The Dr Pepper Prophecies Read online

  He finally smiles. 'More professional image,' he says proudly. 'Can’t go around looking like a hippy now I’m management.'

  I look him up and down. His shoes are polished. He’s wearing smart trousers instead of jeans. He’s taken out his earring and I swear the hole’s already closed up.

  'I didn’t think you looked like a hippy,' I say, as I hurry along beside him. These shoes are hell to walk in.

  'No,' he says, giving me the most patronising smile I have ever seen, 'but then, you’re not exactly qualified to judge, are you?'

  Not qualified? I have eyes. I’ve seen hippies. I’ve seen him before he let Edward Scissorhands loose on his hair. What more qualifications do I need?

  'What?' I ask uncertainly.

  'Well, what I mean is, you don’t exactly present the most professional image yourself.'

  I stare at him. He sees me.

  'I mean that in a nice way,' he says.

  A nice way? He’s just told me I dress like a slob. What next? You look like the child of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles (i.e. Dumbo) but in a nice way?

  'It’s fine for you with your typing,' Martin’s saying. I can’t tell if he doesn’t know he’s insulted me, or doesn’t care, 'but I have a career to think about. It’s imperative that I look the part. In business,' he says, puffing up his chest like a penguin, 'you dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Everything I do, every thing I have – clothes, car, friends, girlfriend – must say ‘winner!’.'

  Alarm bells are ringing. In fact it’s like being right next to Big Ben at midday. Girlfriend?

  'I suppose a clerical officer girlfriend doesn’t fit that image?' I say.

  It’s not like I haven’t tried to get a new job. Everywhere’s downsizing, it’s tough. He should know, he wouldn’t have this job if I hadn’t told him about it.

  He stops. We’re almost at the exit. He puts his hand on my arm. His hazel eyes meet mine, radiating gratitude.

  'I’m so glad you realised that,' he says, patting me like I’m a cocker spaniel. 'It makes it much easier that you understand why this has to happen.'

  I stand stock still and stare at him. Is he saying…?

  'After all,' Martin says, 'intra-office relationships are forbidden, surely you know that?'

  I’m in shock. 'Everyone breaks that rule,' I say. 'Half the office is in couples. I helped set up one of them.'

  'I have to set an example,' he says. A Stepford boyfriend. 'You understand, don’t you? You’ve been so supportive, but it’s time that we both move on.'

  I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to kill him. But, most of all, I want to wake up from this nightmare.

  He looks at his watch again. 'We’ve got exactly five minutes before the parking fee goes up. Astronomical, the prices they charge. We’d better hurry.'

  He starts pushing the trolley again. I grab it. 'I’m not going home with you,' I hear myself say.

  Martin looks at me like he can’t fathom why I would object to this. 'Of course you are,' he says. 'I promised to drive you home and I’m a man who always keeps his word.'

  Oh God, now he’s doing his interview sales pitch on me.

  'I’m not going home with you,' I repeat. My voice is stronger this time. I do have some pride left. Not a whole lot, but some.

  'Don’t be silly.'

  'I’m not going,' I insist.

  He gives a long-suffering sigh.

  'Get out before your precious parking fee goes up,' I say.

  He looks at me. 'Very well,' he says, 'if you insist on being so irrational, I will. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.'

  He lets go of my trolley and starts to walk away. I stare after him. He doesn’t look back.

  He’s actually going to leave, isn’t he? He’s actually going to leave me stranded here. I mean, I know I told him to, but he’s supposed to realise that I’m trying to save face. How else am I going to get home?

  He’s gone. He’s left me. I’m dumped and abandoned.

  Bastard!

  Chapter 3

  I need a phone.

  I dump my bag on the top of my trolley and hunt through it. Where’s my…? Oh. I left it at home, due to astronomical phone bill. This is why I prefer the Internet.

  Pay phone. It’s an airport, there must be pay phones. I can’t be the first woman this has happened to.

  I look around wildly as I zip up my bags. I’m looking too fast to read the signs. Slow down, try again.

  Lifts, toilets, arrivals, information. Pay phones.

