We Just Clicked

‘The perfect laugh-out-loud love story’ Louise Pentland

‘Smart, witty and completely fresh’ Cathy Bramley

‘Romantic and refreshing’ Mhairi McFarlane

‘A fun, bouncy, brilliant tale’ Heat

‘Funny, relatable and fabulously written’ Daily Express

‘Perfect for fans of Sophie Kinsella’ Take a Break

‘Romance, comedy and drama sparkle in this fun, fresh and frothy concoction’ Lancashire Evening Post

‘A hilarious and heartwarming story’ Don’t Bend the Spine

‘Properly funny stuff’ Fabulous

‘A funny, feel-good read’ Closer

‘A brilliantly funny, romantic and effervescent read’ Frost magazine

ANNA BELL lives in the South of France with her young family and energetic Labrador. When not chained to her laptop, Anna can be found basking in the sun in the summer, heading to the ski slopes in the winter (to drink hot chocolate and watch – she can’t ski) or having a sneaky treat from the patisserie – all year round! We Just Clicked is Anna’s eighth novel.

You can find out more about Anna on her website – www.annabellwrites.com or follow her on Twitter @annabell_writes

We Just Clicked

Anna Bell

ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES

Copyright

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2020

Copyright © Anna Bell 2020

Anna Bell asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © April 2020 ISBN: 9780008340780

Version 2020-04-07

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008340773

For Evan, who I become prouder of every day.

Contents

Cover

Praise

About the Author

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Prologue

Two Years Later

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Acknowledgements

About the Publisher

Prologue

If I’d known that the last time I’d see Ben was that unusually hot day in April, I would have made more of an effort to tell him something profound. I would have told him I loved him. Told him I was sorry for all the times I’d fought petty arguments with him. Told him how he was more a part of me than I ever imagined was possible. I certainly wouldn’t have told him that he had crappy taste in engagement rings and that his hairline was starting to recede. But I guess in some ways that was better than all the soppy stuff because if I’d known it was the last time, I’d never have let him leave that afternoon at all.

He’d taken me to a high-end jewellery shop whose windows I’d only ever drooled over from the outside. I’d never dared enter it, let alone imagined that I, Izzy Brown, would be allowed to touch one of their exquisite rings.

‘Holy shit,’ I said, my hand flying up to my mouth in embarrassment of my potty mouth. Luckily the man behind the counter was polite enough to act like he hadn’t heard. ‘Are you sure the rock’s big enough?’

I held the diamond up to the light and it practically blinded me. There was no denying it was a beautiful ring, but it was far too showy.

‘It’s not that big,’ said Ben. Beads of sweat had started to form on his forehead as the magnitude of what was happening hit him. Or maybe he’d caught sight of the price tag. ‘I just want it to be special.’

‘I think it’s too much,’ I said, shaking my head and slipping it off. ‘I think she’d prefer something more understated.’

‘Something like that?’ asked Ben, pointing to another equally ostentatious ring.

I shuddered, not because the ring was horrid but because it was exactly the type of ring that I imagined that Cameron would propose with. Not that he’d come here. He’d have flown to Antwerp and bought the perfect diamond first before flying back to have it set. That’s what the very few engaged or married traders that he knew had done and Cameron hated to deviate from the pack.

‘I think she’d prefer something like…’ I walked along to the opposite end of the display cabinet and my eyes fell upon the perfect ring, ‘like that.’

I stared at the platinum band with a bright blue sapphire flanked on either side by tiny diamonds. It was elegant and understated, but special none the less. It was exactly what he was looking for.

Ben followed my finger and examined the ring before he looked up at me and a small smile spread across his face.

‘Bloody hell, that’s the one.’

The man behind the counter pulled it out and rested it on the top and glided it over my finger. It was a little tighter than the first one, but it fit well enough. Ben shook a little as he checked the price tag but relief flooded his face when he saw he could afford it.

‘It’s an excellent choice,’ said the man. He started spieling about the cut and clarity of the diamonds and the pedigree of the sapphire, but I could tell Ben wasn’t listening. He’d found the ring and he was happy. As was I – my hand had never looked more beautiful. I fanned my fingers out and stared at it twinkling in the lights. It was entrancing.

The man behind the counter coughed and I looked up a little embarrassed.

‘I need to pop it back in the box,’ he said.

‘Of course, of course,’ I said tugging it off. ‘It’s so beautiful.’

