Barely Yours Read online

  Then, without warning, I feel Tabitha’s tiny fingers slipping from mine and before I can even stop her, she’s running full pelt, away from me across the grass, shouting something.

  “Tabby! Get back here immediately!” I call after her, but it’s no use.

  “Will, what are you talking about? I’m right here,” the confused voice on the other end of the line says.

  “Not you Marsha,” I snap. “It’s my ... Oh, never mind, carry on.”

  There’s nothing for it, I realise. I’m just going to have to sort out the New York situation and chase after my daughter at the same bloody time.

  So I begin to dash in the direction of my precious little girl, but of course I’ve forgotten that I still haven’t had time to get the fasteners on my favourite briefcase repaired just yet, and as I begin to run, all my important paperwork goes scattering across the grass.

  I nervously scan around the park for Tabby while simultaneously gathering up my files, all the while trying to calm down an increasingly hysterical Marsha.

  “Tabby?” I shout, scanning the park. “Come back here at once!”

  Then into the phone: “No, not you Marsha. Yes, I know where you are. Now listen to me for just a moment. The first thing you need to do is calm down.”

  But even as I’m talking, I can feel my own stress levels skyrocketing. So many things need my attention, and if I could only concentrate on one damn thing at a time.

  “Just hold on a second, Marsha,” I snap, trying to snatch a final sheaf of papers moments before they flutter maddeningly out of reach, all the while still frantically scanning the park for Tabby.

  Finally, I’ve gathered the papers and stuffed them back into my briefcase, whilst carefully laying out for Marsha the next steps to stop this deal from falling through entirely.

  “Now listen to me, Marsha,” I explain. “The very second you get off the phone to me, you need to call Jerry. Tell Jerry what you just told me, and just say, Will says it’s time for the Windsor plan.”

  I anxiously scan the park again as I talk, searching for the bright red of Tabitha’s coat amongst the other children. She’s only been gone a few seconds and she knows not to run too far away from me. Damn it. She has to be here somewhere.

  “The Windsor plan?’ says a confused Marsha.

  “The Windsor Plan,” I repeat through gritted teeth, my blood beginning to boil. “Don’t worry, Marsha. Jerry’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  I spin around, flustered, still wondering where the hell Tabby has got to.

  “And in the meantime ...”

  But I stop mid-sentence.

  Because I’m suddenly face to face with a beautiful girl. An angel. An angel who’s holding my daughter in her arms – the very same daughter who never talks to anyone, now chattering away happily to this total stranger.

  “Just say the Windsor Plan. I’ll call you back, Marsha,” I say, quickly hanging up the call and slipping my iPhone back into my blazer pocket. “Thank you,” I begin to say to the stranger, but as I scan her pretty features, I realise she isn’t quite such a stranger after all.

  “You’re,” I say, hesitantly. “You’re the ... girl from the shop.”

  “The very same!” she says cheerily in her bright American accent. “Madame Iris’s Baby Boutique at your service. I think you might have lost this?” she adds, her green eyes gesturing down to my daughter, miraculously happy in this girl’s slim tanned arms.

  “Oh my God, thank you, thank you,” I say, taking Tabitha and holding her tight against me. “And Tabby, what have I told you about running off like that?”

  I turn back to the girl, taking her in all over again. She’s got thick, wavy chestnut hair and a healthy glowing tan. She’s slim but not stick thin, and either she’s a little taller than most girls I meet or maybe it’s simply the way she holds herself. She’s casually dressed in black skinny jeans and a plain grey t-shirt that I’m guessing is supposed to hide her curves, but in fact only shows them off even more. For a second my eyes are drawn to something on the inside of her left forearm, which I slowly realize is a delicate intricate tattoo; some sort of flower design. I always thought tattoos were tasteless, but this one only seems to enhance her beauty.

  Christ man, pull yourself together, I admonish myself, when I realise I’ve just been flat out gawping at her.

