“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I hope so. I’m not sure he’ll even remember me, though. We lived next door to each other, but we didn’t exactly spend a lot of time together. He was closer to my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah. Mark. He’s a year older than me. Do you have any siblings?”
“Two sisters,” he replies, taking another sip of his champagne. “Stop trying to change the subject, though. Back to you and Whatsit.”
“I’m just making polite conversation,” I insist. “To becivilized. So, two sisters, huh?” I narrow my eyes thoughtfully. “Wait, let me guess. You’re the oldest, right?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you’re bossy. And a bit uptight. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“And you’re the youngest, I’m guessing?” he counters. “I can tell because you’re super-dramatic, and you still believe in fairy tales.”
“Hey! That’s not true,” I protest, putting my cutlery down sharply. “I mean, itistrue that I’m the youngest, yes. But I’m notthatdramatic. And Idon’tbelieve in fairy tales. Iknowthat woman in the bar was just drunk. I wish I hadn’t mentioned her now.”
“That makes two of us, then,” he says ruefully, tipping the last of his champagne down his throat, then reaching for the bottle to refill our glasses.
“Anyway, it’s not the just the ‘Wise Old Crone’ thing,” he says, using his fingers to make scare quotes around the words. “It’s the fact that you came rushing out here on a whim, looking for the love of your life.That’sthe fairy tale. It’s not just the idea of a fairy godmother guiding your hand; it’s the idea that you’re somehow destined to be with this guy. Don’t you think he’d have been in touch by now, if that was the case? Don’t you think there would have been some kind of sign — other than an old woman in a pub — that he was the one for you? Don’t you think it would’ve taken less than—” He looks up at the fairy lights above us, doing some quick calculations in his head — “Less thanseventeen years,and a Wise Old Crone for the two of you to get together?”
He puts the champagne bottle back in the ice bucket, pushing it in so fiercely that some of the ice spills out.
“Whoa. What gotyourgoat?” I snap, annoyed. “Way to prove you’renotbossy and uptight, Alex. Good one.”
I pick up my glass, wishing I’d had a stronger comeback than this one, but I’m so taken aback by the ferocity of his short speech that I’m surprised I can speak at all.
“We didn’t get together back then,” I tell him frostily, “because I was still growing into myself.”
“You werewhat?”
He’s surprised enough by this that his interest actually sounds genuine for once.
“I wasgrowing into myself,” I repeat. “That’s what my mum always told me, anyway. I was… well, I was a bit of a late bloomer, okay? And Jamie was the most popular guy in the school. Everyone liked him. Like, if we’d been American, he’d have been the captain of the football team.”
“And, what, you’d have been the nerdy girl in glasses, who one day takes them off and everyone realizes how beautiful she was all along? Is that it?”
His lips curve upwards in what I’m assuming is supposed to be a smile, but which just makes me feel like he’s making fun of me.
“Laugh all you want,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me.”
I go back to my starter, feeling very muchbothered.
The thing is, Alex is absolutely right. Ididhope that one day Jamie would look up from the shoulders of his teammates and see me there in the bleachers, the girl of his dreams. And, okay, it was always unlikely — especially given that he didn’t actually play football, and our school didn’t evenhavebleachers — but that didn’t stop me hoping all the same.
In retrospect, I probably listened to a bittoomuch Taylor Swift in high school.
“I can just about understand you thinking that when you were a kid,” says Alex. “It’s the fact that you still think it’s going to happennowI can’t fathom.”
“Look,” I say, starting to lose my temper. “I get that you obviously pride yourself on being a fun-sucking dementor, who can’t rest untileveryone’s as miserable as you are, but you don’t need to be so rude all the time, okay? For your information, Idon’tthink it’s going to happen now, okay? I’m not stupid. Ididsay Jamie was just an excuse, didn’t I? Just a catalyst for something bigger?”
Wait:didI say that, or did I just think it? Oh well, too late now…
Alex shrugs.
“All the popular kids in my year ended up either on drugs, or still living at home with their parents,” he says. “High school popularity isn’t necessarily a guarantee of future happiness, you know. And even if it was, what happens if it doesn’t work? What happens if this Jamie isn’t interested, and your life doesn’t change? What if it doesn’t work out? Then you’ll just be back where you started.”
I put my cutlery down, my appetite suddenly gone.
