Call Me, Maybe Read online

‘You don’t know that. You couldn’t know that. If it’s written in the stars you’d have found each other somehow. Anyway, tell me he’s smoother in real life than on the phone,’ she says, looking at me with doe eyes.

  ‘Oh yeah, much, much smoother. He’s very, very charming in real life. Held doors open and paid for dinner and everything.’

  ‘Didn’t you say he tried to cop a feel in the street and ripped your knickers to bits? Such a gentleman.’

  ‘All in the throes of passion. If George has never fucked you with reckless abandon well then, more fool him.’

  Rachel smirks. ‘You’re never deleting that message, are you?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Can we talk wedding stuff now? George is being useless.’ She looks tired suddenly. My head cranks into gear.

  ‘Of course. Let’s go. What’s he not done?’

  ‘Anything. He hasn’t done anything. I finally badgered him into looking at the seating plan with me, but he got distracted after a few minutes and went off to mark exam scripts.’

  She’s tapping her foot against the table leg now, and it’s making the whole thing tremble. In the space of thirty seconds she has morphed into a smaller, more fractious version of herself, and it worries me. Brides are meant to love wedding planning, but Rachel isn’t loving this. ‘It’s three months away, Cassie. I have hardly crossed anything off my to-do list. Why is he being like this?’

  ‘What a bloke,’ I say, sniffing. ‘Tell him if he doesn’t muck in, he might find himself without an invite.’ Rachel looks anguished, and I take her hand. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll cross off a chunk today. We’ll find the shoes. And have you got your undies sorted? We can look for something that’s going to knock his socks off if you like.’

  ‘You’re a godsend,’ she says. ‘Are you saying that because you need to replace your torn up knickers?’

  I shake my head. Today isn’t about me. ‘Latimer Abbey isn’t going to know what’s hit it,’ I tell her, reassuringly.

  ‘That’s the plan,’ she says.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jesse

  The notification symbol is lit up on Facebook when I switch my phone back on at LAX, and I could jump in the air right now.

  Hey… I got your voicemail ;) I was on the tube. Sorry! Typical! I went out with Rachel to do wedding stuff. We talked about you…

  * * *

  OK, so I was going to wait until you replied but that could be hours.

  * * *

  I’m sorry if I seemed off when I left. I didn’t mean to, but I didn’t want it to end and I think you knew that. I like you too, and I also think you know that. So where does this leave things?

  * * *

  Wow that was heavy. How was your flight?

  * * *

  After an eleven hour flight, it’s precisely what I wanted to see, and I breeze through passport control and out to my car like nothing in the world can get me down. I feel like I know exactly how Tom Cruise lost his shit on Oprah’s couch. Pretty sure I called the immigration officer ‘buddy’ after he welcomed me back into the country, and not even the hefty parking fee or the traffic on the freeway kills my buzz. I just sit there with my shades on and the windows down, enjoying the sun and this feeling of whatever it is that’s all up in my insides. Not even Richard berating a group of teenagers on the beach from his balcony, or the lack of anything to eat in the house dampens my spirits. I order a pizza. The kid delivering it gets a twenty dollar tip.

  I feel like a middle schooler all over again, passing notes between desks in class. Do you like me? Circle one. Yes. No. Maybe.

  Hey! The flight was fine but long and I have to go to NYC for a session tomorrow, and then straight on to San Francisco.

  Bloody hell, you weren’t joking about being busy!

  Really wasn’t. Did you think that I was?

  Noooo! Course not. I so want to see you again. I’m not sure how that’s going to work though.

  I want that too. We’ll figure something out, don’t worry.

  * * *

  The week is peripatetic to say the least, and I’m back in San Francisco after my whistlestop session in New York. So far I’ve taken Nancy to see the sea lions down at Fisherman’s Wharf, and I’ve watched a lot of Disney movies whilst wearing princess accessories. Today, Brandon is home and we’re running errands. It’s the first time I’ve properly spent with him since I arrived.

