Love, Lies and Wedding Cake_The Perfect Laugh-Out-Loud Romantic Comedy Read online

  Our train was busy, and sadly, we couldn’t sit together. Dan stood with my bags, while I found a seat, unhappy that my first glimpses of Sydney were blue skies and sunshine without him. But even the stunning panorama of sun-blazed beaches opening up into the Pacific couldn’t drag my eyes away from him.

  ‘So, you have two days to show me around?’ I asked, when we finally got off the train and started walking. Again, me almost skipping by his side as he forged on through the crowds of people.

  ‘Yeah, most of today and I can take tomorrow off,’ he said. I’d hoped he’d changed his mind now I was here and would try to get a few more days, but it seemed he was sticking to two – it was all I was worth, even in my new blue dress with my new fake tan done by Mandy. She’d offered me a free vajazzle: ‘Sydney Harbour in rhinestones?’ she’d said. ‘Life’s short – get a vajazzle,’ she’d added, like that would sway me to have an iconic building in jewels glued to my vagina. I’d declined with some force, and she didn’t make me have the treatment against my will, which was a blessing as she often did.

  The way things were, I didn’t think a glittering Sydney Harbour on my lower regions was the icebreaker Dan and I needed just now. I’d hoped that when we met it would all become clear: I’d see the old Dan, we’d fall into each other’s arms and within minutes we’d have planned our future. If I’m honest, I even stupidly hoped he’d realise from my obvious ‘hinting’ that I was ready to take him up on his proposal. I honestly thought there might be a chance of him greeting me on one knee in airport arrivals while everyone cheered around us and took photos on their phones. But, of course, he hadn’t. In fact, he’d whisked me out of that bloody airport in indecent haste, without even asking if I needed a drink or a rest.

  As someone who valued her independence I made up my mind as I ran alongside him that I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself or stick around where I wasn’t wanted, but for now I’d keep going.

  ‘There’s so much I want to see! I feel really lucky to have a native showing me around,’ I said, wanting to fill the air with my voice instead of this emptiness.

  He was being pleasant, pointing out things as we walked by and of course he was carrying all my bags. Anyone who didn’t know us might imagine we were new lovers, or old friends, but we still weren’t being us. Where was the Dan who’d be giving me the bloody history of every single place, along with the kind of sandwich that originated there?

  Arriving at the café, it looked nice, better on the website – but the view was good. The deck looked out over the water, at the white sails of the Sydney Opera House, its soaring, sculptured roof skimming the clouds, framed by the brilliance of a Sydney morning sky. We wandered in and found some seats and I started to feel a little better. Dan was smiling and seemed more relaxed.

  ‘Dan, it’s lovely,’ I said, gazing at someone’s waffles as they were delivered to the next table.

  ‘Yeah, it’s good food too,’ he said, as the waiter approached and we ordered. Dan went for huevos rancheros and I couldn’t resist the waffles with fresh berries, honey and whipped cream.

  ‘Does he know who you are?’ I asked as the waiter walked away from the table. I was surprised he didn’t seem to know Dan.

  ‘No… Why should he?’

  ‘Because you’re the owner.’

  ‘Oh no, this isn’t The Lemon Myrtle, that’s the other side of Sydney.’

  I was shocked. ‘So why are we here? I thought you’d be keen to show me your café?’

  ‘Well, that’s work and this,’ he said, lifting his glass of orange juice and clinking it with mine, ‘is pleasure.’

  ‘Oh, okay,’ I smiled, not quite convinced. I took a gulp of orange juice and watched him over the glass. This made a kind of sense, this way we could be alone, me and Dan in our bubble again without colleagues and customers interrupting us. ‘So, the hotel is near here and also miles away from your café?’ I asked, this thought colliding with my temporary acceptance of his explanation.

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. Like I said, I think we need to spend some time together, away from everything else. We need to talk and… I don’t want anyone else distracting us and… being there.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I smiled, wondering who ‘anyone’ might be. ‘I agree, we’ve got a lot to catch up on.’ I continued to sip my juice.

