Phoebe Smith’s Private Blog: A Romantic Comedy Page 25

  ‘I saw Jilly and she said that your mum had been ill.’

  ‘Mum’s fine thanks. Much better now.’

  I bite my lip nervously. Surely he could have got out of coming to see me. There must have been someone else that could have dealt with this. I watch his face as he concentrates on the paperwork and find myself remembering our kiss. I think back to how he had thrown Henry out of the Zodiac club and how he’d confronted Nigel Taylor-Lynworth at my party. If only Harry Bloom was Harry Jones, or Harry Potter even. Any Harry but Harry Bloom.

  ‘So, how Bloom Properties work is they buy a flat and then turn it into a luxury apartment. This means some interior design which could be disruptive to you. We offer a temporary flat for you to stay in while the work is being done if you’d prefer that.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say.

  He looks into my eyes.

  ‘Rents are much higher in a Bloom property because they are highly maintained and are of a luxury standard.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised? So someone like me who can barely pay the rent as it is would have to move out. Don’t you think it would be fairer of Bloom’s to just increase the rent by a small amount and only change it when the tenant moves out?’

  ‘I agree with you. I don’t think it’s right that you should have to pay more because the landlord wants to make it more luxurious. In fact, I think Bloom’s should keep the rent the same for as long as the tenant stays in the flat. I agree with you totally.’

  ‘But …’ I say flummoxed.

  ‘So, in your case the rent will stay the same.’

  I look into his beautiful brown eyes.

  ‘It will?’

  ‘It will. I’ll need you to sign the new tenancy agreement. I can leave it with you. I know you don’t trust me.’

  ‘I …’

  He hands me a folder.

  ‘Everything is in there.’

  Oh God, why can’t I speak?

  ‘You see, I work for my father but I don’t always agree with him. He gets annoyed that I live here but the flat is mine and I like it here.’

  ‘It’s yours?’

  ‘I own it and I’m not selling to Blooms by the way.’

  ‘Harry, I didn’t …’

  ‘No, I guess it wasn’t on the internet.’

  He walks to the door. I clutch the folder and struggle to find the right words but no words come, not even wrong ones.

  ‘You can post the forms back to the office,’ he says opening the door.

  ‘Harry …’

  ‘I know what you think of me. I had hoped that getting to know me in the flesh rather than what Google says about me may have made a difference but it seems you’d already made up your mind.’

  Before I can open my mouth he has closed the door behind him.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  ‘I don’t know how I got it so wrong,’ I say miserably, pushing my cold hands into my coat pockets.

  ‘Can’t you just tell him?’ says Imogen, flinging open her coat.

  I hope she doesn’t fling the windows open in the store too. She’s constantly complaining how hot she is.

  ‘That’s a bit hard to do though, isn’t it love?’ says Mak handing us our takeout coffees.

  I nod.

  ‘Very,’ I agree.

  I feel really stupid and a bit depressed. I’d much rather go straight home after work to my lovely little flat, which I now know will be mine for as long as I want, and in the next few weeks it will be beautifully decorated. Someone named Gary is coming next week. I just can’t picture an interior designer named Gary somehow. Still, I suppose they can’t all be Llewellyns or Jaspers can they? But I can’t go home and mope in my flat tonight because I’ve got a birthday dinner party for my cousin Laura. It’s her fortieth. Everyone seems to be forty. I’m dreading it when I am.

  Oh, what to do about Harry? Bugger, I wish I could get out of this bloody dinner party but it’s been arranged for months. Rita’s going, providing Jeremy doesn’t have a ministerial emergency. I can’t begin to imagine what a ministerial emergency can be though, but I am sure they must exist. I’d accepted on behalf of me and Ashby ages back. I don’t imagine my cousin Laura even knows that we’ve split or that I’m almost a minor celebrity. I can’t picture Laura and Mark being interested in Besties pork pies, to be honest. No doubt, all their friends are happily married, or engaged, or about to get married, or living together. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb.

  ‘Here we go,’ says Mak. ‘Your first day as a manager.’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on me,’ says Imogen. ‘I feel like crap. I hope I feel better for the Guildhall.’

