Me, You and Tiramisu

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HarperCollinsPublishers

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2017

Copyright © Charlotte Butterfield 2017

Illustration by Jacqueline Bissett

Cover design by Holly Macdonald 2017

Charlotte Butterfield 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.

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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008216504

Version 2017-02-01

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

For Team P:

Ed, Amélie, Rafe and Theo

Chapter 1

Fate was supposed to throw them together again in Rome, standing in the shadow of the Coliseum, exchanging guide-book-gleaned titbits on the tyrannical reign of Nero. Or often, in another one of her daydreams, they’d be in the grand lobby of the Royal Albert Hall, swapping polite apologies as they jostled into each other a few minutes before the lights dimmed at the Last Night of the Proms. Sometimes they’d be smiling nervously at each other as they prepared for their hot-air balloon to slowly lift off the ground over the sun-soaked sand of Queensland, or occasionally sitting at sunrise on neighbouring blankets watching turtle eggs hatch on a beach in the Florida Keys. Jayne had never been to Italy, Australia or America and, truth be told, she didn’t actually like classical music. But regardless of these small, and insignificant, realities, not once had she imagined that her reunion with Billy would be accompanied by a lingering smell of analgesic and mouthwash on a dark February afternoon in Twickenham.

**

Jayne had arrived uncharacte‌ristically late; her cheeks were flushed from getting off the gridlocked bus and deciding to run the remaining half mile with her satchel containing thirty dog-eared exercise books bashing violently against her hip the whole way. The door let in an icy gust before slamming behind her, rudely announcing her arrival to the packed waiting room. Flustered and overly apologetic, she sandwiched herself into the only available seat, which was under a graphic poster screaming the words Disorders of the Teeth and Jaw.

She tried to keep her elbows close to her body as she took off her glasses to de-steam them and yelped as her bag slipped to the floor, scattering books and papers across the waiting room. Twelve pairs of eyes looked up at the unexpected commotion as Jayne fell to her knees reaching under the plastic chairs and leaflet-laden coffee table. ‘Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she kept uttering while plunging her hand between boots and shoes.

‘Here’s a few more,’ a man’s deep voice uttered to her side. He was holding a pile of books and papers. ‘I think that’s the lot.’

‘Thank you so much,’ Jayne replied, accepting his outstretched hand to help her back onto her feet, ‘What an idiot.’

‘Don’t be daft, it’s fine.’ He looked at the top sheet of paper he was still holding and read its title aloud. ‘Terry Pratchett has been called the Shakespeare of today, discuss. Wow, now that’s the kind of essay I wouldn’t have minded writing when I was in school, or even now, actually!’

Jayne blew her hair out of her face as she took the papers off him, stuffed them in her bag and sat in the empty seat next to him. ‘A Pratchett fan?’ she said.

‘Have been for years,’ he replied. ‘Is that really what kids are learning nowadays?’

‘Not officially, but it’s a bit of light relief after the mocks. For me more than them, I think, although I may have converted a few of them. What was it he once said, ‘The trouble about having an open mind is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it’?’

‘My favourite quote of his was, ‘The pen is mightier than the sword if the sword is very short and the pen is very sharp’.’ They both laughed. Jayne retrieved a bottle of water from her bag and took a big gulp. She’d wanted to nip to the bathroom and give her teeth a quick brush before her appointment, but then she’d lose her seat, and she thought that it might seem a bit rude if she just got up in the middle of her conversation with this random man. She settled for swishing the water around her mouth like a wine-taster; that would have to do.

The man courteously waited for her to swallow before adding, ‘So what else do you normally like reading, then?’

‘Anything really,’ she shrugged. Being in London, talking to a stranger, albeit one that you’re touching shoulders with, was a rare phenomenon. She hadn’t yet dispensed with saying ‘sorry’ or ‘excuse me’ when she mistakenly jostled someone on the tube, which immediately singled herself out as an outsider, even after fifteen years in the city, but there was a difference between proffering up instinctive apologies and actually having a conversation with someone she didn’t know. She didn’t have anything better to do, though, apart from a quick floss, but then, that’s what she was just about to pay someone to do.

‘I usually have a few books on the go, which I know you shouldn’t do, respect for the author and all that, but, um, biographies, classics, I guess, and I try to read a few of the Booker list each year, because I feel that I should, historical fiction, some science fiction if it’s not too weird, a bit of crime, if it’s not too gruesome, um, poetry, I do like a good poem.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ He replied smiling. Up until then their exchange had all happened side-on, giving a nod to the unspoken English rule of respecting one another’s personal space, quick side glances punctuating the questions and responses. Jayne swivelled slightly in her seat to face him; he smiled and then, embarrassed, they both quickly looked away. This didn’t happen to girls like her. Strange men in public places didn’t just strike up a conversation about literature.