  ‘So,’ he says. He’s coaxing Nancy down a slide at a play park three blocks away from their house. She looks reluctant. There’s a line of small children forming behind her. ‘How was London?’

  ‘London was good, yeah.’

  ‘Fast turnaround, though, did you find out why the other guy quit? Come on Nancy, you got this, baby.’

  ‘No, and I didn’t ask.’ I hold my hand out for Nancy and she sits down and takes it. I pull her down the slide and she lands on her feet in the sand at the bottom.

  ‘Back in the stroller for you,’ Brandon says, scooping her up. ‘It’s time to go.’ He straps her in and we head towards Starbucks. ‘Did you do much whilst you were there?’

  ‘I, err… no, not really.’ It’s hesitant. He stops and looks incredulously at me. I can’t blame him really, I have a shit-eating grin all over my face.

  ‘You, err, no not really? What does that mean?’

  ‘It means I did the gigs, and not much else. I wasn’t there long, I had to get back for your jingles, remember?’

  ‘Sure. How did that go?’

  ‘Yeah. Easy. They don’t call me Jesse “One Take” Franklin for nothing.’

  Brandon laughs. ‘I didn’t know anyone called you that at all. But anyway, back to London, you just stayed in your hotel room the entire time?’

  ‘Of course not… I hung out. I went for a drink with the drummer. He seemed like a nice guy. His name was Ryan. Had a kid about the same age as Nancy. Oh, and I bought that Sleeping Beauty dress. Why all the sudden interest?’

  ‘No reason in particular,’ he counters. ‘Just like to hear what you’re up to. Why so defensive?’

  ‘I’m not being defensive,’ I say, quickly. Definitely too quickly. Almost, you might say, a little defensively.

  ‘Yes. You are.’

  ‘Alright, whatever you say,’ I say, pushing my hands deep into my pockets. I can feel him watching me as we walk along. He stops as we turn onto California Street, pulls his baseball cap lower on his head and adjusts his shades.

  ‘What’s up, little bro? Worried someone is going to recognize you?’ I’m kidding, but an album he produced did just go multi-platinum and it’s definitely got him noticed. These days, Brandon is undoubtedly the most successful of all of us.

  ‘Please,’ he scoffs, shaking his head.

  We grab a couple of coffees and the bits Lainey needed before heading back towards the house.

  ‘So, all in, London was uneventful then?’ he asks. Jesus, let it go, I think.

  ‘Sure was,’ I say lightly. There’s that stupid grin again.

  ‘Do we believe him, Nancy?’ he says, leaning over the back of her stroller and ruffling her hair. ‘No, we do not.’

  ‘Do not,’ she repeats. She squints up at us, and laughs. ‘No, we do not.’

  Later the same evening Lainey and I are chilling in the den. We’re relaxing on their giant, L-shaped couch, with the TV on, but I’m not really watching it. Cassie is online, even though it’s stupidly early in the morning for her. Is this how things are going to be now? She’s changed her profile picture again, and this new one is a black and white shot of half of her face with her eyes all made up.

  ‘Did you see that bit?’ Lainey says, referring to something on the TV.

  ‘Nah,’ I say, not even looking up. I’m busy typing instead.

  Hey you

  There you are! How was New York?

  Swift. I was back on the plane the same evening. I’m now visiting family I bailed on last week.

  Was it worth the bailing though?

&
nbsp; Absolutely.

  Lainey leans over and tries to see my screen but I angle it away and try and style it out as if I’m shifting position.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asks. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  How long are you in San Fran for?

  Just til the weekend. Back to it after. What about you?

  Erm… not sure if you remember but I’m not in San Francisco :-D

  Haha! I knew that. I meant, how are things going? How’s your job etc? Is it raining? Hang out with the Queen recently? Mary Poppins?

  No rain this week, but there’s still time. Things are good. I’m just working as normal. I’ve got a dress fitting for the wedding on Saturday. The Queen says hello. She popped by for a cup of tea yesterday evening as it happens. All very civilised. Mary couldn’t make it.