  I take a deep breath and enter the store. I must focus on my job.

  *

  My Christmas bulge is slowly diminishing. Thank God for that. The truth is I’ve lain off the Besties. The facts are that Besties are very fattening and not in any way good for you. It was flattering to be considered as the face of Besties but one has to be moral.

  ‘I’m relieved,’ Mum had said. ‘Fran’s husband used to eat them all the time and he’s just had a major heart attack.’

  ‘You don’t know it was the pork pies,’ I say.

  ‘All the same, you don’t want to associate yourself with things that give people heart attacks, do you?’

  ‘Lots of things give people heart attacks, not just pork pies.’

  ‘You’ll end up on Question Time with Jamie Oliver. You’ll never win.’

  My mum, always the supportive parent.

  I listen at the wall but there is no sound of Harry. Oh what to do? I check the time and hurry into the bedroom to change. You never know there might be some nice men at the dinner. Mark and Laura are a high-profile couple. He’s an accountant and she works as a web designer for a media company. Their friends will be comfortable and educated. Surely there will be one nice eligible man there, although I’m starting to think that all the eligible men have gone, apart from Harry, but I don’t think he’ll be eligible for much longer. I so wish I could stop thinking about Harry Bloom.

  I choose a thin pink chiffon dress that I’d bought on Etsy and complement it with a short green cardigan. I pull some tights on and decide to wear a pair of pink heels. I set my hair in a little chignon and finally put on a dash of make-up. Rita won’t be drinking so she said she’d drop me home. I phone for a cab, take a final look in the mirror and leave the flat.

  *

  ‘Hi Phoeb, long time no see,’ says Mark, kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘Lovely to see you Mark.’

  ‘Where’s Ashby?’ he asks, looking into the darkness behind me.

  ‘We broke up,’ I say, handing him my coat.

  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Phoebe,’ cries Laura, rushing into the hallway.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I say. ‘Happy birthday.’

  I hand her the wrapped present.

  ‘Thanks Phoeb, where’s Ashby?’

  ‘They broke up,’ says Mark.

  ‘Oh no, that’s pants.’

  I nod.

  ‘It’s okay, we’re moving on.’

  ‘Rita and Jeremy are here.’

  I try not to sigh with relief.

  ‘Come and meet everyone,’ says Laura.

  ‘What can we get you to drink?’ asks Mark.

  ‘A white wine would be nice.’

  Mark opens the door into the dining room and everyone turns to look at me. I’d like to think it’s because I’m a minor celebrity but the truth is I think it’s because I’m late and they’ve all been waiting to eat.

  ‘Hey Phoebe, good to see you, we’ve been reading about you,’ says Sebastian from the corner of the room.

  ‘You know Sebastian, don’t you?’ smiles Laura.

  ‘Everyone knows Phoebe, she’s our own little celeb,’ grins Sebastian.

  ‘Well, not exactly,’ I say shyly. ‘Hello Sebastian, how are you?’

  Please don’t talk about the blog. I don’t want Rita gettin
g worked up.

  ‘And this is Gemma, my girlfriend,’ says Sebastian, pushing a pretty brunette forward.

  ‘Got a date yet, then?’ laughs Sebastian.

  ‘A date?’ I repeat, as if I have no idea what a date is.

  ‘For the Guildhall. Phoebe’s going to a big works do at the Guildhall. She has this fab blog which is all about her trying to get a date for it. It’s hysterical.’

  ‘Yes right,’ I say turning beetroot red.

  ‘It’s actually very educational,’ says Gemma.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ I smile.

  ‘How interesting,’ says another woman, who I vaguely remember from one of Rita’s dos. ‘Why would you want everyone to know about your love life?’

  Good point, I suppose there’s no point trying to explain that I actually never wanted the whole world to know about my love life.

  ‘Let’s introduce you to everyone,’ Laura says taking my arm. ‘I haven’t read the blog,’ she whispers, ‘just ignore him. It doesn’t take much to get Seb excited.’

  ‘Right, thanks Laura.’

  ‘Hi,’ says Rita, ‘You’ll never guess …’

  ‘This is India and Dhansukh.’