Ben smiled as he handed over his credit card, and just like that, my brother had taken his first step to getting married. Or perhaps it was technically his second step as he’d actually got engaged a few years ago when he’d proposed with a ring from a Christmas cracker. He’d told his fiancée that he’d get her a better ring one day, and after a recent work promotion he’d finally been able to make good on the promise.

‘I can’t believe you’re going to do this,’ I said, looping my arm through his as we left the store.

‘We’ve been engaged for three years, it’s hardly a shocker.’

‘I know, but this is really it, though, isn’t it? You’ve got the proper ring and you’re going to set a proper date. This is huge. We should celebrate.’

‘I was going to head straight back to the station. I don’t really want to be walking round London with it.’

He hugged his backpack tighter to his chest. He looked like such a tourist wearing it over his front.

I pulled out my phone and read a message.

‘Cameron’s going to the Founder’s Arms, it’s just over the river from here. Why don’t we go and have a quick drink with him before I walk you back to Waterloo?’

Ben looked at his watch and I could tell he was uneasy, but I hadn’t seen him in ages. The afternoon had whizzed by and there was still so much to catch up on.

‘OK, but the drinks are on you as I don’t think I can ever afford to drink again after buying that.’

‘Ben, I hope you’re not getting into debt for the ring. It’s not like the wedding will be cheap and—’

‘Izzy, I’m kidding.’

‘Good,’ I said with relief.‘Of course I’ll buy you a celebratory drink anyway. Plus, I can’t wait for you to meet Cameron.’

‘Oh yes, the famous Cameron. I’m intrigued to meet him too.’

It felt strange that they’d not met before, but my life in London seemed so far removed from my family and friends back home in Basingstoke. The two might only be an hour apart by train but you’d think I was from Timbuktu judging by the reaction I’d get from Cameron when I suggested we visit. I think he expected that he’d turn to dust if he left the Greater London area, like a vampire entering a church.

I stifled a yawn as we weaved through the empty streets. During the week the same ones would be full of City workers bustling about, but at the weekend they were deserted.

‘Late night?’ asked Ben.

‘Kind of, but it’s been one of those weeks where every night’s been a late one.’

‘I don’t know how you do it; I can barely manage going out at the weekend now.’

‘That’s what happens when you’re old and settled. You get a mortgage, you get married and next you’ll be losing your hair like Dad.’

He rubbed at his hair. ‘Oi, I’m only two years older than you and I’m not receding quite yet. Plus I’m not married yet either.’

Ben’s been with his fiancée Becca for fifteen years; they met at school, and I think of them as an old married couple. It’s been a cruel wait for my mum to splash out on an over-the-top mother-of-the-groom hat and for me who wants to be their bridesmaid.

‘So does this mean you’re going to have to propose all over again?’

‘Oh God, I don’t know. Does it? That was the whole point of proposing with the cracker ring. It was supposed to be whimsical.’

‘I think that would have been fine if you’d then produced the real ring soon afterwards, but three years… I think you’ll have to do it again, and with a ring like that it deserves to be properly romantic.’

He groaned.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you think of something.’

By the time we crossed over the river to the pub, we’d come up with a sneaky proposal plan that was both romantic and personal. I’d shed a few happy tears and Ben was once again grateful I’d helped him out.

We arrived at the pub before Cameron and his friends, so we ordered drinks and took them out onto the terrace. We managed to find a recently vacated table on the edge, still covered with empty glasses.

‘Will you take my photo?’ I said, looking over at the view over the Thames towards St Paul’s on the other side.

I didn’t bother to wait for a reply; I simply held out my phone to Ben and struck a pose.

‘Is this for your Instagram? I see you’re doing really well. Over 500 followers?’ he said.

‘I know. Can you believe it?’

‘I told you I had a good feeling about it,’ he said, snapping a couple of shots. He checked his work before handing it over with a nod. ‘Not bad.’

I had a look myself and was suitably impressed.

‘Perfect, I can post that later with all the appropriate hashtags.’

‘Move over Zoella,’ he said sipping his drink.

‘I don’t think I’d ever be that big, it’s just nice doing something creative again. And you never know, I could perhaps try and make the move into marketing or PR by showing agencies that I understand how to build a brand.’

‘Still having no luck on the job front?’

I shook my head. I took a job as a copywriter for an advertising agency that specialised in medical products straight out of university. I thought I was going to have a glittering advertising career and that it would all be cocktails and swanky parties à la Mad Men, only the reality was far from glamorous. I didn’t mind when I was younger, when it was all about the pay cheque and where the next party was, but as I’d got older I wanted to start focusing on my career. Only five years writing copy about haemorrhoid creams had left me pigeonholed in the medical sector and longing to do work that people didn’t read in desperation because they had piles.