  ‘I’m not talking to anyone. I’m just looking at stuff on the internet. Amps mainly.’

  I’m not looking at amps at all. I’m looking at flights. Someone’s going to have to board a plane if we’re to see each other again, so I’m scoping out the possibility of Cassie coming out here.

  ‘Okay… It’s just you keep smiling. Who knew amps could spark so much joy?’

  ‘I keep smiling? Is that a bad thing? Should I not?’

  ‘To yourself,’ she laughs. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’re doing it now!’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I know you see everything, Lainey-Lou. You’re like the all-seeing eye of this family. If there’s business to be known, you’ll know it.’

  ‘Exactly, so you might as well tell me yours now and get it over with.’

  ‘Honestly, I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Sure you do.’

  ‘No. I don’t,’ I say. She’s right though, I can’t keep a straight face for trying. She leans back on the cushions and sips her drink, eyeing me suspiciously, but she doesn’t try and look at my screen again.

  ‘I will figure you out, Jesse Franklin. You mark my words.’

  ‘Consider them marked,’ I say.

  Bummer! So when did you say this wedding was again?

  13th October. Why?

  Cool. Just wondered. BRB getting eyeballed by Lainey.

  ‘Hey,’ I say, closing the screen of the computer. ‘I need to buy something online. Credit card’s in my room.’

  ‘Alright.’ Lainey looks incredulous. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t care. ‘There are some chips in the cupboard next to the microwave, can you bring them in here before you go off to do whatever’s so important on your computer?’

  ‘Sure thing, Lainey,’ I say.

  Upstairs, I make my purchase using information I’ve gleaned from our conversations, mainly about the wedding dates and her full name for the ticket. Cassandra. I probably wouldn’t have guessed that. It’s impulsive and not really like me at all, especially not to check beforehand. But then, I’ve never been in this situation before, so maybe it is exactly like me and I just didn’t know it before?

  Hey can I call you on Sunday?

  Of course! You can call me any time.

  Will about midday my time be OK?

  Yeah perfect. I promise I’ll pick up.

  I’m counting on it!

  * * *

  We’re having dinner on my last evening in San Francisco. I’m getting a late flight home in a while.

  ‘It’s been lovely to see you and spend some proper time,’ Lainey says.

  ‘Well, thanks for putting up with me, as always,’ I say.

  ‘It’s hardly putting up with you,’ she says. ‘We love having you visit.’ She passes over a bowl of mashed potatoes and I spoon some onto my plate. Brandon opens a bottle of wine and Lainey fills her glass with water instead. She pops a green bean into her mouth and chews. Nancy sticks her fingers in her potatoes and digs around.

  ‘What are you looking for in there?’ I ask her. ‘Treasure?’

  Lainey scoops some food on Nancy’s fork and shovels it into her mouth.

  ‘It’s better if you use your fork, honey,’ she says. ‘You might find your treasure faster.’

  We carry on eating, and there’s a little chat, but not much. Brandon inhales his food and Lainey chastizes him for it. Nancy absolutely cannot be bothered with cutlery. I like being here. They make a nice family.

  ‘You gonna tell us what happened in London then?’ Brandon asks, as we’re finishing up. I roll my eyes.

  ‘Nothing happened in London. Why do you keep asking?’

  Lainey takes his hand over the table and squeezes. ‘Neither of us believe you, sweetie,’ she says.

  ‘You’ve been uncharacteristically chirpy,’ Brandon continues. ‘It’s cool, but it doesn’t seem like you.’

  ‘Right? And he keeps grinning to himself. Did you notice that?’

  ‘I definitely did. As soon as you mention the trip to London.’

  ‘And he’s had his nose in his laptop or his phone every single evening. Something’s up, for sure.’

  ‘Alright, enough. Firstly, it doesn’t seem like me? What does that mean? Secondly, once again, nothing happened in London. It was just the buzz of playing live on that scale again, is all.’

