Jess is my first port of call.

She answers almost immediately; I unclench.

"How you feeling?" she asks as I stretch out on the sofa, my phone in one hand and a threadbare blue pillow in the other.

"Conflicted."

"Conflicted?" The worry in her voice is palpable, so is the fear that I'll go running back to Spencer. I should be offended, I wish she had more faith in me, but I can only laugh.

"Not about Spencer," I say, throwing the pillow into the air. "I'm over that, I promise."

"Okay." She pauses as if to swallow the information and then begins again. "So, what are you conflicted about?" she asks.

It's my turn to pause and swallow. My turn to ruminate. If I tell her the truth, it'll be out there, confirmed and alive forevermore. But if I keep it in, I may never get it straight in my head, and that buzz of potential may wane until it's not even a note, not even a whisper.

"Isaac," I say, the fear of losing what could be winning out over the fear of admitting what everyone else saw long before me. "I'm conflicted about Isaac. Well, not conflicted, more confused."

"Confused?" She sounds like she's laughing.

"I'm serious, Jess. I don't know what to do."

"About Isaac?"

"Yes!" The pillow flies up into the air once again.

"Okay, okay." She's laughing now. "Let's start with the basics."

"The basics." I nod. "I can do that."

"Okay, so do you like him?"

"Like him?" I wail, throwing the pillow again. "Like, like him like him, or just like him."

"Jesus Lizzie, do you like him as a person? Like if you were to introduce him, would you be nice?"

"Oh, well then yeah. I like him."

"Noted."

There's a prolonged pause. It's torture.

"Next question," she says, the utmost authority dribbling through her voice.

"Go ahead." I hold the pillow close.

"Do you like him like him?"

It's in the air again.

Jess repeats the question.

"Yes," I groan. "I like him like him. Of course I like him like him. I've liked him liked him since the fireworks."

"Can you perhaps stop saying like him like him?" Jess asks.

"Yes," I whisper. "Sorry."

"No worries, and what happened at the fireworks?"

"We almost kissed."

"Shit."

"I know. And after all of that, you know, realising that I never hated him, that I was just disappointed and that I missed him and that I guess I really liked him, I ran back to Spencer. Fucking Spencer, who couldn't give two shits about me and made that abundantly clear countless times. God, what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing's wrong with you," Jess says. "You loved Spencer. He was a known. Isaac, despite everything, was a massive question mark."

"Well, now I want the question mark. I think."

"You want the question mark?" I can practically hear her smile, see it.

"Yes," I whisper, bringing the pillow to my face. "I want the question mark."

The truth sinks into the fabric, becoming one with the old material. For a second, I want to tear it out, to take it back, then Jess speaks, and I leave it be.

"What do you want to do?" she asks, her voice soothing away my rising panic.

"Nothing. I don't think there's anything to do."

"That's not true. We can always do something."

"Except I had my chance, and I blew it."

"If I remember anything about Isaac, it's that he's probably one of the most forgiving people. Especially when it comes to you."

"I don't know about that," I mutter, toying with the fringe of the pillow. "I mean, if the past few years have shown anything, it's that he can definitely hold a grudge."

"You were really mean, Lizzie," Jess says, laughing a little. "I'd cut you off for less, so you should count your blessings that you even have a chance."

"Fine. What do you propose."

"A grand gesture."

"Like in the movies?"

"Exactly like in the movies."

I nibble on the corner of my bottom lip and groan as a giant pit of nothingness fills my brain. Then something sparks, and I sit up, the pillow toppling to the ground. "Meet me at Sainsbury's," I say, jumping to my feet.

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

"Okay, okay, see you in a bit."

I say goodbye and hang up.

If I'm going to win him back, I'll do it in true Lizzie style.

~*~

Jess is waiting for me outside the Sainsbury's. She wraps her arms around herself and holds her jean jacket close while peering through the crowd, her eyes entirely glazing over as they pass my waving figure. I'm two steps away when she finally notices me.

"You need to wear your glasses," I mutter as we enter the supermarket.

"I can see just fine without them."

Rolling my eyes, I pick up a basket and tug her down the fresh produce aisle.

"I like a grocery shop as much as the next person," she says as I throw a pack of spinach into the basket, "but what are we doing here?"

"It's my big movie gesture."

"Spinach is your big gesture?"

