‘So, do you get to have a break over the holidays or are you working right through with these press junkets?’ she asks.
‘Oh shoot.’ Devon stands up rapidly, looking at his watch, towering over both of us. ‘So sorry, Hope, I’ve got to go. You just reminded me I’ve got two interviews today and need to show the producer around the village.’
‘I totally understand,’ Hope says waving away his apology, pushing her round spectacles up her nose as she stands to say bye. She gives Devon a hug.
Devon squeezes her cheerfully, meanwhile I’m sat rather comfy on my couch and am momentarily stunned at the scene I am currently witnessing.
What is going on? What is happening? I look to Eddie for answers. I swear he gives me a coy smirk before he swims to the other side of his tank.
Then Devon turns to me and gives me a nervous look. He quickly bends down to take a sip of his coffee, smiling when he does so, before giving me a tentative nod, clapping his hands together like he’s unsure what to do with them and then he walks towards the door.
‘Right, OK, well I best go. Hope, if you and Scarlett want to catch up for drinks later, just let me know – you have my number.’ Now he sends a more confident wink and an Academy-Award-worthy smile my way. What the…?
Devon then retraces his steps to collect his coat, while patting down his jeans to check he’s got everything – keys, phone, wallet – before Hope shows him out. When I hear the front door close, I wander back into the kitchen and collect all the ingredients I need for my original task for today that didn’t involve ex best friends and best friends having a good old chinwag in my living room.
‘Scarlett Davis, you have some explaining to do,’ Hope exclaims, as she marches into the kitchen, hands on hips, her black leggings and crisp white shirt combo looking stylish and fresh at just gone eight-thirty a.m.
I nurse my cold brew wondering if I am in fact dreaming, have hit my head really hard or am in some parallel universe. I don’t want to explain things to Hope but even if I did, I’m too dazed at this moment to do so and I really do have to get a move on with my gingerbread for the Christmas fair. Hope plonks herself down at the kitchen table.
‘I came to tell you that Devon Wood had sent me flowers as a thank you for a lovely interview and that Jess is out of his mind that I didn’t tell him sooner and smuggle him out of work, then I get here and…’ She doesn’t finish her sentence; she just gawks at me as I drizzle golden syrup into my mixing bowl. The fact that Devon sent her flowers chips a minuscule edge off my wall. ‘I can’t believe you used to have baths with Devon Wood and you never told me. You’ve seen that man naked,’ Hope says dreamily as she pinches a gingerbread from the plate on the table.
‘Oi, I need those for the fair and I think that crosses a professional line, thinking of one of your interviewees naked. I’d watch that if I were you,’ I say, sternly, not best pleased that visions of new Devon in a bath suddenly swarm my brain. ‘And, Hope, we were babies – please never say that again. Don’t turn it into something gross – and what exactly did you guys talk about?’ I add, the words coming out quick, trying to dispel the images of Devon in a bath by attaching negatives to them.
‘I didn’t turn it into something gross. I don’t think there would be anything gross about having a bath with Devon Wood,’ she says moving her eyebrows up and down over the top of her light gold frames.
‘Hope, please, no one is having baths with Devon Wood. That was a ridiculously long time ago,’ I say, exasperated with my BFF. This is all too much at such an early hour. I whisk the gingerbread mixture with vigour, inhaling the perfume of nutmeg and ginger, and in my mind start constructing the gingerbread house and what it will look like when it’s finished.
‘I’m sure a lot of people would like to,’ Hope says, interrupting my happy thoughts. I drop the whisk and brush a hand through my short bob, flicking back the thicker side part that falls in my face. Hope’s comment hits me right in the chest, reminding me that Devon and I are not babies anymore. Having baths together is not part of our secret club where we build caves and mountains with bubbles; that was a lifetime ago. Devon is now a Hollywood heartthrob, he’s not my nerdy best friend, he’s not my Devon, he hasn’t been mine for ten years.
I rub a hand over my heart. This is why the past should stay in the past. This is why hanging out is not a good idea. My heart hurts.
‘Well, he should go and have baths with any one of those people instead of waltzing in here like the past ten years haven’t happened. Who does he think he is? The guy does a bit of acting and suddenly he thinks he can do whatever he pleases?’ The hardness in my tone from earlier is making a comeback. I’m talking more to myself than Hope, but I see her watching me, a quizzical look on her face.
‘What?’ I snap. ‘You can’t just surprise people like that, not take their feelings into consideration. It’s rude, turning up unannounced.’
Hope gets up from the table and walks over to the counter. She picks up the whisk and starts whisking while I take a sip of festive coffee to calm myself down. She then opens her mouth to speak before closing it again, like she’s choosing her words carefully. I turn away, then turn back to her again, waiting for her to back me up.
‘I imagine it was all a lot to take in yesterday. At least you weren’t ambushed by him being there. He had no idea you were coming,’ she starts, softly. I can tell she is aware of the whirlwind of emotions spinning through my head and is trying her best to be diplomatic whilst still being understanding and show she’s on my side. ‘He had no time to prepare for your unexpected entrance at the pub, but isn’t it lovely that he wanted to see you. And, Scarlett, I’m sorry you were so anxious yesterday with me springing the interview on you, but you lied – you told me you didn’t know Devon. You didn’t let me in. All these years you’ve had me thinking Jess and I were too nerdy for you, and all this time your aversion to superheroes is because of Devon Wood. Yes, he told me all about you two growing up thinking you were Springhollow’s superheroes.’
She lets out a small “this is unbelievable” kind of laugh. ‘I understand this is all a bit of a shock, given what Devon told me about you two, but I don’t think he came here to upset you or because he’s throwing his Hollywood weight around, he simply came to see a friend. And by the looks of how content he was sat on your couch, you two have unfinished business.’ She resolves.
The mixture now looks creamy, so I take over adding the flour, distracting myself from having to look at Hope and deal with her words of wisdom. She gives me some space and leans against the island.
Her words are buzzing around my brain as I fold the mixture. Hope doesn’t say anything else; instead she moves to busy herself with pulling yoghurt from the fridge along with orange juice and a bag of granola from the cupboard while I form a dough with the mixture, wrap it and place it in the fridge to rest for thirty minutes.
‘Devon left, Hope. Ten years ago, he left, and I couldn’t face superheroes when he was gone,’ I admit, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. ‘I was so mad at him for leaving, it was easier to hate it all and push it away than deal with it.’