Page 20 of The F*ck-It List

I stop in the middle of the road, not too concerned about traffic on the quiet street, and turn to her slowly. Darcy huffs at my side, clearly unhappy with all the changes of direction and Bea looks down at him with a fond smile. “Why are you thanking me for Connor?” I ask cautiously, wondering if she’s being sarcastic. But when she looks back up at me with those sky-blue eyes full of light and earnest, I know she’s being serious.

“Because he’s great,” she says simply, still looking at me like I’ve gifted her something precious.

I know he’s great. I told her he’s great, or at least he’s good. Why is she telling me this? Why is she here? Why is there a fucking debt collection notice on my table, there to remind me why I can’t have what I wanted?

“He’s been really good this week,” she continues, completely unaware of the simmering rage building inside me. “He’s helped with everything and has actually been really fun to hang out with.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, with no patience.

Her smile dims a little, eyes going wide with surprise at my utter lack of manners. “Oh, um, well, like I said, I wanted to thank you…a-a-and Connor said I should talk to you.”

“About what?” I snap, not wanting to talk to this girl; this sweet, beautiful, happy girl who has done absolutely nothing wrong, but whose very existence is making me so fucking angry on this clusterfuck of a day.

She flinches slightly and I absolutely hate it, hate that I’m being a dick, hate she’s clearly nervous of talking to me, but I can’t stop. “Oh, the uh, the bookshelves collapsed again, totally unusable, and he said you could probably help build some custom ones.”

I don’t want to help her, I don’t want to make her business a fucking success because the longer she’s in the old shop, the longer it can’t be mine. But I’m going to. Of course I’m going to, because I will never turn down the chance to build custom pieces and because Bea absolutely deserves my help. “Great,” I grit out, although my face clearly shows I do not in fact think it’s great. “Of course he did.”

Bea huffs a little and plants her hands on her hips, straightening her shoulders and looking up at me. I allow myself a quick look over her, she’s wearing those short shorts, the ones with the fabric of the pockets poking out from beneath the ripped hem. Tucked into the waist is a pale-yellow top with no sleeves and a rounded neck. She has bright green earrings in the shape of lightning bolts and her pink hair is pulled up into a loose bun with a few perfectly places strands left framing her face. She doesn’t wear a tonne of makeup like her friend, Cas, did. But maybe a little, it’s hard for me to tell. She’s gorgeous. So fucking gorgeous and it pisses me off that I am definitely attracted to her.

“Listen, August,” she says, clearly being brave. “I’m just trying to say thanks for setting me up with Connor, okay? Like you said, he’s a great kid and he’s been invaluable this week. I also thought maybe you would be free to help me with some work I need doing, because everyone I’ve spoken to has said you’re the best and you’d definitely be up for helping me. I would of course pay you, if you’re interested in the work, but if you’re not, that’s fine, I will look online for someone else.”

Someone else? Fuck that.

She smirks a little. “Everyone told me you’re a little grumpy but you’re a nice guy, and I’d like to be friends. I mean, we’re already neighbours.” Her smile turns up a notch like she’s got me, and I snap.

“I don’t want to be your friend,” I growl. “You’re just another Londoner who thinks they’ll have a nice little holiday in the country, but as soon as you realise it’s not always sunshine and rainbows, you’ll fuck right off back to your precious city.” Her head jerks back, smile disappearing completely. “You think you know what’s best for this village? You think your café is better than what someone else could have done with the place? Someone local?”

“But, I—”

“I’ll build you your shelves, and you can take them back with you when you leave. But in the meantime, do not think we’re going to be friends.” I throw my hands out wide, jerking Darcy’s lead, which he finds rather rude, and he lets me know by grumbling up at me. I look down to give him an apologetic look and when I glance back up at Bea, my stomach sinks low at the sight of the tears in her eyes.

She swallows a couple of times, and her arms drop from her hips so her hands wring together in front of her. “Right,” she says quietly, her voice cracking slightly. “Okay. So, you actually hate me?”

“You think?” I say without thought and immediately regret it when her lip trembles.

“Oh. I just thought you took a while to warm up to people.” She wraps her arms around herself and looks off to the side as the first tear falls from her glassy eyes. “In that case, I’m really sorry for whatever it is I did to make you hate me. I didn’t mean to upset anyone by coming here. I was just trying to…I don’t know, be happy, I guess.”

Yep. I’m a fucking arsehole.

“I’ll, uh…I’ll let you get back to your walk.” She gestures at Darcy, who sees the distressed woman in front of him and absolutely can’t leave her without a cuddle, so he jumps up to put his front paws on her smooth thighs. Bea pats his head a little and then steps away, causing him to fall back to the ground and whine after her. “Bye, August.”

Bea turns and walks back to the cottage. I know I should call after her and apologise. I know I shouldn’t let her think I hate her, because somewhere deep down, I know I don’t. That my anger is with someone else entirely but I’m taking it out on this poor girl who’s been nothing but a fucking delight since she moved to town. But I don’t. I don’t do any of that. Instead, I tug on Darcy’s lead and drag him away from where he watches her retreating form and I go to the pub to bitch and moan to my best friend about how unfair my life is when I’ve just made Bea’s significantly worse.

seven

No. 32: Sext someone

Bea

I’m lying in bed, bone deep exhaustion making me take an early night, but I’m now too wired to sleep. It’s only just gone nine and I was sure I was going to crash as soon as my head hit the pillow, but August’s speech about how much he hates me has really embedded itself in my brain and doesn’t seem to want to leave. I have Cas’s voice in my head saying,fuck him, you don’t need everyone to like you, you’re a fucking delight and you have great tits, just forget him, babe.

Except, people don’t hate me. I work hard to be what people need from me. I’m friendly and bubbly and I’m always polite. Why would he hate me? Does he just hate women? No, that can’t be it, he’s tight with his sister and I’ve seen her a couple of times over the last week, she seems bolshy and definitely wouldn’t put up with a misogynisticbrother. He seemed pretty sure I was going to leave for London again…but if he doesn’t like me, surely that would be a good thing.

I want to call Cas, I know they’ll still be awake, but it’s late and I don’t want them to worry I’m out here freaking out about something that’s ultimately unimportant. For one kind of mean neighbour, I’ve met about thirty others who have been wonderful and welcoming. This shouldn’t bother me. But I am bothered.

I lost over half my books, my crappy bookshelves are destroyed, my brand-new espresso machine blew up on its first use, and now my new neighbour hates me…for no reason. My body feels jittery; my anxiety is buzzing through my limbs and I’m conscious of the possibility of another attack. I pick up my phone, the movement dislodging Heathcliff who had curled up around my head, and tap at the screen a couple of times. I shouldn’t call Cas, I should be able to deal with my own stuff.

Pedro Peen is nestled at my side, so I give him a little squeeze for courage and go to put my phone back down, but it buzzes in my hand, and the notification banner tells me I have a photo message from Richard. Why would Richard be texting me? It’s been six months since we broke up and we’ve only messaged to arrange collection of our stuff from each other’s apartments. I open the message and promptly sit up, my jaw dropping wide, Heathcliff meows loudly in protest and rounds to my front to try and push me back down but just ends up hanging onto my chest.