‘Well, I think you’re onto something with the Instagram thing. From what I’ve seen on your feed, you’re a natural. I’m sure you’ll be making a living out of it in no time.’

I laughed hard. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it would be to get to that stage?’

Ben shrugged. ‘I know you could do it. You know, I’m proud of you for giving it a go.’ He chinked his glass against mine.

‘And I’m proud of you, finally getting married. Can I see the ring again?’ I said, clapping my hands together.

He looked around to see if anyone was watching and he leant down into his bag, which he had looped around his leg. He pulled the little ring box out and flipped it open, holding it out to me.

‘Oh, it’s even more beautiful than I remember it being,’ I said, looking at it longingly. ‘Can I try it on?’

‘I guess so, it’s probably safer on your finger than it is in my bag,’ he said as I picked it up and slipped it on.

I held my hand out and it felt complete again. The table next to us burst into applause. I looked around to see what they were clapping at and it took me a good few seconds to realise they were all staring at me and Ben.

‘Congratulations,’ one of them shouted whilst raising their glass.

‘What the… Oh no, it’s not what it looks like. He’s my brother,’ I said in slight horror as I tried to slip the ring back off my finger but it didn’t want to budge.

The clapping petered out and they all looked a bit embarrassed.

‘I was just trying it on,’ I said, feeling ridiculous and yanking it even harder, but it wasn’t moving in the slightest.

‘Well, I hope the actual proposal goes better than that,’ said Ben, taking a large sip of his drink.

‘Um, that’s if I can give you the ring back,’ I said, holding up my hand. My finger looked like a plump sausage and it was at least double its normal size.

‘You’re joking, right?’ he said, laughing a little awkwardly before he realised I wasn’t laughing back. ‘Izzy!’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, wincing. ‘It won’t come off.’

I tried to pull it as hard as I could.

‘Don’t do that,’ he said, screwing up his face. ‘You might break it.’

He took an audible deep breath before he stood up.

‘Ice, you need to put it in ice. Your hand will shrink,’ he said.

‘I can put it in my cider,’ I said, about to plunge it in.

‘Don’t you dare, it’ll get sticky. Hold tight, I’ll get some from the bar.’

Hold tight, I muttered to myself as I sat there looking at my ever-increasing sausage finger.

‘Izzy,’ shouted a voice and I looked up to see Cameron and a few of his work colleague friends heading across the pub terrace, glasses in hand. ‘I didn’t realise you’d already be here; I would have got you a drink,’ he said as he sat down next to me and gave me a quick kiss on the lips. ‘So how did the engagement ring shopping go?’

‘Really well,’ I said holding my hand up. ‘I decided I’d save us the trouble and get the ball rolling.’

I’d been about to laugh, thinking he would too, when his whole face started to crumple.

‘Er, Izzy, I don’t know what you were thinking but I really don’t think we’re there, are we? I mean, we only live together because you were living in Balham and I don’t go further out than Zone 2. I mean, you know how much I care about you and all—’

‘Prosecco on the house,’ said a woman, cutting Cameron off mid-flow. ‘For the happy couple, I hear you just got engaged!’

Cameron looked up at the barmaid in absolute horror, his face turning pale. I risked a glance at his work colleagues who were all trying to look anywhere but in our direction. All except Tiffany, who was giving me her usual pursed-lipped, narrowed-eye look. I’d long suspected she fancied Cameron, even though he denied it.

‘Actually, we didn’t,’ I said, mortified. ‘It was all just a misunderstanding. I was trying on a ring for my brother and it got stuck.’

‘Oh well,’ said the woman, looking unbothered. ‘You might as well have it now anyway, it’s been written off by our boss.’

She placed the tray with the bottle and glasses on the table and I muttered a thank you.

‘Here’s the ice,’ said Ben, rushing over and putting it down in front of me.

He grabbed my hand and plunged it into the water.

‘Bloody hell, that’s cold,’ I said, wincing in pain as my hand started to go numb. ‘How long have I got to keep it in there?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, still panicked. ‘Until it comes off?’

He turned and noticed Cameron, who was sitting there mute.

‘Cameron, this is my brother Ben, Ben this is my boyfriend Cameron, or at least I think he’s still my boyfriend, but he’s definitely nowhere near being my fiancé,’ I said.