  We sat in silence until our food arrived. I tried to swallow any lingering doubts along with the spiky berries and clouds of whipped cream that topped the lightest waffles I’d ever had. I told Dan he must get the recipe, and offered him a forkful, which he took in an unguarded moment. Our eyes met over the delicious morsel, and my heart began beating as I piled cream on the berries and chewed in brunch bliss.

  About an hour later, we arrived at the hotel and the minute we closed the bedroom door, we were in each other’s arms. Well, to be accurate, I fell into his arms, fully expecting to land on something soft, but again there was resistance. His chest felt like concrete and as he gently took my wrists in each hand and moved me away, I almost died.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ was all I could manage, in little more than a whisper.

  He pointedly moved to sit on a chair, not the bed.

  ‘It’s okay, Dan. If I repulse you, just say.’ I was trying to be light-hearted even though inside I felt crushed.

  ‘It’s not that… You know it isn’t.’

  ‘Well, don’t sit over there. You’re quite safe sitting on the bed – we don’t have to touch, I won’t come near you,’ I said, anger and fear now lacing my words. I was hurt, and I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I was waiting for the next part of our story, which I was sure would leave me in no doubt at all. ‘What is it?’ I asked softly. I didn’t know how to handle this slightly vague man who didn’t seem to want me near him.

  He didn’t look at me, just ran his hands through his hair and stared at the ceiling. ‘I feel so bad. And I don’t know what to do… I don’t know where to start, and…’

  ‘Dan, tell me!’ I was feeling panicked now.

  ‘I was so hurt when we split… angry with you, which wasn’t perhaps fair, but I couldn’t help how I felt.’

  ‘I understand – and now you’re worried I’ll change my mind again, aren’t you?’ I said, almost willing this to be the issue. ‘I’m not here to see the Opera House or the waves, I’m here to be with you, for as long as I can. But only if that’s what you want too.’ I was facing him, sitting on the edge of the bed as he sat on the upright chair – the distance between us seemed ludicrous. ‘I know you think I’m suddenly going to feel guilty about Emma or Rosie and just when things are looking good, I’ll run away again, but I won’t. Not this time,’ I said, putting my head to one side to look into his eyes, trying to engage him. ‘I know they’re fine, they’re both happy – it’s me that isn’t. And that’s because we’re apart.’ But I didn’t feel like he was listening, and Dan always listened. ‘Dan?’ I said, longing for him to get up off the ridiculous chair and come and sit by me. ‘Hey, I feel like I’m being psyched out in a bloody job interview,’ I added.

  He looked up and smiled and it broke a little of the ice.

  ‘Come on, sit by me. I promise I will be able to resist you,’ I smiled.

  He stood up, walked towards the bed and, with some reluctance, sat down next to me.

  ‘I understand if you don’t want to rush things,’ I continued.

  He looked at me, ‘I’m not sure you do understand.’

  What was he trying to say, that I was coming on too strong? I flushed and started to speak without any filter. ‘I’m not chasing you, Dan. For God’s sake, it’s not like I was going to propose or anything! Jesus… It’s not like I’m looking to get married.’

  ‘Married?’ His face flushed slightly.

  ‘Exactly, who wants to get married? Weddings? No one mentioned any wedding… What the hell? I mean, it’s not like anyone’s getting married, is it? I wouldn’t, oh no, not me… I mean, if I were asked, I don’t mean you…’


  ‘Stop,’ he said, and almost smiled as he looked down at me. ‘You still haven’t found any meds for that then?’

  I smiled, shook my head and then lowering my bottom lip, pulled an ‘awkward’ face. ‘You know me, Dan, I just blurt it all out and then try to take it back by repeating it and adding layers. And then another layer, until…’

  ‘You’re doing it again.’ I saw the twinkle in his eye; he was coming back to me, bit by bit.

  ‘Okay, so we might need to take it slowly, just talk, not kiss each other, or have sex or… I’m not saying I wouldn’t, it’s just that… Sex isn’t… I’m not obsessed or anything…’

  ‘Oh Faye,’ he sighed, turning to me and kissing me full on the lips, his arms slowly coming around me, his tongue pushing into my mouth. It was warm and loving. The promise of passion tingled through me and it felt like the first kiss of my life. Until he pulled away. Suddenly. As if I’d given him an electric shock.

