Just The Way You Are

I wanted to believe her – really I did – but when one editor made Voldemort look kind-hearted and the other was about as fierce as Winnie the Pooh, the odds were pretty stacked against me. As for my blind date, Gwen’s taste in men was dubious at best, so this Greg guy wasn’t likely to be my soulmate.

The familiar tug of desire to rip the letter open and devour its contents resurfaced again but I batted it away. I wasn’t quite ready for the storm of emotions reading it would unleash.

It wasn’t long before the witching hour came. At midday, Miranda came oozing out of her office and approached my desk.

‘Ava, could you come with me please?’

I gulped and grabbed my mood-board. I flashed a terrified expression to Fran, who just made a “rock-on” sign with her fingers and turned back to her computer.

That was it. I was on my own. I followed Miranda to her office like an innocent fly wandering into a spider’s lair. The door shut with a finality I wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

Miranda took a seat in her large black executive chair. She crossed one leg over the other and her lips curved into a sly smirk. To her right sat Paddy, who looked typically clueless and unaware of the undertones behind his colleague’s supposedly sweet smile.

‘Hello there Maria, I didn’t know you were applying for this!’ he said in his jovial Scottish lilt.

‘I-It’s Ava, Paddy…’

‘So, Ava,’ Miranda said as she made a little pyramid with her fingers and rested her chin on in. ‘why don’t you take us through your lovely mood-board?’

My heart began to pound in my ears and my breath became short. I held my board in front of my chest so they could see it, my hands trembling terribly. The slick, polished speech I’d prepared had vanished from my mind. Shit, shit, shit. Why did this have to happen now?

‘We’re waiting.’ Miranda’s voice was terse and she looked at me with a malicious glee, as though she enjoyed watching me fail.

‘Oh y-yeah, sorry…’

I caught sight of Paddy’s shoulders slouching and his gaze travelling to the far corner of the room. Come on Ava, pull it together.

‘I-I…um…I-I…’

A cold sweat washed over me and I began to tremble with abject fear. An unwelcome but familiar burning feeling rose in my throat and I knew exactly what was going to happen next.

‘Would you excuse me for a minute?’ I asked.

Neither of them looked impressed but I was past caring at this point. I looked for the nearest escape route but knew my sickness wouldn’t wait any longer. I grabbed a wastepaper bin by the door and was violently sick in it.

I knew as I walked out of the room that the job wasn’t mine.

I took some time out to sit in the ladies’ toilets and cry. Today was supposed to be the day I landed the job of my dreams and instead I’d thrown up in front of the people who would either make my career or break it. I’d probably end up being stuck doing the wordsearches or the horoscopes: they were areas where only the worst staff were sent.

I went into my handbag to get my make-up and my fingers closed in around the letter. Given that I was already an emotional wreck, I figured that adding to it probably wouldn’t do any harm.

I was just about to open it when Fran came in.

‘Dare I ask how the pitch went?’ she asked, taking in my tear-stained face.

I let out a hollow chuckle. ‘Well I went in there, couldn’t say anything about what I wanted to do for the column and threw up in the rubbish bin.’

She clapped her hands to her mouth, presumably to hide the trademark Cheshire cat grin working its way onto her face.

‘Only you Ava, only bloody you!’ She pulled me close for a hug. ‘You’re a one-off, you know that?’

When she pulled away, she caught sight of the envelope in my hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘If I’m right, it’s a letter from someone I thought had forgotten about me a helluva long time ago,’ I answered.

‘Open it!’ Fran’s eyes widened with curiosity and she eyed me expectantly like a kid waiting to receive their birthday presents.

Hands trembling, I tore open the envelope and unfurled the paper. For a very long minute, I couldn’t look at it and viewed it instead through half-closed eyes.

‘Come on, I can’t take this any more!’

I took in a deep lungful of air and prepared myself to look at what was written on the page. Every fibre of me told me not to, that I should put this Pandora’s Box of words back in my bag and forget about it. However, Fran’s expectant stare and the niggling questions at the back of my mind made me look. When I did, my breath caught in my throat. In front of me was the most beautiful love letter I’d ever read.

Dear Ava,

How do you start writing a letter to someone, six years after breaking their heart?