She started scrabbling through her bag for her phone, under the pretence of checking the time but actually just to break the silence. Thank God he didn’t know that without her glasses she could barely see the screen, let alone the numbers on it, but she didn’t want to put her specs on and spoil the illusion of being a seductive temptress. She was pretty sure he was incredibly attractive, but admittedly, at that moment he resembled a beautiful pastel drawing that was delicately smudged around the edges. To keep up the charade of having the power of sight she sighed, prompting the man to venture, ‘They seem to be running late today.’

She nodded and took one of the essays out, but deciphering the swirled swags and tails of teenage penmanship didn’t really cut it as a distraction technique, particularly as she was only pretending to read. Her eyes began straying to the side, at exactly the same time as the man looked up from the page of his book.

‘You know, reading shouldn’t really be so much of a chore,’ he teased. ‘If your forehead got any more furrowed you’d start to lose things in there.’

‘Is it that obvious?’ she smiled, ‘Here I am trying to earn an honest living and all I get is mockery.’

She could sense his mouth turning up at the edges at her feeble attempt at being affronted, and he held his hands up, ‘Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to cast aspersions on your obvious dedication to education; it quite literally seeps out of you.’

‘I hate the word ‘literally’,’ Jayne rolled her eyes, ‘Like it literally kills me. And ‘seeps’, now you come to mention it.’

‘I’m like that with ‘gusset’.’ He shivered theatrically. ‘Eugh.’

‘I have a theory about that, actually.’

‘This’ll be interesting. A theory about gussets.’

‘Indeed. I think, in the case of gusset, it’s purely because of what it describes, so if it swapped its meaning with a nice word, it would be okay – like if Judy Garland had sang ‘Somewhere Over the Gusset’ it wouldn’t be a horrible word.’

‘Okay, so by that reasoning, and I grant you, it’s a valid theory, we’d be sitting here saying ‘I loathe the word ‘rainbow’, bleurgh. Vile word. Yuck’.’

‘Exactly!’ They both sat back in their seats smiling. The room had relaxed; it felt lighter, more convivial.

Jayne started to feel butterflies building inside, a sensation she hadn’t really experienced since she was a teenager. It was quite an achievement to get to the age of thirty-three and to never have experienced anything resembling a light storm, let alone a thunderbolt. She’d even tried match.com recently, at Rachel and her friend Abi’s insistence, which she thought should really be renamed lookingfor‌aquickbonk.com because every bloke’s interest had evaporated once she’d made it clear that she wanted dinner first. She didn’t think it was too much of a hardship for a man to endure a meal with her if mediocre but enthusiastic lovemaking might be on the menu after, but it turned out that it was.

‘Okay, Mister, I’m going to enter into the spirit of this because, well, we’re clearly not getting our teeth seen to any time soon. Quick-fire round. Favourite character of all time?’

‘Huckleberry Finn. You?’

‘Jane Austen’s Marianne Dashwood.’

‘Predictable, but it’s your call. Favourite book from childhood?

‘The Magic Faraway Tree.’

‘Excellent choice. I loved Moonface. And Mr Saucepanhead.’

‘Saucepan Man.’

‘What?’

‘His name was Saucepan Man, you said Saucepanhead.’

‘You say tom-arto, I say tom-ay-to.’

‘Well, no, we both say tom-arto, because we are not from the Land of the Brave.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ He comically puffed out his chest and affected a deep baritone voice, ‘I am incredibly courageous.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she quipped back without missing a beat, ‘but just to prove it, what was the last macho thing that you did?’

Still in character as Johnny Bravo he said, ‘well, I asked an attractive stranger sitting next to me in a waiting room for her number so we can meet up and celebrate our clean teeth by drinking red wine and coffee.’

The invitation had been so unexpected Jayne almost had to sit on her hands to stop them from applauding. Quickly composing herself, she replied with what she hoped was a tone of flirty sarcasm, ‘Wow, you are a charmer.’

The elderly lady next to Jayne who had been following their exchange with a barely concealed smile reluctantly left her seat after being called by the clipboard-wielding receptionist, but not before giving Jayne a little wink.

Jayne moved her coat and scarf off her lap and onto the warm vacant seat. ‘I need to save this for my twin, she’s meeting me here after my appointment,’ she felt the need to explain.

