The Visa

by Lizzie O'Hagan

Genres: General Fiction; Romance

Synopsis

For a commitment-phobe who's never taken a girl on a third date, Jack finds getting married to his old friend Maya pretty easy. He's a New Zealander in need of a visa to stay in the country, and she doesn't believe in marriage anyway. Simple. Maya and Jack live in wedded, sex-less bliss, until one day Jack starts to get serious with someone else. . . Suddenly Maya finds herself falling into a role she never thought she'd be: a wife - and a scorned one at that - who is falling uncontrollably, undeniably, and entirely inconveniently, in love with her own husband.

Release date: January 7, 2022

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 352

Sample

The Proposal

Jack

‘Give me six more months,’ Toby’s voice beckons my attention back from the corner of the room. There must be a hidden camera here somewhere. Surely, I’m getting Punk’d? ‘Jack, does that make sense, mate?’

Our eyes lock and I’m almost surprised he’s not a hot mess on the floor, that my glare hasn’t lasered him to a crisp, Cyclops-style.

‘Six?’ I stutter again as I see the corners of Toby’s mouth turn up. He knows better than to mock my New Zealand accent right now.

‘Sex? Jack, I’m flattered, but now’s not the time.’ After eighteen months of working together on this damn app I just don’t have the patience to explain that he’s actually doing an Australian accent. A bad one at that.

‘Yeah, just so we can secure a bit more funding.’ Toby smiles through his furrowed brow. I’d feel sorry for his sleepless nights if he hadn’t stolen so many of mine. ‘Visas are like, real expensive, mate . . .’

I wish he’d stop calling me that. He doesn’t feel like a mate right now. A mate wouldn’t have told me to ‘just stop worrying’ every time I asked whether the sponsorship application for my visa to stay in the country was in hand.

‘It’s not like SoberApp is going anywhere,’ Toby continues. ‘We know alcohol-free drink is a growth market, and if you hang on for just another six months, we can get that visa application going . . .’

It was always meant to be going.

‘I need to get sponsorship before then, mate,’ I spit the word like a threat, my quickening pulse reminding me that I’ve never needed anything more. ‘My visa runs out in five months and then I’m on the first plane back to Auckland and—’

‘Just stop worrying.’ Toby smiles, trying to make light of the situation, like he tries to with every three-in-the-morning pizza party, as if the smell of grease could mask the fact that we are all still working at that hour.

‘Sure, but . . . I need a job that will sponsor me, so I . . .’

Even in my angry haze, I hesitate. Where else will I find an employer to sponsor my visa at such short notice? Especially given that my contact list began dwindling when I started overdosing on an app that promotes moderation. Still, it’s not like I can stay here.

‘I can’t carry on working for you.’ Literally. Not without the visa. ‘I . . . I quit,’ I say, not nearly as boldly as they do in the movies.

‘Jack, wait,’ Toby stands to stop me. ‘Can you just finish the coding for—’

‘Sorry, mate,’ I say, shaking my head before leaving Toby, my dream job and my promise of staying in the UK behind, deleting SoberApp as I go.

I need a drink anyway.

Maya

Oh shit.

I open my fist to see the small gold key in my hand drawing blood. I didn’t even realise I was holding onto it that tightly. I look at my mobile lying motionless on the papers scattered across my bed.

Tonight was going to be the night that I finally tell my mum about this bloody key, about that bloody apartment. The only surprising thing about the fact she has forgotten to call, is the fact I’m still surprised.

‘Mum, I’ve got to go.’ I hear my flatmate, Emmie, laugh from the other side of the door. ‘Yes, Mum, they’ll be arriving soon. No, Mum, I won’t drink too much . . .’

I can almost hear her rolling her eyes. Ever since I met Emmie, she has wanted to be independent. It’s the reason she worked her arse off and lived on noodles for a questionably long time to be able to afford this flat in the first place. I want to be independent too. Turns out it’s a lot easier to afford your own place if you’re a management consultant, rather than a wannabe academic. I grip the key in my hand one last time, before stashing it in my jeans pocket.

‘Help. Me,’ Emmie mouths in my direction as I enter the living room. ‘Look, Mum, I really have to go now—’

‘Emmie, they’re here!’ I shout into the room to no one in particular, kicking my bedroom door shut behind me. Moments later, Emmie manages to hang up the call.

‘You’re a lifesaver.’ She beams at me, getting to her feet, her long tanned legs leading my eye to the shortest hemline I’ve ever seen. She’s wearing an oversized shirt we found in a vintage shop last year, the cuffs pushed up to her elbows to display the countless bangles she has wrapped around her wrists. Somehow, with her dark dip-dyed hair piled high upon her head, forming a messy bun of blond tips, she looks effortless; Emmie usually does.

‘Good catch-up?’ I ask, moving over to the little kitchenette in the corner of the room.

‘Long catch-up,’ Emmie elongates the word dramatically but still she smiles. ‘You?’

‘Yeah,’ I say, not looking up from pouring our drinks. ‘All good.’

Emmie and I have planned our weekly family catch-ups at the same time for the whole three years we’ve been living here to maximise our own time together in between work. What she doesn’t know is that my mum has missed the last three of mine.

‘You sure?’ Emmie asks, coming to join me in the kitchen, looking my ripped jeans up and down. At least I put on a nice top for tonight.

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ I say, handing her a larger-than-large glass of wine.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Emmie says slowly, taking a tentative first sip. ‘Because your dad just died of cancer?’

She tries to say it nonchalantly but there’s a hint of pain in her eyes. It’s entirely unnecessary. Yes, cancer sucks, but it’s not like I’ve really ‘lost’ something when he was never a part of my life in the first place.

