Samhain Publishing

“It’s him,” I said, indistinctly because my tongue got in the way.

Now, before I explain about “him”, there are a few things you should know about me, in case you’re ever casting director when they do my life film. I’m thirty-two, never been married, never had any particularly long-lasting relationships, lived in York all my life, youngest of five kids of hippy parents (hence the name, I got off lightly, you wait until you meet my brothers and sister) and I have this…problem. Cameron Diaz could probably play me if she’s prepared to put on four stone, mostly on her bottom, and rub herself with ugly cream. All right. Back to him.

“Him?” Thanks, Jazz. Always ready with the unnecessary link.

“Over there. Just come in. With the two guys in suits. Don’t turn round.”

Both Katie and Jazz swivelled, although at least Katie did it subtly. Jazz got his long leather coat caught in the rotating mechanism of his stool and fell over.

“Okayyyyy,” Katie said slowly. “But you have to help us on this one, Will. Who exactly is he?”

“You’re looking at the guy in the middle, yes? The one with the cheekbones and the stubble? The one with the violet eyes?”

“You can tell all that from back here? Bloody hell, Will, yeah. That’s the one we’re looking at.”

“His name is Luke. We…I…we were at uni together.”

Jazz and Katie looked at me. They raised eyebrows at each other, exchanged one more look then picked me up bodily, hands under my armpits. Then they dragged me, feet flailing against the floor like Scooby-Doo in cartoon retreat, and dropped me outside the Sprout in time for me to be heartily sick down the nearest drain.

“Close one, that time.” Jazz mopped his face theatrically and rearranged his hair over the collar of his coat. “You’re really gonna have to get help y’know, Will.”

“It wears off,” I muttered indistinctly from around the large handkerchief I was wiping my mouth with. “It’s only the first few times.”

And there you have it. The essence of my little problem. Whenever I see a man I find halfway attractive, I start throwing up. Can’t help it. It’s happened ever since my teens. My doctor says it’s stress-related. Oddly enough, it never happens at work—although that might be because Katie and I work in a department of the local paper where the only men are moribund and/or pensionable. But it means that, of necessity, all my friends are women. If you don’t count Jazz and I’ve known him since primary school so I’m immune. Even though people tell me he’s good looking, I can’t see past the buck-toothed, toad-loving ten-year-old.

Another one of the unpleasant things about my problem—it can give rise to misunderstandings. Following a visit to a pantomime and a case of food poisoning, I had to spend six weeks convincing Jazz and Katie that I fancied neither of the Chuckle Brothers.

“Can we go back in now? It’s freezing out here.”

“Are you sure?” Katie raised an eyebrow. “I mean, it’s been a rough day for you, Will. Wouldn’t you rather go home?”

What, and miss the chance of ogling Luke on an empty stomach? “I’m fine. Honestly.”

We tried to re-enter nonchalantly, pretending we’d only popped out for a breath of air. “Okay then, Willow. Spill the beans,” Jazz said then slammed a hand over his mouth. “Sorry. I meant, fill us in. Details about this Luke, please, and I mean details.” He waggled his eyebrows in a way suggestive of…well, actually just suggestive. Sometimes Jazz is such a girl. That’s why we like him.

“There’s really not much to say. He did some kind of science degree. I used to see him now and again hanging round the Union bar. He had a job in town, in a record shop, went out with wassername, you know, the girl that married thingy.”

“Uh-huh. So you never went out with him.”

“Um. No.”

“But you wished you had?” Sometimes, for all his comical affectations, Jazz can be quite perceptive.

“Um.”

“Willow.” Katie frowned at me. “Is this the guy you had that enormous crush on? The one who played in that band that you made me go and see about fifty times? Used to be so skinny he made Jarvis Cocker look fat? That guy?”

Yes, Kate, I wanted to say. That guy. The man I lost sleep over, the man who haunted my dreams, who slid his hand down my thigh in my hottest fantasies. “Could be” was what I, in fact, said. “Looks a bit like him.”

