ‘Surprise!’ The lights come on suddenly and I find myself staring at Jen, Amanda, and an assorted mixture of people including my sister, a couple of old schoolfriends and at least four of the girls I work with.

For a moment, I don’t know how to react. A surprise party. For me. But how…

              ‘How did you know?’ I ask.

              ‘Your mum rang last week – when you were in bed with flu. She mentioned it then.’ Jen’s grinning like an idiot. She obviously thinks I’m delighted with her surprise. ‘I was worried you’d get home from work before I’d had the chance to set everything up, so Amanda told Tom to keep you out of the way until we were ready for you.’

              ‘So we were never going to the Bella Vista? Or Jimmy’s?’

‘That was just something we made up to put you off the scent,’ Amanda chimes in, walking over to Tom and lifting her mouth to his for a kiss. ‘Great job, Babes. She turns to me, laughing. ‘I told him to do whatever he had to – short of kidnapping you or tying you up – to make sure you didn’t come home too soon.’

Is it my imagination, or is Tom looking regretful?

‘Isn’t he the best boyfriend?’ she asks.

And just like that, my birthday is ruined.