  I heave my trolley in that direction. It keeps trying to curve round to the right. I nearly run over several people’s toes. Every single time I have to use one…

  I find a phone and guard it while I rummage in my bag for my English money. Then I feed the phone all my twenty pence pieces. And dial Will’s number.

  It starts to ring.

  He has to be home. Will’s always home. He gets withdrawal symptoms if he’s away from his computer for more than a couple of hours.

  He picks up. 'Knightley.'

  Thank God. 'It’s me,' I say.

  'Welcome back! Are you home already?'

  'I’m at the airport.'

  'I thought Martin was picking you up?' Will says.

  'We broke up,' I say.

  'Ah.'

  'I don’t fit his image anymore,' I add.

  'Oh.'

  'I refused to let him drive me home,' I explain.

  'I see.'

  'And I’m stuck.'

  'You could take a bus,' Will points out.

  'I could,' I admit.

  'Or a train.'

  'True,' I whisper.

  'I’ll be there as soon as I can.'

  'I love you,' I say. I can hear Will smiling down the telephone.

  'See you in a bit.'

  'Bye.'

  I hang up. Already I feel better. I love Will’s voice. It’s deep and rich and velvety. Beth once called it sexy, but I can’t hear that. For me, listening to it is like getting a hug. And, in the twenty-five years we’ve known each other, I’ve needed a lot of those.

  Nothing to do now but wait. I grab my trolley and go off in search of a chair.

  **

  By the time Will arrives I’ve read an article on ‘30 reasons why it’s great to be single’ and I’m killing myself laughing over Sophie Kinsella’s latest. Plus I’ve bought myself a box of Belgian chocolates and I’m really feeling much more positive about this whole thing.

  Some sixth sense makes me look up in time to see Will heading towards me. He’s wearing his standard blue jeans, battered Timberland boots that he’s had for about ten years and my favourite soft cream shirt that makes me want to hug him even more. Will is tall and dark and has blue eyes. He looks kind of like a young Jeremy Northam – think Emma. He’s way too good-looking to be an accountant.

  He gets to me and stands there, looking down at me. 'One day,' he says, 'I’ll stop bailing you out and you’ll have to manage on your own.'

  'I can manage on my own,' I protest, as I start shoving everything into my bag.

  'I know you can,' Will says, folding his arms across his chest. 'The problem is that you don’t.'

  'Can’t you be more sympathetic?' I say, finishing packing my bag and getting up. 'I did just get dumped.'

  Will sighs. 'Mel, I am sympathetic and I am suitably outraged on your behalf at how that frelnik has treated you. I’m not saying this to be nasty, I’m saying it because I’m your friend and I’m trying to be honest with you.'

  'Could you be honest later?' I ask, moving closer and leaning my head on his chest. 'I’m very upset.'

  'You’re better off without him,' Will says, hugging me. 'I don’t know what you ever saw in him anyway.'

  By this point, neither do I.

  'There’s one tiny thing you don’t know,' I say into his shirt.

  'What?'

  'I think I’m pregnant,' I whisper.

  Will stops hugging me. Then he slowly exhales. 'O
h,' he says. 'Oh dear.'

  'Can we just go home?' I ask. I suddenly start feeling scared again. Somehow, now I’ve told Will, it’s real.

  Will doesn’t answer right away. I think he’s a little shell-shocked. This has to be the biggest bombshell I’ve ever dropped on him and he’s been through pretty much every crisis I’ve ever had.

  'Right,' he says slowly. 'Yes. We’ll go home. On the way, we’ll stop at a chemist and we’ll find out for sure. Okay?'

  I nod.

  'It’ll be fine,' he continues, in a softer tone. 'I’m here. You’re not alone.'

  Tears start pricking my eyes. I can’t believe I’m going to cry again.

  'I know,' I whisper, as Will hands me a tissue.

  **

  It’s a long drive home. Will and I both live in Surrey, just south of London. Technically in the London suburbs. It’s expensive here, to say the least. Will can afford a decent-sized place, but the flat I share with Beth is tiny. Not really a shoebox, more of a matchbox. I grew up here though and I can’t imagine leaving. Just like I can’t imagine not living near Will.