"It's part of it."

"And the rest?"

I stop by the onions and sigh. "I'm going to cook him dinner."

"Dinner? Like a fifties housewife."

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid," I mutter.

"Well, there better be more to it than dinner."

"There is."

She raises an eyebrow and crosses her arms. "Like?"

"Like giving him a painting."

"What painting?"

"One I made for his Christmas present when he came back that first year from boarding school. Except we argued, so I hid it and never gave it to him, and then we never made up."

"Until now."

"Exactly."

A massive smile takes over her face, and she reaches for my shoulders. "That's kinda cute, Lizzie," she says, shaking me back and forth. "Actually, it's really cute."

"Well, you said it needed to be movie-worthy."

"That totally is." She lets me go and threads her arm through mine. "So, what are we cooking?" she asks.

"Spinach and ricotta pasta, then cheesecake."

"Simple, easy, that is if you're buying the cheesecake."

"Of course I'm buying the cheesecake. I'm no Mary Berry, and this isn't The Great British Bake Off."

"Okay, so when are we doing this?"

"Tonight." It has to be. For one, Mum and Dad will be at a colleague's retirement party. And, two, I have to do it as soon as possible, so I don't bottle it and back out.

"Cool. I could stick around, be like a waitress or something."

"Thanks," I laugh, "but no thanks. It'll be bad enough knowing Paula and Henry are watching through the kitchen window."

"Paula's home?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then I guess I'll help you cook and then get out of your hair."

"You don't mind?" I ask.

"Never. Just promise to call the moment it's all over."

"Always."

We finish the shopping relatively quickly, stopping only to fight with the self-service machine that insists on repeating unexpected item in bagging area in a remote mechanical voice until a staff member shows us to another till. Then we hurry out, welcoming the sticky air, and rush home, laughing at nothing and everything.

In my haste, I'd forgotten my keys.

Paula lets us in, a surprised hello spilling out of her mouth as she pulls Jess into a quick hug and watches as we giggle all the way into the kitchen. "What are you two up to?" she asks, following us and leaning against the door.

Jess glances at me as if to ask for permission.  I nod and turn away from the two of them, shoving the perishables into the fridge instead.

"So?" Paula asks again.

"Lizzie's decided that she kinda, sorta—"

"I like Isaac," I say.

"Seriously?" Paula's shoulder slips a little against the glossy finish of the door.

"Yes, seriously. What's up with you? I thought you'd be jumping for joy."

"Well, I am, but where is this all coming from?"

"You and Henry, mostly."

"Me and Henry?"

"The whole painting thing. It got me thinking and, I don't know." My voice trails off. "I guess I do like him a bit, and I deserve to actually give it a go, the way he wanted it."

"And how did he want it?"

"He wanted a hundred per cent, and I can give him that."

"A hundred per cent?" Henry swans past Paula and shoves Jess teasingly on his way to the kettle.

"Lizzie thinks she can give Isaac a hundred per cent," Paula says, a small smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

Henry turns slowly and narrows his eyes. "Are you serious?" he asks.

I nod.

There's a momentary pause, freeze if you will, and then he bounds over in two large strides and bundles me into his arm. "Finally," he shouts, spinning me around. "I thought you'd never see the light."

"The light?" I snort as he puts me down. "Don't be dramatic, Henry."

"Me dramatic? You've been dragging out the inevitable for weeks."

"It's not inevitable."

"It is from where I'm standing."

"Well, now that I finally see the light, I need your help."

"Me?"

"Yes, Henry, you."

He grins. "What can I do for you?"

"Could you call Isaac?" I ask. "Have him come for seven, seven-thirty?"

He frowns, so I do too.

"Sorry," he says with a helpless shrug. "He won't come if I call."

"What do you mean he won't come?"

"He wants to give you space, Lizzie. He wants you to make the first move."

"I am."

"I know, but that includes calling him."

I turn to Jess, who shrugs and fishes my phone out of my bag. "What's the worst that could happen?" she says.

She hands it over. It almost topples out of my hands. I clutch it retroactively and press it into my chest.

"What if I text?" I ask, glancing at the others. "Like who even calls these days?"

"It doesn't matter what you do," Henry says, "as long as it comes from you."

"So I can text?"