“Luke Fry.” Katie glanced over again and clicked her fingers. “That’s his name. He asked me out once, you know.”

What! “You never told me that.”

“Well, I knew how much you fancied him.” The rest of the sentence went unsaid, but if it had been pronounced, it would have contained words such as “never even noticed you were alive”.

“Did you go?” Despite the churning of my stomach, I let my gaze roam over and rest on the back view of Luke Fry. He was still slim, though the scraggy body had filled out to be merely slender and, in contrast to his friends, he wore stonewashed jeans and a dark blue shirt. Flanked by the two suits, he looked like a rock star being minded by accountants.

“Ha. Did I, hell.” Katie turned a thoughtful gaze my way. “Too bloody cocky for my liking. Anyway, I had Dan.”

“And you still do.” Jazz tapped his watch. “But only for another twenty seconds if you don’t get home in a hurry. You told him you’d be back by five, remember?”

“Oh, shit.” With much scrabbling around under the table for coat, bag and phone, Katie prepared to leave. “Hope to God he’s remembered to pick up the twins. Last time he forgot and they were still at the nursery at twenty to six, like a couple of uncollected parcels. Oh, sod it, where’s my phone? Look, I’ll call tonight, Wills, yes? Provided the little darlings go to bed all right. An afternoon with their father is usually enough to wind them up beyond all human understanding. If not, you’ll be in tomorrow, all day?”

Sunday. Ah yes, tomorrow was Sunday. I’m sure Bridget Jones has pretty well covered the single thirty-something’s Sunday angst, so I won’t dwell on it here.

“Course. Love to Dan and the boys.” But my eyes had swivelled of their own accord to the impeccably tailored back of Luke Fry. God, how I had wanted that man. You’d think, wouldn’t you, that the intervening ten years should have wiped out at least some of that longing, the sheer emptiness I’d felt at the end of every day when he had once more failed to acknowledge so much as the space that I occupied. But, here I was, old enough to know better and still, God help me, still wishing he’d turn around, catch my eye and smile that particular smile.

“You okay, Will?” Jazz patted my arm. Owing to the enormous weight of silver rings he was wearing, it was like being caressed by a carthorse in full harness.

“Fine, Jazz. Look.” My voice was shaking slightly. “I’d better be off home, too. I suspect a family conference is going to be thrown, now we’ve all found out what Granddad left us, so…” I kept my eyes stapled to his face. Why should I look at Luke Fry? Why should I even want to?

Jazz stared at me. Although he’d dyed his hair black to go with the whole undead thing, his eyebrows were still distressingly pale, giving him the appearance of an unfinished painting. “Sure you don’t want to, I dunno, go clubbing or something? Catch a film?”

“Sorry, next time maybe? Only, you know what my family is like.” I pulled my jacket on and backed towards the door, my face pink with the effort of not glancing over at the bar. “If you’re at a loose end tomorrow, pop over. I’m not doing anything, as usual.” I finished speaking, spun round to open the door and collided hard with another body.

There was a sudden smell of expensive cologne, an impression of firmness and the scratch of linen against my face. Then my mortification was completed by a hand under my elbow helping me upright until I could stare into the face of—

“I’m terribly sorry, wasn’t looking. Hold on a moment. Don’t I know you? Your face is really familiar. Give me a minute. It’s Willow. Willow Cayton, isn’t it? Good God, that’s incredible. Do you remember me? Fry. Luke Fry? We were at university together?”

With deep breathing and an empty stomach, I could just about keep things down and under control, but I hoped he couldn’t see the desperate clenching that was necessary. “Oh. Ah. Hello.”

“Good grief, after all these years. You look wonderful, Willow. Absolutely…” and he left a pause, during which he looked me up and down quickly enough not to cause offence, but slowly enough to gratify my ego, “…fantastic.”