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I say, trying to push any untoward thoughts from my mind. “Tabby means the world to me. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to her.”

  To my surprise, the girl blushes. “Actually?” she says, a sheepish smile flickering at the corners of her lips. “I think it kinda might have been my fault.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” I ask, honestly confused.

  “Well, she recognised me from across the park and felt the sudden urge to tell me just how her new best friend, Dottie the kitten, was getting on!”

  At this, she laughs, and I can’t help but join in.

  “She’s certainly taken quite the shine to you,” I admit.

  And then for a moment we just stare at each other. I suppose it should feel awkward, looking at someone as intimately as this. But there’s something about this girl that’s just so natural, so welcoming; it’s like I’ve known her all my life.

  But just then, all of a sudden, the moment’s broken by the insistent buzz of my mobile.

  What now?!

  “I’m so sorry,” I sigh, honestly frustrated to have to leave things like this. “But I really must take this call. But thank you so much again.”

  She looks like she’s about to speak, to say something else, but I meant it – right now, business must come first.

  As I answer my phone, I see her swallow back her words, and I hurriedly tug Tabitha’s arm and turn away, striding back towards the city and away from this beautiful, intriguing stranger.

  I take another huge glug of my wine in an attempt to keep pace with Brian, but damn, these Brits sure can drink.

  “No, you don’t understand,” I insist, having to raise my voice a little to be heard over the pulsing music in this wine bar, not to mention the insistent chatter of a hundred and one different after-work conversations. “I literally didn’t get a chance to ask his name, let alone get his number. All of a sudden it was, New York calling, and then before I knew it – poof! He’d vanished into thin air. Seriously Brian, I’m starting to think I might be going crazy. It feels like I’ve made the whole thing up.”

  “Sweetie,” Brian grins sympathetically. “A guy who turns your head, makes you crazy, and then poof, vanishes without a trace? That’s all too real. You didn’t make that up. It sounds like the story of my life!”

  “Anyway,” I add, trying to shrug off the strange events of the last few days and forget about my mystery man, “what do I care? I’ve got myself a South American adventure to plan for, right? And you’ve got to promise to come out there and visit me, too. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Are you kidding?” Brian laughs excitedly. “The farthest I’ve ever been is Blackpool. Of course I’m coming. Oh, I’m not gonna miss out on the chance of finding some hot Latino lover, either.”

  We clink glasses and laugh, then Brian finishes the last of his cocktail in one big gulp.

  “Right,” he says, checking the time on his watch. “I’m off. Big day tomorrow and you know I need my beauty sleep.”

  “Come on, Bri,” I beg. “Please? Just one more drink? It’s on me.”

  At this, Brian raises a perfectly plucked quizzical eyebrow. “I get it,” he laughs. “Somebody’s too afraid to go home to Magenta the Mad, right?”

  At this I mime banging my forehead theatrically against the table. “I’m not afraid of her exactly,” I admit with a sigh, “but I just can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what to do, but if I live there too much longer, I think I’m gonna end up just as crazy as she is. “

  Magenta is my housemate. She’s from Rome. And while she’s not really cra
zy, I do think she might drive me a little bonkers before too long. For a start, she sings all the time. And I mean All. The. Time. And she’s so messy, too! She leaves stuff everywhere. It’s like she can’t even see the mess. She’ll come home and say how tidy the apartment looks, when you can barely sit down in the living room because of all her books, make up, drying clothes and general debris. And on top of that, she borrows my stuff constantly. Like, without even asking. Oh, don’t get me started on that.

  “Alright,” Brian laughs, “you’ve twisted my arm. Anything for my all-American princess. And don’t worry. This one’s on me. You bought the last round.”

  “Thanks, Brian,” I grin.

  “Same again?” he asks, pointing at my empty wine glass.

  I nod, and with that he goes striding towards the bar.

  I know, I know. Another cliché, right? The gay best friend? But it’s not quite like you’re imagining. Not all, you go girlfriend, etc. For a start, Brian is one of the most scarily intelligent people I’ve ever met. And he just happens to be loads of fun, too.

