Read Online The Cupid Effect by Dorothy Koomson - Free Book Online Page B

when Ed rejoined me in the land of the speaking.
    â€˜You really think I should ask her out?’
    â€˜I do,’ I replied. ‘I would. But only because I know now that the one thing more painful than rejection is looking at yourself day after day and wondering “What if”. There’s this line in Strictly Ballroom that I remind myself of whenever I start to chicken out of stuff. It goes, “A life lived in fear is a life half-lived”. And, let’s be honest, who wants to live half a life when you can have a whole life? That’s like eating half a chocolate bar when you’re hungry enough for a whole one and you’ve got a whole one in your hand.’
    â€˜All right, all right, all right,’ Ed mumbled, nodding slowly.
    â€˜Anyway Ed, I’ve got to watch Angel now, but feel free to stay.’
    Ed smiled at me wryly. ‘Is that OK?’
    â€˜Course. But no talking.’
    â€˜Are you sure you don’t want to enjoy it, you know, alone.’ Ed waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
    I grabbed a pillow and thwacked him with it. ‘Listen you cheeky get , you ask out actress woman then you can take the mick out of me and how I run my love life, all right?’
    Ed grinned, accepted my proffered can of beer and lay back on my bed.
    Bless you, but you still need a wash and blow-dry.
    What if ?
    I asked myself that a lot. A lot. I still, for example, thought: What if I’d taken English lit A-level instead of politics A-level? Would I be the politically-minded journalist I’d become before I ran away to Leeds? Or would I be someone else? Would I have become interested in Psychology or have done an English degree? And what if I’d done an English degree, would I have met Jess? What if I’d never met Jess . . .
    Thinking ‘What if’ always made me homesick. And after talking to Ed, I started feeling homesick. Not for London, I had nothing to be homesick about in London. My parents, my sister, my brothers, their various families, a few friends were there. I’d left them behind, but since I didn’t live with any of them, I didn’t miss them. In fact, I’d probably start to see them more now I didn’t live within an hour’s journey of them. Two hundred miles apart was probably exactly what I needed to inspire me to see my family more often. No, I was starting to feel homesick for my time in college. To see all the people I’d gone to college with. Pastsick, really.
    After Ed gave up on Angel and went off to bed (or to play heavy metal quietly), I got my photo albums out and lay on my bed looking through them. Pictures of my room in halls, pictures of the living room in my last student house, three streets over from where I was now. In that pic, I’m stood by the stone fireplace, wearing my floor-length blue velvet, long-sleeved ball dress. Specially bought – at a bargainous £10 in Oasis – for my graduation ball.
    I flicked on a few pages and there was a picture of me and Drew at the graduation ball, a few hours later. Him in his smart black tuxedo, black bow tie, his razor-cut blond hair and cheekbones making him look rather effete. I was so in love with him when that picture was taken. At least I thought I was in love with him. That fierce, all consuming love hadn’t changed until, what, three years ago. Like I said to Ed, I spent most of my twenties in love with a man who didn’t even know I was alive. We had our heads close together, in the picture, my jet black bob almost touching what was left of his blond hair, our faces glistening with sweat because we’d spent half the night dancing and we were both flashing 100 watt smiles at the camera. Drew’s arm was slung casually around my shoulders. I knew exactly what I would’ve been feeling – quivery and giggly, thinking, ‘Oh, GOD! Drew’s touching me in front of a camera! It’s a sign! He does love me really.