They all say yes to varying degrees of annoyance, with Henry sounding the most annoyed and Paula the least, forcing me to turn away from them and remove my phone from its snug position between my boobs. I press my forehead against the fridge and glance at my phone screen.

My mind's blank.

I click on his name.

There's a spark. Okay, maybe not so much a spark as a flicker.

My fingers brush against the screen.

I groan, push off the fridge and begin pacing.

"It doesn't have to be perfect," Jess says as I rush past her.

"Yeah," Henry agrees. "I doubt he'd care if it's even a full sentence."

I pause by the microwave. My screen lights up along with my brain, and my fingers press against the screen.

To Isaac:

I know how I'll feel an hour from now

Mine 7PM?

I press send. The regret I thought I'd feel never appears, and relief takes its place instead.

"There," I say, "happy?"

"Are you happy?" Paula asks.

"I guess."

"You guess?"

I groan and shake my head. "Of course I'm happy."

"Okay," Jess smiles. "Now, we can move to phase two."

"Phase two?" Henry asks.

"Getting the summer house dinner ready."

Jess takes charge, organising my siblings into a formidable cleaning force and leaving me with the cooking and painting responsibilities. That is, I have to find the painting, because although I have a vague recollection of where I put it, there's never any certainty with my memories.

The first stop is my bedroom. Under my bed, to be more precise.

Stacks of old pieces line the floor. I tug out the first pile and glance at each canvas in turn, placing them beside me quickly and turning my attention to the next. Eventually, I'm down to the last stack. It's compromised of three paintings. The first is half-finished, abandoned for unknown reasons. The next is my grandparent's sitting room on Christmas Eve. And, thankfully, the final piece is exactly what I'm looking for.

A jagged inky line runs down the middle, splitting the canvas in two. I'm on one side, Isaac's on the other. Our hands bridge the gap and find one another, our fingers intertwining.

I press the painting into my chest and heave a sigh before placing it on my bed.

The next stop is the kitchen. Only, the first thing I notice is the others, Henry more specifically. He's carrying my easel, a light sheen of sweat sparkling on his forehead. I run outside, my bare feet sinking into the grass. "What are you doing?" I ask, stopping him in his tracks.

"Clearing the summer house."

"Of everything?"

"Well yeah, we can't exactly fit a table in there with all of this." He nods at the easel and then stares at me as if I've grown three heads, two of which have slippery snakes shooting out of the hair follicles.

"We don't need a table."

"How are you going to eat dinner without a table?"

"It's not supposed to be a five-star fine dining experience. I'm making pasta, for God's sake. The sofa will do."

"You sure?"

"Yes, definitely yes."

I help him manoeuvre the easel inside and place it in front of the back wall, hiding the stacks of new canvas behind its wooden frame.

"What about all of this?" Jess gestures to my mismatch of pens, pencils and paintbrushes.

"It's fine where it is. Honestly, I just need to sweep a little and maybe dust the sofa."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, what did you think we were going to do, a whole remodel?"

"Just let me decorate," Jess says, her eyes softening into her patented puppy-dog pout. "Fairy lights a candle or two."

"No candles. It's a fire hazard, but otherwise." I pause and shrug, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.

"Otherwise?" Paula asks, her hand reaching for Jess'.

"Otherwise, I guess you can decorate."

They squeal and barrel outside, torpedoing into the house and leaving Henry and me behind.

"Want to help me cook?" I ask, shrugging a little.

He laughs but nods. "Sure," he says, following me out. "Why not."

~*~

Eventually, everything's finished. The food, the decorations, even me. I head into the summer house and smile. Paula and Jess have strung up metres upon meters of golden fairy lights, even threading them around my easel and art supplies. The sofa looks brand new, that is, it looks a lot better than it has in a while. Sparkly even. A distinctly floral scent clings to the air, cutting out the musty smell of the old heater which whirrs in the corner.

I take another step in.

"He's here," Paula shouts through the kitchen window.

I take a deep breath, hurry inside and hurtle down the hallway towards the door. The bell rings again, giving me a moment to pull myself together, then I reach for the knob, twist and smile.

But it's not Isaac.

It's so far from Isaac it's a joke.

***

Who is it?

There's only two chapters left till the end. Do you think Lizzie will be able to make it up to Isaac before then?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. If you did, please remember to share, comment and vote.

xxx