  ‘Hello,’ they say in unison.

  ‘Hi.’

  I knew it would be all couples.

  ‘And I think you know Roger?’

  I wince.

  ‘Oh, hello, how are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ says Roger briskly.

  I can feel his hackles rise.

  Oh dear, this is going to be uncomfortable. I hope he left his notebook at home. Laura pulls me away and I turn relieved only to come face to face with Harry.

  ‘Oh,’ I gasp.

  ‘This is Harry Bloom,’ says Laura.

  ‘We already know each other,’ says Harry.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  ‘Laura is my cousin,’ I say in my best hoity-toity voice.

  ‘Laura did the web design for Bloom Properties web page and I know Mark from uni’.

  ‘Right,’ I say, ‘it’s a small world.’

  I take a large gulp of my wine.

  ‘I certainly didn’t expect to see you here,’ he says.

  ‘Ditto,’ I say flatly.

  I’m pulled by the arm and led to another couple.

  ‘And this is George and Cara, they’re our neighbours.’

  ‘Great,’ I smile.

  Oh God, this is going to be the worst dinner of my life.

  ‘Tried to warn you about Roger,’ Rita hisses into my ear. ‘Didn’t you get my text?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Hello,’ says Jeremy, ‘taking time out from your blog?’

  ‘Jeremy,’ hisses Rita, ‘you said you wouldn’t.’

  Oh God, this is just getting worse.

  ‘Now Phoebe’s here let’s have dinner,’ says Mark.

  I sigh and follow everyone into the dining room.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Harry Bloom hates me. It’s my own fault. I really don’t believe that I’ve managed to find and lose the perfect man in the space of six weeks. Okay, Harry Bloom isn’t perfect but he’s as close as I’ll ever get.

  Isn’t it just sod’s law that when I find out the man I really want is available and not as horrid as I thought he was, he becomes unobtainable? It wouldn’t surprise me if he already has someone new in his life. Let’s face it, someone as gorgeous and rich as Harry Bloom isn’t going to stay single for very long.

  We finish dinner and move into the lounge to watch Laura open her presents. Harry sits on the couch opposite me and chats to India.

  ‘I have to go soon,’ says Rita.

  ‘Oh great,’ I say.

  The sooner I leave the better.

  ‘Top up?’ asks Mark, wandering around with a wine bottle.

  ‘Lovely,’ I say.

  I see Roger approaching and I grimace.

  ‘Made much money out of those pork pies?’ he asks.

  ‘Not really,’ I reply.

  ‘I heard you were going to be the face of Besties pork pies,’ he says scathingly.

  Yes, but I would have preferred it had been perfume.

  ‘Not the healthiest food,’ pipes up Harry.

  ‘I happen to like them,’ I say sharply.

  What am I saying? Why doesn’t my mouth engage with my brain? I’ve not eaten a pork pie in days.

  ‘Actually, I think pizzas are worse,’ I continue. I’m like a runaway train now

  ‘I’m not in the least psychotic, you know,’ says Roger.

  Oh no. I really should have left ten minutes ago.

  ‘I’m sorry about that Roger but you did rather cross-examine me and …’

  ‘Psychotic is a strong word.’

  ‘Right, it is, I agree.’

  ‘I looked it up on Google and it certainly doesn’t describe me.’

  ‘Phoebe spends a lot of time looking things up on Google, don’t you Phoebe?’ says Harry. ‘I’m surprised she didn’t check the word herself.’

  ‘Look Harry …’

  ‘Anyway, I think you should publicly apologise to me on your blog,’ interrupts Roger.

  ‘I barely mentioned you on the blog,’ I argue.

  ‘You said I was psychotic and that could have very damaging effects.’

  ‘The blog isn’t that popular.’

  ‘It’s quite high in the blog chart,’ interrupts Harry.

  ‘I don’t think you’re obligated to apologise for blog postings but Roger could comment on the post,’ says Dhansukh.

  ‘Thanks Dhansak,’ I say gratefully.

  ‘Dhansak’s a curry isn’t it?’ says Harry. ‘It’s Dhansukh isn’t it?’