‘Oh my, there are two of you?’

‘Yep, non-identical. The only thing we share is a birthday, though, so you can put your seedy thoughts back in their box.’

‘Seedy thoughts, indeed. Jeez, a second ago I was a charmer and now I’m a pervert. How did that happen?’

‘It’s a delicate tightrope you walk. Right, back to books. What’s your favourite last line of a book?’

‘Oooo, good question, but very easy. ‘The president of the immortals had ended his sport with Blank.’ Who’s Blank?’

‘So simple you’re embarrassing yourself – and the answer is Tess of the D’Urbervilles.’

‘She shoots, she scores. Okay, maybe that one was too easy, how about …’

He was cut off mid-sentence by a woolly mammoth smothering Jayne in a bear hug. ‘Oh my God, Jayney, I’m so sorry I’m late!’ Rachel shrugged off her huge fake-fur coat, and plonked herself down on the spare chair. ‘Rubbish day, didn’t stop, so sorry, were you waiting long? She suddenly stopped, aware that she’d interrupted a conversation. ‘Oh Jeez, sorry, who are you?’ she stuck her hand out over Jayne, and he slowly took it.

‘Will.’

His name was Will. They’d been talking for a quarter of an hour and her sister had managed to get this information in under a minute. It had never even occurred to Jayne to ask him his name; maybe this was why she was still single. Finding out his literary preferences seemed much more important than what his parents had decided to call him.

‘I know you – I’m sure I do,’ Rachel was peering at him, eyes narrowed.

A little part of Jayne started to wither and die inside. Please, please let Will not be one of the multitude of men she had seen making the walk of shame from her sister’s room as she was leaving for work in the morning. The trouble with having a flatmate whose aim in life was to horizontally rumba with all of London’s bachelors, and much to Jayne’s disgust and Rachel’s annoyance, some who were bachelors only in mind and behaviour, but not in the eyes of the law, was that it didn’t leave many men who were untouched for Jayne. Not that it had ever bothered her before, but at that moment, it really, really did.

‘Will? Jesus, it’s Billy!’

Oh God.

Jayne decided that she didn’t want any part in their cosy reunion, so started to fidget in her seat, packing her pathetic little belongings back in her bag before they started doing whatever it was people did after one-night stands.

He shrugged apologetically, offering up a polite smile to compensate, ‘Um, sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,’

‘Billy, Billy, I’m Rachel, Rachel.’

Jayne suddenly felt really bad for her sister. Having a person who’s seen you naked not remembering, or even worse pretending not to, was really humiliating, and she knew all about that. For it to happen to Rachel was actually quite unheard of; it was normally her sister feigning ignorance in a corner when a dubious pull popped up, never the other way round.

‘Jeez, Billy, this is Jayne. Jaayynne,’ Rachel implored.

‘Jayne? Jayne? Oh my God!’ Before she had the chance to duck out of the way, or at least prepare herself, Will had lunged at her, enveloping her in a huge hug and burying his face in her neck. She had no idea why a conquest of Rachel’s would be so emotional, but she let him carry on holding her because he smelt of coconut. She chose to put to one side the fact that he’d slept with her sister, because this was the closest she’d come to male contact for nearly two years, and up until four minutes ago, she was going to marry him.

Rachel suddenly started hugging both of them over the top of his hug, so she was trapped in some strange kind of pyramid embrace. What the hell? Jayne started wriggling free of the pair of them and finally extracted herself from their bizarre outpouring of affection.

‘Jayne? What’s wrong? I thought you’d be really pleased to see him after all this time? Why are you being weird?’

Me? The world has just gone crazy, she wanted to shout, but ever the diplomat, settled instead for, ‘Um, sorry, I just think it’s a bit inappropriate, and I should probably leave you two alone, to … er … reminisce without me.’

‘Jayne. Put your glasses on.’

‘What?’

‘For the love of all that’s holy. Put. Your. Glasses. On.’

She did.

‘Now look at him.’

Jayne’s heart flipped over and she thought she was going to be sick. It had taken eighteen years, but she’d finally found the first love that had slipped through her inexperienced fingers. Speak she willed herself, say something amazing, something heartfelt and articulate. Show him what he’s been missing for nearly two decades. Opening her mouth to speak, to add to the magic of the moment, Jayne’s first words were suddenly indecently smothered by an officious voice shouting, ‘Jayne Brady, ready for your scrape and polish?’

