The Day She Came Back(6)

‘Well, firstly, I don’t believe you, and secondly, you don’t have to do a thing.’ Daksha beamed. ‘I googled Chelsea for you. You can thank me later. They play in blue and are managed by José Mourinho.’

Victoria shook her head as the two continued their amble into town.



With an iced coffee sunk, her work hours for the following week sorted and amid much laughter, the two window-shopped, idling around the clock tower and further planning their grand tour, bickering playfully over the minutiae of whether to travel by bus or boat and what to pack, both confident that the bigger issues of travelling would take care of themselves.

An hour or so later and with a jar of marmalade and a box of ‘balaclava’ nestling in the bottom of her book bag, Victoria stood on the high street and kissed her friend goodbye, watching as Daksha climbed into the passenger seat of her mum’s navy-blue Mercedes.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift, Victoria?’ Mrs Joshi called across the seats through the open window. ‘I’m more than happy to swing by your house.’

Victoria was glad she was out of reach; Mrs Joshi had a habit of pinching her skin. It was, Daksha assured her, how she showed affection. This was good to know, but no matter how well intentioned, it still hurt a little.

‘No, I’m fine, thank you. It’s the only exercise I get at the moment and it’s such a lovely evening,’ she lied, the soles of her feet itching to head in the direction of a certain sports shop.

‘Well, take care, don’t talk to strangers and we will see you soon!’ Mrs Joshi waved as she roared away from the kerb. Daksha pulled a face through the window, which of course made Victoria laugh.

Victoria made the slightest detour and found herself outside the sports shop where Flynn McNamara worked, according to Ananya. Her plan was to peek in casually, just to see if she could catch sight of his dark, dark hair or his lopsided, imperfect smile, which for some reason she could not quite fathom made her heart flip. But as she adjusted the sunglasses on her head and tucked wisps of her unruly hair behind her ears she saw him.

Oh no! Oh my God! Oh no!

She hadn’t banked on actual interaction and yet there he was! Flynn was outside the shop, shifting a large ‘Open’ sign from the pavement nearer to the store.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

As Victoria saw it, she had two choices. She could either click her fingers, as though she had forgotten something, turn on her heel and walk back in the opposite direction, or she could take out her phone and pretend to be absorbed in something fascinating on the screen and march straight past. It was in the split second, as she was deciding which course of action might be the least embarrassing, that Flynn looked up and raised his hand in a wave. She captured the moment in her mind, knowing Prim would want every single detail.

‘Hi, Victoria!’

He knows my name! I am not invisible! He actually knows my name!

‘Oh,’ she said, with as much surprise as she could muster, the delight she felt at hearing him speak the word ‘Victoria’ entirely out of proportion with the act. ‘Hi, Flynn, what are you doing?’

Why did you say that, you idiot? Isn’t it obvious what he’s doing? Moving a great big sign from the pavement to the store. You sound like a moron!

‘I work here.’ He pointed at the store.

‘Oh, right! I didn’t know that, no one told me that at all. I had no idea. I was just walking this way home anyway, and there you were, are, were, whatever.’ Again she cursed her unnatural speech, spiked through with nerves, and the feeling of her cheeks and chest flushing red.

He looked at her quizzically. ‘How’s your summer going?’ he asked. And there it was, that fantastic, heart-flippingly glorious lopsided smile.

‘Good, yes, you know, hot!’ She fanned her face. ‘And yours?’

‘Good, yeah. Been working here, playing football, getting ready for uni.’

‘Cool – oh, you’re off to uni? Where are you going?’

Newcastle. Business Studies. This I know because I stalk you anonymously on Facebook. I know your mum is called Stella and works in Waitrose and your dad is Michael and works on oil rigs. I also know your birthday is the day before mine, 11 October.

‘Newcastle.’

‘Oh, really, Newcastle? Cool.’ For the love of God, stop saying, ‘cool’! It’s a word you literally never use, never! ‘And what are you studying?’

‘Business Studies.’

‘Oh wow! Business Studies. Brilliant. And they’ve got quite a football team. I mean, they’re no Chelsea, but . . .’ She swallowed, feeling her face flush further at the utter absurdity of the conversation and how far out of her depth she was paddling. If the shore was reason, she was already drifting towards a rip tide. She felt equally a little light-headed and thrilled by the prospect.

‘I didn’t know you liked football?’ He cocked his head to one side as if seeing her in a different light.

‘Yeah, I do. I do. I like lots of football.’ She nodded in an exaggerated fashion, kicking the toe of her sandal against the hot pavement. ‘I like the blues, Chelsea, who are blue, and I think Josie Macarena is doing a good job, don’t you?’ She swallowed.

‘Mourinho?’

‘Yeah, Mourinho.’ She cringed, having got the name so very wrong.