It may seem strange that I’m writing to you again after so long, but I can’t ignore how I feel any more. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last six years, it’s that life’s too short not to go after what you want. And Ava, all I want is you.

Since that day I was supposed to meet you in Heaton Park, I’ve kicked myself for being such a coward. Seeing how upset you were afterwards killed me. Every fibre of me pulled me towards you that day but my stupid self-doubt stopped me. I was scared of not being enough, of disappointing you. Little did I know that by convincing myself to stay out of the picture, I ended up doing the very thing I was trying to avoid. Words can’t express how sorry I am for hurting you; I hope you can forgive me.

After trying to convince myself to forget you and telling myself to move on, I’m still totally and completely in love with you. Spending the best part of a decade thinking about what we could’ve had together has been torturous. It could’ve been me holding you tight or kissing you or showing you how special you are. Now, it’s finally time for me to do something about it. I know you could have built a whole life with someone else, but I’ll regret it forever if I don’t at least try. I’ll let you know who I am soon: for now just enjoy the magic of the letters. If anyone deserves a fairy tale, it’s you. Keep smiling, beautiful.

Love always,

?

A stray sob escaped from my throat; it was a happy sob, full of joy at what I’d just read and the chain of events it could potentially set in motion.

‘Who’s it from?’ asked Fran.

‘It’s from my secret admirer,’ I replied. ‘He’s back!’

Chapter 3

Before I knew it, it was time for my date with Greg. The contents of the letter had made me a bit reluctant about going – amazing secret admirer versus dubious blind date picked by my scatter-brained best friend – but I didn’t want to let Greg down.

I got to Café Rouge just as the lunchtime rush was about to start. It was a small, smart-looking café nestled between an independent bookshop and a dry-cleaner’s. The air was warm for mid-October so I took a seat at one of the little metal tables outside. A huge red parasol emblazoned with Café Rouge rose up from the centre, protecting me from the sun’s rays. Since I was a bit early, I took the opportunity to have yet another mint and fix my ponytail. My hair had dried now so the whole thing had gone very bushy and I looked like a badly groomed poodle.

Greg arrived shortly after. I saw a tall, slender figure walking down the street and instantly knew it was him. His fitted blue shirt, black trousers and smart shoes, plus the way he carried himself all screamed “male model”. His hair was closely cropped and, as he drew nearer, I spotted a cheeky glint in his eye. Maybe this date wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘Ava Clements?’ he asked in a thick Liverpudlian accent.

‘That’s me!’ I stood up too quickly and knocked my chair backwards. Smooth Ava, really smooth.

I picked it up and offered my hand to him, which he shook firmly.

‘Nice to meet you, I’m Greg Williams,’

He smiled and we sat down. I picked up a menu and peeked over it to look at him. Gwen wasn’t wrong; he really was a good-looking guy. I could just imagine his face gracing some high-end men’s fashion campaign. He caught me looking at him and flashed a half-smile. My cheeks began to burn and I dropped my eyes back to the menu.

‘You know, when Gwen told me she had a mate to set me up with, I didn’t expect someone who looked like you,’ he said.

‘Oh, I hope I’ve exceeded your expectations then!’ I allowed a slight barbed edge to creep into my response. I couldn’t tell how he’d meant that remark so decided to be on my guard.

‘I don’t know yet, I think I’ll reserve judgement until after the meal.’

Ouch, that stung. I drummed my fingers on the table and took quick glances at the menu in front of me. I knew I couldn’t let one slightly off remark ruin a whole date; I had to be open-minded and see what Greg had to offer. If I didn’t, I could well end up knee-deep in cat litter and tins of Whiskas.

After a few minutes, a waiter came to take our order.

‘I’ll have the steak and chips and a pint of Coke please mate,’ said Greg.

‘Can I have the penne carbonara and a mineral water please?’ I handed the menus to the waiter and smiled as he took them away.

Out the corner of my eye, I saw Greg raise his eyebrows sceptically.

‘What’s up?’ I asked. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know the answer but felt it was polite to at least ask.

‘Nothing, nothing…’ He trailed off and folded his arms, causing the delicate material of his shirt to strain at his biceps.