  I feel my face burn. How could he? It was a simple mistake. He didn’t have to make me look like a fool.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I stammer.

  ‘Not a problem. It happens all the time,’ smiles Dhansukh.

  ‘I disagree,’ says Roger.

  ‘No, I assure you, it happens all the time.’

  ‘I mean about the apology. I think she should apologise,’ argues Roger.

  ‘The blog wasn’t supposed to be live,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t start that again,’ says Rita.

  ‘If you ask me …’ begins Jeremy.

  ‘Jeremy,’ hisses Rita.

  I’m seriously starting to feel ganged up on here.

  ‘Are you all picking on Phoebe?’ Laura says, coming to my rescue.

  ‘Come on Roger and Dhansukh, you haven’t had any of my birthday cake. Phoebe, do you want to take some home with you?’

  ‘Oh no, really I shouldn’t.’

  ‘Great, I’ll put some in a bag.’

  I could do with some sugar right now. I feel totally exhausted from justifying myself. Harry and I are left alone. It feels like a stand-off.

  ‘You didn’t have to embarrass me,’ I say.

  ‘I think it’s important to get things right,’ he says sharply. ‘I know you think differently and prefer to use the internet to make your judgements.’

  He really is very irritating at times.

  ‘Harry …’

  ‘We’re off,’ says Rita from behind me.

  ‘Right,’ I say, ‘I’ll get my coat.’

  ‘Meet you in the car. I’ll just say goodbye to Laura and Mark.’

  ‘You were saying?’ says Harry.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say.

  The truth is it does matter. I’ve been wrong about Harry Bloom. He’s actually the nicest man I’ve ever met and I want to say that I didn’t mean the horrid things I said about him in my blog and that he’s quite right, I shouldn’t have judged him by the things I read on the internet. But I can’t seem to say any of that.

  ‘I look forward to reading about the Guildhall and who you eventually go with,’ he says with a smile. ‘Goodnight.’

  Before I can answer he has walked away.

  ‘Come on,�
�� says Rita. ‘I need to get this sodding milk out of my tits.’

  I’m dragged to her car and can see Harry getting into his. I should call out to him. Tell him I was wrong, tell him that I think I love him, but my mouth just won’t open.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  I finally had to tell Ashby. There is no easy way to break up with someone and I can almost hear his brain whirring as I tell him that I am not attracted to him any more.

  ‘But …’ he says, struggling to keep his ego intact. ‘In your blog …’

  ‘Ah, the blog.’

  When will people realise that blogs are full of meaningless ramblings?

  ‘I’m so over you Ashby.’

  ‘But the blog,’ he insists. ‘You didn’t stop talking about me.’

  He’s quite right.

  ‘Yeah, I know, but a lot has happened since then and I’ve realised that a lot of what I imagined things would be like between us weren’t based on any kind of reality at all.’

  ‘So, you’re dumping me?’

  ‘I rather think you dumped me, Ashby.’

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Frankly I don’t want to go out with a woman that everyone thinks is forty.’

  ‘Absolutely, I’m clearly far more mature than you.’

  And that was that, Ashby and I are finally over.

  *

  ‘Oh God, I’m in pieces,’ says Imogen dabbing at her eyes. ‘It doesn’t help that my emotions are all over the place.’

  ‘It was a bit …’ says Mak, clutching at his heart.

  ‘Who’d have thought an opera?’ exclaims Jasper. ‘I nearly pissed myself at the end.’

  ‘I need a drink,’ I say, heading to the bar.

  Imogen’s emotions aren’t the only ones that are all over the place. I couldn’t stop thinking about Harry throughout the whole opera. I had finally decided to use the opera tickets that he’d given me. I had thought of dropping them through his letter box but that seemed a bit childish and the truth was I really hoped I might see him here. I haven’t seen any sign of him since that evening at Mark and Laura’s. I hate that we left things on a bad note. The flat has been silent. I’d knocked a couple of times but there had been no reply. I did think of texting but wondered if his mum may have taken a turn for the worse. It which case, the last thing he needed was a message from me. So, here we are at the Royal Opera House, watching Tosca. Can’t believe it was so brilliant. I was transfixed throughout the performance.