  I spend the first twenty minutes silent, looking out of the window. It’s a perfect example of an English spring day, i.e. wet and grey. The existence of the sun has once again descended into mythology.

  Then I start to cry. For ten minutes I can’t stop. Will pulls onto the hard shoulder and feeds me Belgian chocolates until I calm down.

  Then the sugar high kicks in. I go back into denial and start bitching about Martin instead.

  'He wouldn’t buy anything that wasn’t organic,' I say, once we’re cruising along the motorway again. 'He ironed his y-fronts. He invited me round for dinner and then he insisted we wash up right after instead of just leaving it until tomorrow. He was always quoting his self-help books. He wouldn’t let me watch Friends. He kept trying to get me to give up dairy.'

  Will’s nodding, encouraging me. This is our post break-up ritual. I’ve done this for every guy I’ve ever dated. It really does help.

  'When I got my hair done last time, he told me I looked like a poodle,' I continue, warming up to the task. 'He asked me to help him pick out new glasses and it took him three hours to figure out that he wanted contact lenses instead. He tried to seduce me half an hour after my smear test and then got pissed off when I said no. He always picked the radio station in the car. Every time I ordered dessert he mentioned the calorie content. And finally,' I pause for dramatic effect, 'it was the size of a button mushroom.'

  There’s a short silence. Will clears his throat. 'I thought size wasn’t supposed to matter,' he says, glancing briefly away from the road to raise an eyebrow at me.

  'Lies,' I say, now feeling much better. 'All lies. Size matters. It matters when you’re seeing a guy and it matters even more when he dumps you.'

  'So, do you feel better now?' Will asks, laughing.

  'Absolutely,' I say, with a cheerleader smile. I’m completely hyper. 'In fact, I have no idea why I went out with him in the first place. Good riddance. I’m going to embrace the single life. You know what, I’m going to give up men.'

  'Really?' Will says dryly.

  He could be more supportive. Admittedly I have said this a couple of times before.

  Okay, more than a couple.

  'Really,' I say. 'For good this time. I might as well face facts. I repel all decent men and attract losers like a magnet.'

  'You don’t repel men,' Will says comfortingly. 'You’ve just had bad luck.'

  I stare at him. 'Bad luck?' I ask. 'One is bad luck. Two maximum. This is a curse.'

  Will just shakes his head, laughing at me.

  'You’ve been here,' I say. 'I’ll run through the evidence to jog your memory. Pete – told my mother I’d slept with him. Alan – no less than two other girlfriends at the same time. Luke – borrowed £300 and never paid it back. And that's just pre-graduation. Are you noticing a pattern here?'

  'Okay, so you’ve had very bad luck,' Will says. 'That’s no reason to give up.'

  'It’s not like you’ve done much better,' I say. 'You should be with me on this.'

  'I’ve been with Natalie for nearly a year,' Will says mildly.

  'Yes, but she’s…' I say, then stop. What I want to say is ‘Yes, but she’s a total bitch who hates me and, as far as I can see, doesn’t like you that much either.’. I can’t though. This is the one subject Will and I don’t seem to be able to agree on.

  'She’s…?' Will prompts me.

  'She’s…just not the kind of person I picture you marrying,' I say lamely. 'That’s all.'

  'Stranger things have happened,' Will says, staring at the road.

  'She hates me,' I say.

  She really does. She hated me before we even met. She wants to turn Will into some flashy, fashionable trophy guy and it spoils her plans to have someone who likes him just the way he is.

  'Of course she doesn’t,' Will says.

  She’s also only nasty to me when Will isn’t there. That way I sound like the bad guy. The jealous one.

  Which is insane. I’d never be jealous of her. I’ve known Will my whole life. We grew up next door to each other. He was practically the big brother I never had. There’s no way she would ever mean more to Will than me.

  I drop the subject. Will’s such an innocent. He has no idea that he’s a pawn in her evil game. I’ve tried to explain to him that she’s no good for him, but he just doesn’t see it.

  I lean forward and turn on the radio, to stop myself trying again.

  **

  'What have you got in here, rocks?' Will says, as he drags my suitcase up the last couple of stairs.

  'I smuggled Susan back with me,' I say, unlocking the door to my flat.