‘Are you sure?’ I didn’t feel comfortable with the atmosphere that had developed between us. It was obvious I’d done or said something to offend him but I couldn’t think what.

Greg shook his head and curled his top lip in a very unattractive way then sat forward so he could see me.

‘I just… I thought you would’ve ordered a salad instead of pasta, that’s all.’

The comment took me aback. I certainly hadn’t been expecting that; since when did your choice of food matter so much on a date? I’d clearly been out of the game too long.

‘Oh… OK, forgive me for sounding stupid here but why does what I have to eat bother you?’

He let out a sharp breath and glared at me like I’d asked the most stupid question ever.

‘Well look at me, Ava. I’ve modelled for Calvin Klein, Burberry and Primark; I’ve got a certain image to maintain.’

You certainly have if you’re modelling for Primark, I wanted to say.

‘Right…’ I said slowly, not quite understanding what he meant.

‘What I mean is,’ he continued, seemingly having read my mind, ‘I can’t just be seen with any old heifer. My agency’s looking to get me into acting and presenting so who I’m seen with is everything. Don’t get me wrong love, you seem nice enough although your face is quite plain and you could be doing with losing about a stone. A big bowl of pasta isn’t going to do you any favours; I’d have gone for a salad if I were you.’

I sat opposite him, open-mouthed and scarcely able to believe what I’d heard. He’d called me ugly and fat and critiqued my food choices; he’d only known me five minutes! Cheeky bastard.

‘Goodbye Greg.’ I calmly got up and walked away from the table as fast as I could.

Just before we wound up for the day, Paddy and Miranda called a surprise editorial meeting. As usual, they’d sprung it on us on a Friday evening, when everybody was too busy thinking about the weekend ahead to contribute good ideas These meetings almost never happened at the start of the week when people were refreshed and full of energy.

‘Right everybody, I know it’s only October but we need to start planning for our Valentine’s Day issue right now. Our competitors Mirage and Glitter will already have started and you can bet your life they’ll have something big planned to shift issues. It might be an exclusive interview with a big celebrity or a huge features project but whatever it is, we need to do something bigger and better. Mirage beat us in the circulation figures last year and we can’t let the same thing happen again. I want us to pull something spectacular out of the bag. I know it’s quite soon to be thinking about it but does anyone have any ideas?’

Maddie’s hand shot straight up in the air. ‘We could compile a list of the city’s top Valentine’s date spots.’

How original, I said to myself, our competitors would never think of that. Then again, I didn’t exactly have a list of amazing ideas myself.

‘That’s good Maddie, but I want you all to think big. Think amazing, think of something that’ll really pull the readers in.’ Paddy sat forward and rubbed his hands together, waiting in anticipation for one of us to produce the gold nugget that would blow Mirage and Glitter out of the water.

A sketchy idea formed at the back of my mind but I wasn’t sure it was any good. Then again, I reasoned, it couldn’t be any worse than Maddie’s one.

‘Um…’ I tentatively raised my hand. ‘What about doing a Valentine’s love story with a twist? M-Maybe the couple met or got together in unusual circumstances? We could even gather two or three together and make a feature out of them.’

Miranda rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘I don’t really think the readers want any twists on Valentine’s Day stories. We should stick with traditional boy-meets-girl tales, the ones that everybody knows and loves.’

She shot a sideways glance at Paddy, waiting for him to agree with her like he usually did. However, his deep brown eyes were still firmly fixed on me.

‘You know, that’s not a bad idea Ava. Mirage and Glitter will probably stick with the old tried-and-tested formula but I think we should try something different! In fact Ava and Maddie, I’d like you both to research and write unusual Valentine’s Day stories for me. You girls both have talent and I think you could produce some fun, off-the-wall pieces for us. Why don’t we make it a competition? I’ll choose my favourite article and the winner will get a spot on the Valentine’s issue cover, which as usual will be unveiled at the Kiss and Tell Ball.’

