Maggie laughed. “You don’t need one.”
“I need to make some changes. I want to lose the Jago look.” Now Maggie had a lump in her throat. She thought he’d got past stressing that he wouldn’t be taken seriously as an actor as long as he was associated with having played a vampire. “Please, Maggie.” Her heart flipped. “Say you’ll help me out. I need to change my image – fast. Frankly yesterday wouldn’t be too soon.”
The misgivings in her head counted for nothing when an hour later she found herself sitting with Alex in a café, discussing ways he could tweak his appearance, and sketching out ideas on napkins in pencil; not because that was in any way necessary, simply to keep her fingers busy. She’d got a surprise when she first saw him. He was wearing a beanie and when he pulled it off she saw that he’d had his hair cut short in preparation for playing Hamlet. It suited him, accentuating his chiseled bone structure.
“How have you got time for this?” she asked. Her pencil whisked deftly over a fresh paper napkin. When she looked down she’d doodled a wonky heart. She obliterated it with a criss-cross, coloring between the lines until it was an unrecognizable grey blob. “Shouldn’t you be busy with theatrical luvvy stuff?”
“I’m not needed. They’re ironing out technical glitches.” He smiled a big, lazy smile. “I’m all yours.” His smile was infectious. She’d love him to want her. What he wanted was her expertise in the style department.
Maggie stirred her hot chocolate. It smelt sweet and milky and soothing, and much better than coffee. She’d gone right off that. “You don’t have to leave Mercy of the Vampires behind, you know. In fact, the sooner you accept that it will always be with you, the better.”
“Are you saying I can’t change?”
Maggie leant her elbow on the table and propped her chin on her hand. “That depends. You can change your image. You’ve already started.” She flicked a glance at his haircut. “I like the hair, by the way.” She wondered how it would feel beneath her fingers. Aghhhh! Thoughts of that nature would be best avoided. She picked up her pencil again and aimlessly doodled. “I think you need to trust people more. There’s a world of difference between Alex Wells and Jago.”
“He’s a fictional character – obviously. But sometimes it feels like the distinction between him and me gets blurred.”
It hadn’t escaped her notice that a small gang of well-groomed ladies were giggling behind their coffee cups and sending furtive glances in his direction.
“What exactly is it you’re trying to achieve? I can take you shopping. I can advise you about what’s on trend. I can change your look. But I can’t change you.” She tried to rein her opinion in, but couldn’t help herself. “And really truly,” she added, “I wouldn’t want to. In ten years’ time Jago will be part of a whole range of work that you’ll have done. You’ve got to stop wanting to pretend that Mercy of the Vampires didn’t happen.”
Alex ran a hand over his newly short hair. “Put like that it sounds like I’m ungrateful. I’m not. I’ve had ten amazing years.”
“And here’s to the next ten!” Maggie picked up her hot chocolate and clinked it against his coffee mug. “Be proud of Jago,” she suggested gently. “And be grateful that he’s led you to where you are now. You did the right thing when you went to LA.”
They hit the shops and time flew. Revamping Alex was a dreamy assignment, and with New York fresh in her memory, it was even dreamier. It was hard to keep reminding herself that whatever craziness had happened between them in those few out-of-this-world days they’d spent together, it wasn’t real, it had nowhere to go.
And if he asked her to have dinner? Or go back to his apartment? What would she do? She’d better get used to it. The fantasy had ended. What happened in New York stayed in New York.
While Alex was paying for his things, Maggie ducked into the nearest Ladies.
She couldn’t walk past a toilet these days without needing to pee.
She avoided the mirror, unsettled by the empty-shell reflection she’d glimpsed looking back at her. Uncertainty hit her hard. A man to love forever hadn’t happened for her. She’d like to love one. Could one love her back? Right now Alex was the only man on her radar and there was not a chance that he’d love her back. She was pretty sure that he was immune to twenty-four-seven love. Even her mother hadn’t been up for loving her all day, every day. The odds weren’t stacked in her favor. People weren’t meant to stay together forever. They went their own ways and did the things they wanted to do. That’s why she’d come up with her man-free family plan in the first place.
Alex would keep her around for a while. She’d go to his first night. He might invite her to kill a couple of hours over a hot chocolate between performances. But she wouldn’t be his, and he wouldn’t want her. In the end he’d let her go. Just like last time.
A peculiar thought niggled at her. Maybe – just maybe – the right guy would be like buses in her Cornish village. It was a standing joke in the local pub, where would-be passengers preferred to wait rather than spend an hour at the bus stop. Always jovial, the landlord would say “If you wait long enough one’ll definitely be along.” He’d qualify the statement with an aside, adding, “Some time.” Baffled tourists would mutter about the lack of accurate timetables and he’d pour them a pint. Perhaps she just had to wait a bit longer and Another One would come along. Could there be more than one possible perfect fit for everyone? She and Alex were a really great fit. Really. Great. Perhaps somebody else – another great guy – would be along when the time was right.
Something about this theory wasn’t working for her. For a micro-moment Alex had given her back her optimism about finding love, and taken it away again because she’d gone and fallen for him. As long as he was in her life he’d be in the way. He couldn’t be The One, no matter how badly she wanted him to be. Nothing was clear any more. In New York he’d shown her how two people could be indescribably good together. Together their bodies had been on fire. She’d have to force herself to let that memory go. They’d been moseying around a London department store and she was giving him fashion tips. Alex had got to know her again, and all he wanted was a stylist friend. On those terms she wasn’t cut out to be in his life long-term. What she felt wasn’t infatuated crazy-4-U-type love. It was the real deal.
She’d given him a piece of her heart. She should have known better. Since she couldn’t rely on love to always be there, it was better not to risk letting it in in the first place. Long-haul love was designed for other people. Not her. Not Alex. Not together. She clung on to her one certainty. Her love for her baby would be strong and unwavering and unconditional.
She’d forgotten how good it felt being with someone she cared about. That was the trouble. The biggest problem was no longer the onslaught of his sexiness; although she didn’t know quite what to do about that. Right now she needed to unravel the Alex-shaped knot in her heart and say goodbye.
By the time she came out of the loos the knot in her heart had been banished by cold dread. She’d noticed a brownish-reddish spot in her knickers. Her heart froze. Was she going to lose the pregnancy? She stood, statue-still in the middle of men’s fashion and panicked. A handful of customers browsed, picking things up and putting them back, studying colors, labels, prices. Oblivious, Maggie’s head spun. She’d put her free-wheeling life on hold, made new plans, pinned all her dreams on repopulating the cottage her grandmother had left her with a new little Plumtree family member. She could have taken the donor insemination not working first time on the chin. Losing the baby now that she was pregnant? She couldn’t bear it.
“Maggie?” Alex touched her arm and she jumped. “Are you okay? I’ve been looking for you everywhere?” He frowned. She’d gone as white as a sheet.
“Yeah. Yes,” she said. “I’m fine. I’ve got to go. I’ll