Chapter 2

The next few seconds happened in a blur; Jayne’s heart thumped loudly in her ears. Her thoughts whizzed through her mind faster than they ever had before and yet she instinctively rose out of her chair as her name was called. She’d never been one to defy authority, or sidestep an obligation; in fact her reliance on rules and propriety were a regular topic of ridicule from her sister. Jayne took three steps towards the nurse before she stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. What was she doing? She’d dreamed of this moment, well, not this moment exactly, she’d never considered that this was how it would happen. Semantics aside, it suddenly seemed ludicrous to her that she was prepared to pause it while she had her incisors whitened.

‘Um. You know what? I think I’ll reschedule. Er, if that’s okay? If it’s not, I’ll come now, but I’d really rather not,’ she heard herself say. Turning around to seek approval from Will and Rachel at her impulsiveness, she saw that they’d both stood up already and Will was holding her coat open for her to step into.

Will and Rachel had excitedly chosen the pub that the three of them were now walking briskly towards. Their speed had little to do with the unforgiving climate; they were propelled instead by their eagerness to allow almost two decades to melt into insignificance. Jayne kept pace with them, hearing their animated chatter, yet unable to add to it herself.

There wasn’t a day in eighteen years that she hadn’t fantasised about this moment; most mundane tasks had been tinged with a fleeting thought of where or what he was doing, she’d concocted the most creative and implausible scenarios where serendipity would thrust them together again, and now it was actually happening. On an icy pavement in a London suburb, against the tide of collar-up commuters, she was walking with Billy.

**

On the night she first met Billy, Jayne and Rachel were sitting in their kitchen, still in their school uniforms with the remnants of their microwave meals congealing on the plates in front of them. Rachel was engrossed in carving the words INXS into the back of her calculator with a compass while Jayne was studiously rewriting her essay using her sister’s slightly more sloped handwriting, remembering not to dot her ‘i’s’ like she would have done, but to draw a small bubble over each one instead.

Their mother, Crystal, was precariously balanced on the edge of the worktop hanging up a Native American dreamcatcher in the window that she’d just bought in a gemstone shop in Totnes. ‘I’ve got a new client coming round later for a reading, girls, so make yourself scarce.’

Of all of Crystal’s money-making schemes over the years this was the one that Jayne hated the most, and yet sadly was the most lucrative, so Crystal had no intention of cancelling it. Simply by closing her eyes, leaning forward in her chair and saying the words, ‘they are safe on the other side, and they love you,’ she made forty quid a session.

‘And?’ Rachel had yawned, leaning back in her chair.

‘And, this one might be my ticket out of this place, so don’t be like you usually are.’ Neither daughter had even flinched at their mother’s choice of words, they’d heard much worse. ‘It was bloody bad luck,’ was how Crystal had always described her unplanned pregnancy. ‘It was a night of passion under the stars, but I’ve been paying ever since!’ was the title tune on the backing track of their childhood and it was usually accompanied by a Chardonnay-scented hiccup and a sharp inhale of a Lambert & Butler.

Apparently their father’s name was Neil, aka Jupiter. That’s as much as they’d ever managed to get out of their mother regarding the identity of their dad. To be fair to Crystal, it wasn’t that she was deliberately withholding specifics from them, it was the only information she’d gleaned from him before she’d shed her sarong on Thailand’s Koh Pha Ngan beach and celebrated the full moon with some intoxicated love-making. Neil left Paradise Bungalows the next day for a school-building project in India and Crystal moved on soon after to a rice farm in Bali.

She’d initially put her tiredness and weight gain down to the carb-heavy diet and intense manual labour, but five months into her pregnancy there was no mistaking what was happening inside her body. She flew home to have the girls and her free spirit evaporated a little more each day, leaving behind a bitterness that was impossible to shift.

Despite only knowing Neil for a matter of hours, and ignoring the fact that little of that was spent talking, Crystal still blamed Jayne’s shortsightedness on this teenage lothario, along with her ability to put on a few waist inches by passing a wrapped chocolate bar. But over the years Jayne had learnt to channel her grandmother’s mantra of ‘deal best you can with the lot you’ve been dealt’. She reasoned that she should know, having had to help raise her eighteen-year-old daughter’s dark-haired twins in a seaside town where being from Exeter was considered exotic.

By the time the doorbell went that evening, both girls would have forgotten about Crystal’s grieving client had it not been for the overwhelming smell of sandalwood incense that engulfed the house, which apparently energised the spirits. ‘It’s what the clients expect,’ Crystal had said the first time the girls coughed their way through the fug.