My jaw dropped slightly but I managed to correct myself before Paddy or Miranda saw. The Kiss and Tell Ball was huge. It wasn’t your run-of-the-mill office party with tired-looking balloon displays, paper cups filled with weak beer and someone photocopying their bum. The Kiss and Tell Ball had often been described as “what happens when Disney meets prom night”. Laid on by Sleek’s publishers every January, it was an opulent, grand occasion that called for the sparkliest dresses, highest heels and falsest smiles for when sleazy Mr Lloyd, the head of the publishing group, came round. The Valentine’s cover was always unveiled there, since it was our biggest-selling issue. To think that my article had a chance to be on the front was mind-boggling.

We discussed a few more ideas – Valentine’s fashion, top present ideas, a special Out and About feature – then the meeting dispersed. As I began to walk back to my desk, Paddy called me over to him.

‘Ava, could I see you in my office for a second?’ he asked.

I nodded and followed him to his office at the back of the building. It was a tiny, cramped room with views over the car park and the commercial units opposite.

‘Take a seat!’ he boomed in his rich deep voice. He gestured to a scabby-looking chair with frayed upholstery that looked like it might fall apart if anyone sat on it.

Reluctantly, I sat down while Paddy took a seat on his huge black executive chair.

‘Now I know you really wanted the dating columnist job,’ he said. ‘But obviously your pitch didn’t go quite as planned…’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It definitely didn’t.’ I tried hard to stop my cheeks from flushing crimson but failed miserably.

‘Well I’ve had a chat with Miranda and we’ve agreed that Maddie is the best person for the job. However, we’ve also come up with an exciting new role for you.’ He paused and quickly dialled her extension number, murmured for a moment then hung up. ‘She’ll be through in a second to tell you all about it.’

Moments later, she strode into the office with a look of pure glee plastered to her face.

‘Ava, we want you to be our new wedding reporter!’ she cheerfully announced.

Kill me, I thought, just kill me now.

Chapter 4

A text from Max was all it took for me not to cancel The Dog and Duck after work that night. After the day I’d had, I decided I’d more than earned a few glasses (bottles) of wine.

The Dog and Duck was an amazing little pub carved into the corner of a street in central Manchester. It was a slice of olde-worlde heaven with a large roaring fire and rustic oak beams; a sharp contrast to the ultra-trendy bars dotted around the city centre. My two best friends and I had met there various times during our decades of friendship. Exam results, crushes, break-ups and everything in between had been discussed within its cosy brown walls.

It was there, less than fifteen minutes later, that I found Gwen, Max and Amira waiting for me.

‘How’d it go today then, Munchkin?’ Max asked, getting up to greet me with a pat on the back. ‘Are you Sleek’s next top dating columnist?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ I answered. ‘I… er… may or may not have thrown up before I could do my pitch. Stupid fear of public speaking!’

‘Oh Munchkin.’ Max’s voice was low and sad. ‘Never mind, I’m sure they’ve got an amazing job lined up for you.’

He enveloped me in one of his signature bear hugs. Out the corner of my eye, I was sure I saw Amira’s shoulders tense as she sat in the cramped little booth. When I looked over at her, she mustered a polite smile then returned to her drink.

‘What’s this I hear about amazing jobs?’ Gwen tottered over in her ridiculously high heels and eyed me hopefully.

‘Well I didn’t get the job I went for,’ I said as we walked to the booth. ‘But never mind eh, I don’t fancy dwelling on it.’

‘Who did?’ Gwen asked. Obviously me saying I didn’t want to dwell on it had completely passed her by.

‘Maddie McQueen, who’d you think?’ I replied with a shrug. that I hoped would mask how I truly felt.

‘No flipping way! What does she know about dating; she probably has to put her number in phone boxes to get anyone interested!’

Max and I exchanged smiles; Gwen had struck again.

‘Anyway, like I said, I don’t want to talk about it. Anyone fancy a drink?’

I slid out of the booth at the same time Max did.

‘It’s my round; I’ve got this. You sit down, it’s been a horrible day for you.’

He smiled before walking across to the timber-framed bar. Almost every woman in the pub had their eyes on him and, although I’d never personally been attracted to him, it wasn’t hard to see why most women were. His striking looks that came from being half-Indian, half-English coupled with an effortless charm and a wicked sense of humour could make any self-respecting woman fall at his feet.

‘I’d better go and help him. Back in a sec,’ said Gwen.

Amira turned to face me, her features slightly stiff. She was fiercely beautiful, but the coldness in her almond eyes and pursed lips gave her face a harsh quality.