  I met him during my first job here in England. Oh my god. It was awful. We both worked in this totally dreary, windowless call center, and we both decided to quit at exactly the same time. Good job, as it turned out, because the place shut down less than a month later without paying any of the staff.

  Pretty soon after, Brian landed his dream job, working for the top London fashion designer, Christopher Kane, and me? I ended up at Iris’s Boutique. Not exactly my dream, but at least it’s a step up from that depressing windowless hellhole, and anyway – soon I’ll be off to Brazil.

  Just then, Brian returns from the bar, two drinks in hand.

  “So?” he grins, taking his place opposite me once more. “What shall we drink to this time?”

  “I don’t know,” I shrug.

  “Ooh, I’ve got it!” he says, a playful sparkle in his big brown eyes, offering his drink out towards mine. “To the unknown.”

  “To the unknown,” I laugh back as we clink glasses.

  §

  Why, oh why did I suggest that second glass of wine?

  Because while I’m not exactly hung-over, I’m definitely not quite as bright eyed and bushy tailed as I should be this morning. And the worst part is, it’s like Iris has got x-ray vision – like she can peer right into my aching head. She just knows I’m feeling groggy, and I can tell she’s watching me like a hawk this morning. I’ve already cleaned the stock room and dusted the shop floor. The place is spotless and business is painfully slow, and I can just see her casting her eyes around the store, desperately looking for something else for me to do.

  I’m just gonna have to ride today out, but I don’t quite know how I’m going to handle it. It’s only 11:23am, and it seems like this is going to be one looooong day.

  Just then, as if in answer to my prayers, the bell above the shop door jingles. Finally! I think with relief. A customer! Something to do!

  My eyes focus on whoever’s just stepped inside the shop, and when I realize who it is, I get this dizzy rush of excitement. Because it’s him.

  My mystery man.

  The guy from the park.

  What’s he doing here again so soon?

  I quickly stand to attention. Which is a mistake. Because I’m so bowled over by his strange reappearance – after all, this is three days in a row – that I’m unsteady on my feet, and I almost go toppling over. Luckily, Iris doesn’t notice my little wobble. She’s too excited herself that this gorgeous, rich stranger is back in her store.

  “Well, my, my, hello again!” she trills in that phony cartoon voice she puts on to charm customers with big wallets.

  I can barely bring myself to look at her, but I know if I did, she’d be fluttering her eyelashes and flitting around him like some pantomime dame.

  “Back so soon? However can we help you?”

  “Actually,” he says, “it’s Chrissie I’ve come here to see.”

  And as he says my name (he knows my name? how does he know my name?), there’s this burst of activity and energy as the shy creature hiding behind his legs suddenly runs out to greet me.

  “Chrissie!” the little girl shrieks, as she rushes behind the counter and into my arms. “Dottie missed you,” she says forcefully, clutching the little toy cat to her chest.

  “Oh? Oh?” says a startled, confused Iris. “I see you’re already acquainted. How very ... peculiar.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” says the tall handsome stranger, “I have a proposition for Chrissie here.”

  A proposition? Whatever could he mean?

  “As must be quite obvious to you by now,” he continues in that amazing, flawless English accent, staring straight at me, all steely and determined, those black eyes blazing, “my daughter has become rather enamoured of you. In fact, you’re all she talks about lately. Isn’t that right, Tabitha?”

  “Chrissie is my friend!” confirms the adorable little girl in my arms.

  Despite the fact we’re talking about the affections of a tiny girl, there’s still something so formal, so business-like in this guy’s manner, I can’t help but get the impression he’s come here to close a deal. And he seems so used to getting what he wants, something tells me I’d better start negotiating ...

  “Okay, I’m listening,” I say, putting my hands on my hips, meeting his gaze and raising one eyebrow, because I want to let him know I’ve figured out just what game he’s playing, and I’m a worthy adversary. (Although seriously guys, truth be told, I’m totally bluffing. I haven’t got a clue what’s going on.)