  This seems to shut them both down, and I am relieved. It’s not that I don’t want to tell anyone about Cassie. It’s just that until I know for sure I am going to see her again, I’d rather keep things quiet. Lainey and Brandon look at each other for a few seconds before replying.

  ‘It’s not a bad thing,’ Lainey says, quietly. ‘It’s just nice to see you happy. Whatever is making you that way.’

  ‘Well, thanks,’ I say.

  We finish dinner and then I have to haul ass to SFO. And this time, as I leave LAX and get on to the 405, I wonder if the next time I do this Cassie will be in the car with me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cassie

  On Saturday, I catch the bus over to Chiswick for a dress-fitting with Rachel, her sister Marie, and our uni pal Lauren. The shop’s just off the high street and is basically Mecca for brides: racks and racks of bridal gowns, from bouncy meringues to sleek and fitted. Some with a lot of lace. Some plain and elegant. Every kind of accessory; ruched satin garters, sparkly tiaras and veils in all lengths. Jewellery and corsages. Shoes with decorative sparkles or flowers in ivory satin. High heels and kitten heels and flats. It’s really quite the eye-opener. A one-stop shop for the bride who refuses to be easily overwhelmed. I had thought it perfect for Rachel, but after our coffee last week, I’m not sure she’s as unflappable as she’d like to think.

  We’re rallied around, the fabric of our half finished dresses marked with tailor’s chalk, pinned and measured. The fit and length have been adjusted as necessary, and I have to hand it to her, Rachel has done well for us. These dresses were a good choice: Shantung silk in teal with a Bardot neckline, a fitted bodice and a full, knee length skirt with layers of cream tulle petticoats peeking out from the under the hemline.

  She’s talking, animatedly, about her plans for us on the day. ‘Dark, heavy eye make-up,’ she’s saying. ‘But a nude lip. And we’re going to sweep up their hair and pin in loads of little pearls.’ She pushes up the sleeves of her cardigan and chews on a fingernail as if contemplating it.

  The assistant sighs. She really loves her job.

  ‘The perfect bridesmaids for the perfect bride,’ she coos, and her accent is so affected with hyperbolic enthusiasm that I almost laugh. Rachel beams.

  ‘I think the bouquets will really complement the dresses,’ she continues, and I wonder if she’s feeling more in control today because this is her domain. No one would expect George to have anything to do with bridesmaid dresses.

  ‘Do tell,’ Enthusiastic Assistant gushes.

  ‘Purple freesias. With cream roses and sprigs of gypsophila,’ Rachel says, still calm, because again, flowers are very much her thing, and the assistant nods as if this was absolutely the obvious choice.

  ‘Oh, gorgeous,’ she says. ‘I almost wish I could
be there.’

  Marie shoots me a look, and I’ve known her long enough to know she can’t wait to leave.

  After our fitting, we go for tapas and wine.

  ‘You all looked beautiful,’ Rachel announces. She cuts a slice off a slab of tortilla. ‘I got a bit emosh. Thank you, again, for agreeing to be my bridesmaids.’

  ‘Get it all out now,’ Lauren laughs. ‘You don’t want to ruin your eye make-up over us on your wedding day.’

  ‘She won’t,’ Marie says, dryly. ‘Can you pass me the squid?’

  ‘I’m getting a bit nervous,’ Rachel says, ignoring her. ‘There’s still so much to do and so little time to get it all done.’

  ‘It’s going to be amazing,’ I tell her, patting her hand. ‘And don’t worry, we’re all here to help with whatever you need.’

  I’m wondering if she’s going to admit she’s feeling overwhelmed and ask for help so we can all chip in. But she doesn’t say anything more, and I figure she won’t want to let that mask slip too much. Her face changes again, and that tiny flicker of vulnerability is snuffed out.

  ‘Ah, she’s alright, aren’t you, Rach?’ Lauren says. ‘She’s not worrying.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Rachel lies. ‘Just pre-wedding jitters. We’re all good. I have my wingwomen. It’s more the build up, anyway, not the day so much. I couldn’t imagine marrying anybody else, you know?’