‘Not often we get the chance to be alone together is it?’ she asked with an icy smile. I got the feeling she was a tigress and I was the gazelle she wanted to have for lunch.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Max is usually always here isn’t he? So what have you…’

‘Listen up because I’m only going to say this once.’ Amira’s sharp voice cut across mine, bringing my sentence to an abrupt halt. ‘I know you and Max have this buddy-buddy thing going on but just remember who his girlfriend is, OK? If I see you hugging him, touching him or even fluttering your eyelashes in his direction, you’ll regret it. When it comes to my man, I don’t play nice.’

‘Amira, there’s nothing going on between me and Max! We’ve been friends forever but that’s it. If I give him a hug or hit him on the arm, I’m not flirting with him; it’s just part of our banter. I can assure you, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’

She scoffed loudly and looked me up and down. ‘Oh I know I don’t, but thanks anyway! Just do me a favour and keep your hands off him; he’s mine, not yours.’

‘Listen I–’

My attempt to defend myself was sharply interrupted by Max and Gwen returning with our drinks. Amira flashed me a nasty smirk before lavishing attention on her boyfriend.

‘Come here, you.’

She pulled him in and kissed him passionately on the lips.

‘Whoa, what was that for?’ He chuckled softly and wiped traces of her lipstick from his mouth.

‘I just happen to find you irresistible, that’s not a problem is it?’ she purred.

She edged closer to him and began whispering in his ear.

‘Hey you, behave yourself!’ Max laughed and picked up his pint. A noticeable blush had crept into his caramel skin.

I found myself squirming in my seat as I watched her wrap her arms around his stomach. I knew how much he valued his personal space. Gently, he extracted himself from her grip and turned his focus towards me.

‘So what’s your new job then?’

Bollocks. That was the very question I’d wanted to avoid.

‘I’m the new wedding reporter.’

Max’s eyebrows furrowed. ‘You’re what? But you hate weddings.’

‘Don’t remind me! I’ve watched my mum get married then divorced enough times; I don’t fancy doing the same for everyone in Manchester!’ I groaned and let my head sink onto the table. ‘I’m going to be surrounded by white frilly dresses and wedding cakes for the rest of my journalistic career, aren’t I?! Whenever someone asks me something, I’ll only be able to answer with lyrics from Show Me Heaven or The Power of Love! On the bright side, I’m getting to write an article on an unusual love story for the Valentine’s issue. Maddie’s doing one too and Paddy’s going to choose his favourite to put on the cover.’

‘There you are then, you’ll write an amazing story and blow their socks off,’ said Gwen, patting me on the shoulder to make me sit up. ‘This wedding reporting might not be so bad, you know. You might cop off with a hunky best man or usher!’

‘Is it me or are you obsessed with best men and ushers?’ I grinned and pushed her shoulder playfully. ‘Did you ever hear from Grey Waistcoat Guy again?’

Certainly have! She winked and gave a riumphant grin before taking a swig of her wine. ‘His name’s Tom and he’s an investment broker. We’ve been texting loads and I’m going back to his after this actually. I always knew it was a good idea to wear matching underwear!’ ’

As I watched Gwen float on her little cloud of bliss, I felt a pang of jealousy. Much as I loved seeing her happy, I couldn’t help feeling that I was missing out on the happiness my two best friends were experiencing. Could it be that love wasn’t as toe-curlingly awful as I thought?

By the end of the night, my friends had almost convinced me that wedding reporting could be fun. They’d pointed out the copious amounts of free food and cake, the potential for meeting the “love of my life” (yeah right) and that I might find my unusual love story there. Although it was my idea of hell – after all, I’d been to more weddings in twenty-six years than some went to in their whole life – maybe it was best to at least try and have some fun with it.

At around midnight, Max and I guided a very drunk Gwen over the cobbles to catch a taxi to Tom’s chic Deansgate apartment.

‘You are gonna be the best wedding reporter that ever lived, missy!’ she slurred. ‘We’ll talk about how amazing you are tomorrow. Until then, I thank you!’

She took a theatrical bow and almost stumbled over in her bright blue high heels. Max grabbed her before she went headfirst onto the cobbles below.