It's Not Me It's You by Charlotte Bigland

Author:Charlotte Bigland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bonnier Publishing Fiction
Published: 2022-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Monday 1st August

Saz phones early the next morning to tell me she’s too ill to come to work. She sounds stressed, rather than unwell, but I don’t press, settling instead for generic concerned noises. It’s a shame she isn’t in the office; I wanted to discuss the Seb encounter in great detail. I arrange a lunch with Jam instead, hoping he can lend a sympathetic ear.

Jam, of course, does not.

“Sorry, let me get this straight. After you tracked Seb down like a deranged stalker, he left you, within minutes, to go and feed his brother’s cat? Fucking what? What a fucking flannel. Jenson, lad, your chat must have been terrible,” says Jam. We’re eating chicken and chips at a table in Leadenhall Market. Jam starts laughing so hard I think the chips he’s just eaten might come back up through his nostrils.

I roll my eyes and look around. It’s lively at this time of day: underwriters getting their shoes polished, brokers in big groups drinking beer, tourists wandering around, gazing at the old-fashioned shops and cobbled streets in awe.

“I guess cats do need to be fed,” I say, refocusing my attention on Jam.

“Nah, nah, nah, nah, don’t skirt around this. He quite literally ran away from you … to go and feed a cat.” Jam pauses to laugh again. “You’ve got to stop. My stomach actually hurts.”

“Literally not even the worst bit,” I say, taking a bite of chicken. “He ran away as I was asking him out on a date.”

“Oh behave – Jenson, this is fucking tragic, it’s made my week.” Jam chokes down another bite of chicken between guffaws.

“I don’t get him at all. Every time I see him, he’s quite flirty, but he just won’t commit to anything.”

Jam shrugs. “Seb’s a man. And he’s busy.”

“Not too busy for a cat.”

Jam starts licking grease from his fingers whilst I glance at the crowds around us. Women in heels, men wearing suits. I turn back to Jam.

“I’m going to send him another message.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t bother.”

“Sometimes he replies to my messages. Not always, but some of the time. And he did really linger when he kissed me goodbye yesterday.”

“Ahh, the three-second jaw peck which means ‘Marry me, Jen’,” says Jam, running his tongue over his pinkie. “But honestly, not a good idea.”

“Why? I know he’s too rich and too posh and too mature, but he also loves art, loves reading, loves the piano. He remembered what I told him about my dad. And he’s so fit.”

Jam starts speaking and then stops. He takes his glasses off and wipes them. He’s impeccably smart: shoes polished, shirt pressed, a colourful tie every time I see him. He puts his glasses back on and rests his chin in his hands.

“Jenson, I’ve not been completely honest with you about Seb. There’s a reason I’ve been quite against you getting involved with him.”

“Why?” My eyes narrow in interest.

“He’s charming on the outside, but he’s cold. Really cold. Doesn’t give a fuck about screwing people over to win an account or make money.

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