Just Haven’t Met You Yet by Cate Woods
Jaye is waiting for me outside ‘Becki’s Bikram’. Even with her hair scraped back and no make-up on she looks ten
times more gorgeous than the rest of us, but there are dark shadows under her eyes and when we hug I can feel
the bumps of her spine.
‘So – how did the interview go?’ she asks.
‘Badly. I didn’t get it.’
‘Oh no, what happened? You were perfect for that job.’
‘I just wasn’t what they were looking for,’ I mutter, unable to face explaining the full extent of my stupidity.
‘You know, I met this amazing Life Coach in LA who told me that if you want to get something you need to, like, mindfully visualise what you wish to achieve and then imagine yourself . . .’
I cut her short. ‘Jaye, it just wasn’t meant to be. And I am very lucky that I already have a great job.’
She looks impressed. ‘God, I wish I had your attitude, Perce. You’re so sorted.’
Now, the old me would have jabbered on about how I’m the least sorted person ever and that I honestly haven’t got
a clue about anything, but the new post-epiphany me simply gives a humble smile and says: ‘I’m learning to count
I quite like normal yoga with its happy hippy vibe, but Bikram is all sweat, mirrors and barked orders, with
twenty-six positions repeated in rapid succession – pretty much how I imagine sex would be with Simon Cowell.
And Becki doesn’t half pack the punters into her tiny, sweltering studio. I am squashed between the back mirror
and a man wearing such snug Speedos that by the third posture I have learnt that he a) favours a back, sac
and crack wax and b) isn’t Jewish. Unfortunately my epiphany has done nothing to improve my bendiness and
I only manage about a quarter of the postures, although I think even Simon would be impressed with my ‘dead
body pose’, to which I give 150 per cent.
fter yoga – and after Speedo guy tries to get Jaye’s number – we go to a nearby cafe. Jaye orders hot water
with lemon; I get a cappuccino and a slice of carrot cake with two forks.
‘So Stewie and that bitch have bought a dog together,’ says Jaye, warily eyeing my cake as if she might absorb
the calories by osmosis.
‘He always told me we couldn’t have a dog because he was allergic. Fucking asshole.’
‘Bastard,’ I mumble, my mouth crammed with cake.
‘And they’ve called it Ludo,’ says Jaye.
‘Well, at least it’s got a really shit name!’
Jaye’s top lip wobbles. ‘That was what Stewie and I had planned to call our first child.’ And she starts to cry.
‘Hey, I’ve got an idea!’ I say quickly. ‘Why don’t we arrange a really big Friday night out? I’m sure Lou and Charlie will
be up for it. We’ll go out for a Chinese then find some crappy club full of twenty-year-olds and drink loads of cheap
cocktails. All the blokes will try to pull you and ignore the rest of us. It’ll be brilliant, just like the old days!’
Jaye sniffs and wipes her eyes. ‘I appreciate the offer, thank you, babe, but I’m allergic to alcohol.’
‘Since, like, forever I guess, although I’ve only just found out. I’ve been reading this book I got from my Chakra
healer in LA called Your Liver, Your Temple, and I totally fit the profile of someone with an alcohol allergy. Like, when
I drink I feel absolutely terrible the next day – I get the shakes, a splitting headache, I can’t get out of bed . . . Apparently I need intravenous lipid exchange therapy to heal my liver.’
‘Jaye, that’s called a hangover. Everyone gets them. Remember?’
‘But in LA . . .’
I hold up my hand. ‘Everyone gets them who doesn’t live in LA.’
She smiles, finally.
A huge thank you to Alainna at Quercus. ♥
Percy James has everything a girl could want: a comfy flat, a steady relationship and a truly lovely group of friends. Then she is approached by Eros Tech. Eros is ‘the future of love’ – an agency that brings together soulmates using mobile data. Percy has been identified as a match for one of Eros’s super wealthy clients. The only problem is she already has a boyfriend . . . but what if this is *destiny*? Would you – could you – pass up a chance to meet your one true love?