  “Furthermore,” he continues in that same frosty business-like tone as before, “at our last meeting it can hardly have escaped your attention that I’m in need of some assistance.”

  “True, true,” I nod, matching his business-like language as best I can, as I say, “I suppose I was made aware that you were having a little trouble coping with your current, um, work load.”

  “Good,” he says. “I’ve been rather reluctant to employ a nanny for my daughter since she was born, because I do not wish her brought up by cold hard automatons who don’t like children ...”

  Wait. Did he just glance in Iris’s direction as he said that last part?

  OMG. This is too good to be true!

  “However, seeing the bond you have instantly forged with my daughter has made me reconsider. I can see that with the right person for the job, Tabitha can thrive in a caring, one-on-one environment, and I believe you are the right person for that job.”

  I stand there, dumbstruck.

  But it’s altogether too much for Iris, who suddenly bursts into life. “Excuse me, young man!” she says, clearly made furious by this exchange, and there’s none of that flirty tone left in her voice now. “I think you’ll find that she already has a job. Chrissie is my assistant, and I find this overture most inappropriate.”

  He glances at her for a brief moment, then simply rolls his eyes and turns back to face me once more.

  “Chrissie,” he says, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial tone, “are you happy working here?”

  Maybe it’s my hangover. Or maybe it’s just because there’s something about this guy that makes me feel bold. But whatever it is, I just blurt out, practically laughing, “No! Of course not!”

  “I thought as much,” he says, nodding calmly. “And would you consider coming to work for me?”

  Work for him? You mean, be around this tall, dark, beautiful man every day? Could I handle that? Hell yes.

  But even though I’m having fun with this, I’m still not going to give in quite so easily.

  “That depends,” I say.

  “On what?”

  “On the conditions of my employment, of course.”

  “Okay,” he nods, taking this matter very seriously. “I’ll pay you twice as much as your current salary here.”

  “Excuse me!” a now furious Iris butts in.

  “Fine then, three times your salary,” he
says, still ignoring her.

  I can’t believe what’s happening. This is incredible.

  “Make it four times,” I counter offer.

  I’m sure he’s going to tell me I’ve gone too far, but instead he just smiles.

  “On one condition,” he says.

  “What’s that?”

  “That you leave right away.”

  I don’t even hesitate.

  “I’ll get my bag,” I say.

  And with that, I’m gone. Seconds later, I find myself standing outside the store – the store I no longer work in – staring at this gorgeous man who’s now my boss. Which is when it occurs to me.

  “Hey, I don’t even know your name,” I say.

  “Will,” he replies, his handsome face breaking out into a surprisingly warm smile. “My name is Will.”

  I’m here in my office, shirtsleeves rolled up, trying to make my way through the mountain of paperwork for this revised New York deal. But something’s wrong. I just can’t concentrate. The words on the page don’t even look like words anymore, just shapes dancing before my eyes. And my mind is elsewhere. Stuck on a very different kind of problem. Have I made the right decision?

  I promised myself that Tabby wasn’t going to be brought up in the same cold, heartless, traditional way that I was. And that means that I promised never to ship her off to boarding school or to employ a whole parade of faceless nannies to raise her.

  It was what her mother wanted, too; what Emma wanted. But of course, Emma’s gone now, isn’t she?

  I thought I was staying true to her memory by honouring her wishes and not hiring a nanny. But over the past months it’s become increasingly obvious that I’m just not managing. I’m my own boss. So I can take time out from the office when I want, look after Tabby, and then make it up with long hours into the night, hunched over my laptop while she’s asleep.

  The parents I’ve met at all Tabitha’s various day cares have been so kind. They’ve offered play dates and babysitting. But most of the time, I’ve said no. I can tell that they’re just interested in finding out more about my story. About the tragic single father and the poor, motherless little girl.