  'Wouldn’t she go over the baggage allowance?' Will says, leaning forward with his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

  'It’s not that heavy,' I say, pushing open the door. 'You’re just out of shape. Too many hours sitting in front of the computer.'

  Will snorts. 'You can talk. I have a website that requires maintenance. I use my time constructively, as opposed to having endless Instant Messenger conversations and forwarding chain letters.'

  'At least I’ve never thrown my entire office into uproar by releasing a virus into the network,' I reply, heading straight to the fridge and getting out two cans of cola.

  'It wasn’t a virus,' Will says, taking the one I hand him and opening it. He takes a gulp. 'It was just a harmless joke.'

  'That turned everyone’s screensavers into dirty messages.'

  Will grins. 'It was great. Work was actually interesting for a couple of days. And I fixed it, didn’t I?'

  'Only after the big clients came round,' I say dryly, as I drink my own cola.

  Wills laughs. 'Ah, memories,' he says. 'I’ll never forget the look on their faces.'

  We grin at each other.

  'Are you ready?' Will asks.

  Damn, I hoped he’d forgotten.

  'No,' I say.

  Will takes my hand. 'It’s better to know,' he says softly. 'The longer you put off knowing, the less time you’ll have to figure out what to do.'

  'Right,' I say. I feel sick.

  Will picks up the little Boots bag that I tried to hide behind a cushion. 'There are six tests in here,' he says, 'so you can’t convince yourself that it’s inaccurate.'

  He knows me too well.

  'Right,' I say again. My stomach muscles have turned to steel. 'Okay, let’s do this.'

  Will gives me a supportive smile as I take the bag and head towards the bathroom. My palms are sweaty already.

  I stop at the door. 'Maybe…'

  'Now,' Will says, pointing to the bathroom. 'Or I’ll have to come in and supervise.'

  Will knows more intimate details about me than any other man. He’s even seen me naked, although I was about six at the time. I still don’t want him to watch me pee.

  'I’m going,' I mutter and carry on into the bathroom.

&nb
sp; Chapter 4

  A minute has never seemed such a long time. I’m sitting on the edge of the bath and Will has put the toilet seat down and is sitting on that. Both of us are riveted on the little row of white sticks on the windowsill.

  'Fifteen seconds,' Will says, looking at his watch. 'Ten. Five. Done.'

  Neither of us moves. I’m frozen to the spot. My fate is now to be decided by the absence or presence of a blue line. This is the scariest moment of my entire life.

  Will takes a deep breath and gets up. He takes the first stick off the windowsill, looks at it and then holds it up for me to see. No blue line. 'Negative,' he says.

  I still can’t relax. It’s like a game show. All white and I’ve won the grand prize. One blue and I’m going home with nothing. Or not, in this case.

  He picks up the second. Also negative. One by one they show up white, but I’m still tense with fear. The last one will be blue, I just know it.

  Will picks up the last one. 'Negative,' he says, smiling.

  The breath I didn’t realise I was holding comes out in a whoosh and I start coughing. And laughing. And crying. Will is hugging me and then we’re jumping up and down like we’re ten again and on the trampoline. It’s a perfect moment. If we were in a movie the sun would come out from behind a cloud. But, this being England, I guess that’s a bit much to ask.

  We both hear the sound of a key in the door and we bound back into the sitting room. Beth comes in, looking damp.

  'Congratulate me, Beth!' I say, bouncing up and down like Tigger.

  Beth looks a bit stunned at being greeted by two hyper lunatics. 'Congratulations,' she says obediently. 'Why?'

  'I’m not pregnant!' I say, beaming at her.

  She looks more taken aback. 'That’s wonderful,' she says. 'I didn’t know you thought you were.'

  'I did on the plane,' I say, starting to calm down.

  'But you’re not?'

  'No, definitely not. We did six tests to make sure,' Will says.

  'Wonderful,' Beth says again. I think she’s finally getting used to me, her recovery time is getting shorter. 'We should celebrate. I made vegetarian lasagne and carrot cake.'

  When I was interviewing Beth as a potential flatmate, I asked her about her hobbies. She said she enjoyed cooking for others. I asked her when she could move in.