They muttered a hello and shook hands, both distracted: Ben by the ring stuck on my finger, Cameron by the conversation we’d just had.

I pulled my hand out of the glass and, much to my and Ben’s relief, the ring came off my finger.

Ben cradled it like a newborn baby, wrapping it up in his T-shirt and drying it carefully before depositing it back in the box and in the safety of his backpack.

‘So it’s your ring?’ Tiffany said to Ben, with obvious relief.

‘Yes, and I think I’d better take it home before anything else happens to it,’ he said, downing the rest of his cider. ‘Do you mind, Izzy?’

‘Of course not,’ I said lying.

I got up and gave him a quick hug and he said a quick goodbye to the others before leaving, clutching his bag.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

Two weeks after the pub incident I was on my way to work when my phone rang. My mum’s number flashed up and at first I thought she’d phoned me by mistake because it was so early. When I picked up there was a rustling sound on the line, and I was about to hang up when I realised it was Mum sobbing. Eventually my dad took the phone from her, and when he spoke I barely recognised his voice. It was so quiet and soft, nothing like his usual boom.

‘Izzy, are you sitting down? Something awful’s happened to Ben.’

I’d immediately started to witter on about an accident and asking if he was in hospital when Dad went quiet. He didn’t need to tell me the next bit; I knew from his tone that Ben had died.

The world started to spin and my body and mind seemed to drift away from each other. I could hear Dad telling me details and words jumped out at me – cardiac arrest… arrhythmia… in his sleep – but I couldn’t absorb any of it. I was too numb to take it all in, too numb to be able to say anything other than I was coming home.

I was near Paddington, and so I jumped on a train to Reading in the hope of changing from there to Basingstoke. It’s not a route I’d usually take going home but I couldn’t face travelling across London in rush hour. I went into some sort of a survival mode, putting one foot in front of the other and was amazed to find myself on the right train.

I managed to hold it together until I got to Reading and then it hit me – like slapped me in the face as if a freight train had hit me – and I found myself stranded at the station not knowing how I was going to find my connecting train. All I could think was that Ben was gone and that I’d never see him again.

My legs started to wobble and my phone slid out of my hands, and I couldn’t stop myself from falling.

‘Whoa, there,’ said a man, catching me under my arms and keeping me upright. ‘Are you all right?’

My head was throbbing and my legs had gone to jelly.

‘Are you all right?’ he said again, but it felt like it was coming from somewhere distant.

He continued to hold onto me and I took a moment to look at him. He was dressed in a smart blue shirt that matched his eyes.

‘Do you speak English?’ he said, elongating every word and speaking very loudly.

‘I, um, yes,’ I said, confused.

‘Sorry, you weren’t answering me and I thought… Look, are you OK? Is there someone I could call?’

I shook my head. There really wasn’t. Cameron was on a business trip to New York, I’d planned to call him when I got to my parents’ house. There was no rush; it was the middle of the night there and it wasn’t like he’d be able to do anything from there. I thought back to the one and only time that Cameron had met my brother and my heart started to ache about it – my last afternoon with Ben. ‘I’m on my way to my mum and dad’s and I… I don’t know where the platform is for Basingstoke.’

A breeze whistled through the station and my curls blew into my face. I’d left the house with them wet, I’d planned on putting my hair up at some point on my journey, but I’d forgotten and they’d dried out of control.

‘Your mum and dad,’ said the man kindly, ‘in Basingstoke. OK, OK, we can do that.’

He looked up and scanned the departures board. I couldn’t believe that I’d been standing so close and I hadn’t noticed it. My mind felt full of fog.

‘OK, so Platform 4 at 9.52, you’ve got ten minutes. I’ll take you there,’ he said.

I closed my eyes and I was flooded with relief.

‘Thank you, I…’ I took another deep breath. ‘Just thank you.’

‘It’s no problem, really. Um, OK, can you stand on your own, do you think? You look a bit unsteady.’

‘I think so,’ I said, focusing on breathing in and out.

He pulled his arms away from me slowly and I successfully proved that I could stand on two feet, much to both our amazement. My hair blew in my face again, and I scraped it out of the way the best I could, but curls kept getting stuck on my tear-stained cheeks.

‘Now,’ he said, pulling the hair band off my wrist. ‘This looks like it’s bothering you.’

He scooped my curls up into the messiest topknot ever, but in that split second I was just so grateful that he’d got them away from my face. I stared down at the red ring the band had left on my wrist, wondering why I didn’t remember I had it there in the first place.