  ‘You’re being all weird, Dan. Yes, it’s been over a year… A lot of water’s gone under the bridge, but we haven’t changed, even if other stuff has.’

  ‘That’s the trouble, everything else has,’ he sighed, and I suddenly got the feeling we weren’t talking about the same thing. When I said stuff had changed, I was thinking US presidents, Brexit, The Spice Girls reunion and Beyoncé’s twins, but he was definitely thinking about something else.

  I looked at him, waiting for an explanation, but he seemed to be having trouble finding the words.

  ‘So, what is it? What “other things” have changed that could affect us? I’ve had this weird feeling since I first got in touch with you again that you might not feel the same about me but I thought when we actually got together we’d be okay, like we always were. But you’re different.’

  He seemed almost tense, which was the opposite of the Dan I knew – or the Dan I thought I knew.

  ‘Faye, you turn up out of the blue like nothing happened, despite having told me you’d never be able to live here. You said you’d never marry me and we were wasting our lives even trying.’

  ‘You understood the reasons why, they had nothing to do with you and me.’

  ‘They had everything to do with you and me, and for a while I was crushed. Then you just contacted me to say you’ve changed your mind.’ He still wasn’t looking at me.

  ‘I can see how it looks, but I’m not just here on a whim. I can’t live without you – I can’t sleep, I can’t concentrate, I can’t get on with my life. Hell, Dan, even cake tastes horrible without you! Nothing’s the same when you’re not there, Dan.’

  He didn’t react, just lay back, staring at the celling now, unable to look at me. What the hell was going on? I’d always been surprised at the level of commitment from this free spirit who’d turned up in my life at a time when I needed him. Throughout our relationship he’d had plenty of opportunities to dump me, forget me, pretend I’d never existed – but all the time he said he couldn’t live without me. When we’d said our final goodbyes, it was Dan who’d continued to text me, who said he’d wait forever. So why, when I turned up in his home city, did he suddenly seem to have changed his mind?

  I’d always had this vision of him standing by an altar waiting for me in a cheap suit. A rushed wedding, me in a short dress, a budget bouquet walking towards him; the wedding meant nothing, but the marriage meant everything. But right now, weddings and marriage seemed like the most impossible things imaginable. Becoming the sixth Spice Girl seemed more feasible, and that wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Is there someone else?’ I asked into the silence, fully expecting him to reject this vigorously, but looking for something to say.

  He closed his eyes, and I felt my skin begin to slowly peel away. No… Oh, not this… I hadn’t imagined this in my worst nightmares, but the longer he stayed silent, the more my mind lurched. His distance, his reluctance for me to be here, no public displays of affection, bringing me to one side of the city when his life was on the other, his inability to meet my eyes. I hadn’t imagined any of it. This wasn’t about Dan protecting himself, it was about Dan hiding someone from me – and hiding me from someone else.

  18

  The Icing on the Bloody Lemon Cake

  ‘So there is someone else?’ I heard myself say once more.

  He stood up, putting his hand in his pocket and taking out his wallet. I watched, wondering if perhaps this was some kind of joke, that he was teasing me.

  ‘If that’s anything other than a new puppy, I don’t want to see it,’ I snapped.

  ‘It isn’t a pet, it’s… Well, take a look… Meet Clover.’

  ‘Is she furry, because if not…?’

  He shook his head, so I brushed his hand away.

  ‘I can’t, Dan,’ I said, unwilling to engage with whatever/whoever was in the photograph, the beginning of tears stinging my eyes. ‘All these years we’ve been seeing each other, I thought we’d been honest and now you’ve lied… you’ve lied to me.’

  ‘Faye, listen… Yes, I met someone. I didn’t want to tell you.’ He reached out both his hands and tried to hold me gently by the shoulders, make me listen to what he had to say, but I shook him off. I couldn’t hear this, and within seconds, I started to cry – lurching sobs I couldn’t keep down, a horrible out-of-control hysterical cry like I hadn’t experienced since I was a child. Who knew as adults we could still cry like this?

  I grabbed my bag and blindly headed for the door.

  ‘I don’t want to know about your wife or girlfriend or whatever she is.’

  ‘Faye, don’t be stupid.’

  ‘I am being stupid because I AM stupid,’ I said, through mucous and nose entrails. ‘I finished it. I can’t blame you for moving on with your life. It’s what I wanted you to do, but I can’t believe you let me come all this way without telling me…’ I headed for the door, slamming it behind me – so hard my arm was still ringing when I’d got down the stairs. I just had to get out of that room, that bloody photograph he obviously kept safe in his wallet. I was almost knocking people out of the way, like I’d committed a murder in my bedroom and was running from the police.

  I ran outside and the blazing sunshine whacked me in the face, almost knocking me over with its dazzle. But I kept running; I couldn’t stop. I ran along past the shops and cafés. I was, I think, in shock – real medical ‘let’s get her onto a stretcher’ shock. Along with heat, jet lag and heavily-laden waffles that was quite a cocktail, but still I kept running.

  Eventually, after about twenty minutes, I was zigzagging along the road, exhausted and dehydrated, so I stopped to sit on the steps of a waterside building. Even the stone steps were hot under my lovely blue linen dress, bought for this reunion, now damp with sweat. This wasn’t the romantic event I’d planned – and Dan wasn’t who I thought he was. He hadn’t waited for me after all. I should have taken the safe option – I should have stayed at home, taken a teaching job and settled into a quiet existence with Katy Perry. Instead I’d set off on a journey of thousands of miles only to end up with the love of my life having met a new love of his own life. This was the icing on the bloody lemon cake! He let me travel here without a mention of his new love, just to hand me a photo from his wallet when I arrived. What did he want me to do, say, ‘Oh good on yer, she’s a looker! You’re punching way above there, mate.’

  At the thought of this, my already overheated body fainted in a heap on the hot concrete. I blacked out for a matter of seconds, but every interfering do-gooder in Sydney was stood round me when I came to. Given my previous zigzagging walk and my collapse, everyone wanted to help, or at least watch what the crazy lady would do next. I couldn’t believe the commotion – I was being fanned by an elderly woman while a teenager threw a paper cup of cold water at me and some tramp shouted, ‘She’s dead!’ at the top of his voice. Even in this state all I could say was ‘My hair, my bloody hair!’ and ‘NO, I’M NOT DEAD!’ I sat up, pushing everyone away. I stood up on wobbly legs, assuring at least t
wenty nosy buggers that I was fine, I didn’t need a doctor, ambulance or psychiatrist. What I needed was a man who’d tell me the truth and the services of a good hairdresser.

  I eventually dismissed my unwanted entourage and headed to a van selling ice-cold lemonade, bought two cartons and was so thirsty, I knocked them both back too quickly. It was while puking up the second carton into a waste paper bin on the picturesque harbour overlooking the Opera House that Dan appeared.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Never been better,’ I said sarcastically, still with my head in the bin, a pool of vomit at my feet, where I hadn’t managed to get there in time.

  ‘Faye, you’re overtired, and overreacting.’

  ‘Overtired? Overreacting? Oh yeah! That’ll be it, nothing to do with the fact that you just handed me a photo of your wife and said “Deal with it”.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, and she isn’t my wife…’

  ‘Oh whatever, girlfriend, partner, lap dancer…’ I was now frantically rummaging in my bag for some kind of tissue to mop up the remains of what I’d just puked… Silently lamenting the fact I’d never eat waffles or drink lemonade ever again.

  Dan ran his hands through his hair and wandered over to one of the food vans, returning with a handful of napkins and giving them to me.

  Hating the fact I had no tissues of my own, I was forced to snatch them from his outstretched hand. I swiftly wiped the tissue round my mouth, hoping I’d got it all and trying to retain what little dignity I had left. Even then, at the pinnacle of my hurt and hate, I didn’t want his last memory of me to be one in which I was covered in vomit.

  ‘I called and texted and said things about still caring for you, and you never said a thing. I couldn’t understand why you were so weird with me… Now, I know,’ I said, emerging from a wad of napkins.