‘And it’s coming up to his birthday . . .’ She studies my black top, all silky and oversized, as if she’s wondering whether my choice of colour is a sign of my silent mourning.

‘Not like I’ll need to buy him a present,’ I quip, and Emmie narrows her eyes.

‘Maya!’ She looks shocked and I’m not sure whether she’s pretending; it’s this kind of dark humour that saw us become friends in the first place but evidently it’s not as funny mocking my absent father now that he’s absent in every sense of the word.

‘I hardly knew the man,’ I say for what feels like the thousandth time since I told her.

‘And he hasn’t just died. It’s been three months.’

And it’s been a month since I found out about his apartment, but Emmie doesn’t know about that either. We used to tell each other everything but our own catch-ups have been few and far between ever since she started dating Adrian about two months ago. But I do need one soon so I can tell her something, ask her something . . .

‘Emmie, I—’ I begin before we hear a knock at the door.

‘Oh crap, they’re actually here.’ She takes another gulp of wine before making her way over to let our guests in. ‘Let’s hang out tomorrow, okay? We need a proper catch-up.’

‘That sounds great.’ I grin. A great opportunity to ask Emmie what I’ve been meaning to ask her all month.

Emmie opens the door to reveal the first of many friends clutching their bottles of booze. I’ve invited a few people; Emmie has invited everyone she knows. But then, it really doesn’t matter what kind of party this turns into. All that matters is that after weeks of waiting, tonight is the night that I finally get to meet him.

Jack

I hear a key turn in the door and look up to see Adrian’s face, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in feigned surprise. We both know it’s a double bluff. I’m never normally here.

‘Do my eyes deceive me?’ He laughs, as I take my feet off the coffee table.

‘Yeah, I know . . . work’s . . .’ I stall on the sentence.

It’s not long since Adrian told me he’s moving in with this Emmie chick, the one he’s only been seeing for two months, and that we need to move out of our own unprecedently cheap flat. And I told him I was okay with it. I was okay with it until I lost my already unprecedently small income. The thought of leaving the country makes me want to drink more, or be sick, but I can’t deal with him worrying about me right now.

‘I thought you had a date?’

‘Oh shit,’ I whisper, reaching past the three empty beer cans I have drained to grab my downturned phone from the table. I’ve got three missed calls. ‘Crap, crap, crap.’

‘Take it you’ll be needing another one of these?’ Adrian asks and I look up to see him walking from the fridge with a beer in each hand.

He comes to sit beside me, handing me a cold one. I’d completely forgotten about my third date with Daisy. Truth is, I was going to end things with her tonight anyway. I went on dating apps because I didn’t know what I was looking for. Now, I’m pretty sure I’m not looking for a relationship. I might not even be staying in the country. Maybe on some level I knew deep down I wouldn’t be here long enough to make it work. The thought makes the walls feel like they’re closing in. I can’t go back home. Not after what I left behind. I shoot an apologetic ‘rain-check?’ message Daisy’s way. She’ll realise that she’s dodged a bullet soon.

‘Well, I guess now you have no excuse not to come to this party,’ Adrian says and it’s only then that I notice he’s currently the epitome of smart-casual, his relaxed white shirt hanging over dark jeans, his short blond hair styled with just the right amount of product.

I groan, casting my eyes out of the only window in the room; it’s just big enough to remind us that spring is in full swing, just thin enough for the sound of noisy streets and even noisier neighbours to remind us that the city’s social life is warming up too. Still, Adrian and I both know I’d rather just stay in and drink today away. Living-to-work may be drifting into working-to-live with the passing of the seasons, but I need work to stand a chance in hell of continuing to live here. And I can’t leave. I just can’t.

‘You’ll finally get to meet Emmie,’ Adrian coaxes, his keenness palpable.

‘I’ve met her . . . apparently.’

Adrian insists Emmie was at the same university as us. That she was one of those friends-of-friends-of-friends that you have one actual conversation with, but somehow, manage to share countless memories with, without even trying.

‘And Maya.’ Adrian grins again.

Now, Maya I remember from first year. A petite brunette scrappy woman with opinions ten times the size of her frame. I walked her home this one time, her ranting the whole way that she was able to walk herself. She couldn’t even walk in a straight line. For some reason I can’t help but smile at the thought.

Twenty dollars says she doesn’t remember who I am.

Maya

‘I do remember you,’ I say, throwing my arms around Adrian as soon as I’ve opened the door. He looks startled as I pull away. Then, he smiles.

‘And of course, I remember you too.’ He grins wider, a charming toothy grin.

I’m not sure the ‘of course’ is justified seeing as Emmie and Adrian didn’t twig that they were in the same student accommodation during our first year at uni until they’d been talking for a day or two on the dating app they matched on.

‘And you remember Jack?’ Adrian takes another step into the apartment before Emmie’s arms engulf her new boyfriend completely, attaching herself to Adrian like a limpet.

I assumed given the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together over the past two months that there was some kind of force field drawing them together. Now I know for sure.

I peel my eyes away from the newly conjoined twins to look at Jack, who is still lingering in the doorway to our apartment, his deep brown eyes looking directly at me so intensely that it almost makes me feel nervous. Unlike Adrian, Jack hasn’t changed a bit. He’s still over six foot tall. Still permanently tanned. Still poster-boy good-looking. Even though, being two years older than the rest of us fellow freshers, he’s always looked like a man. I never did work out why he didn’t start university at eighteen like the rest of us. He must be twenty-four now, twenty-five at a push.

‘Hi, I . . .’ Jack begins, his accent catching me off guard, the same way it did when I first met him all those years ago. ‘Hi.’ He takes a decisive step forward as if he’s just had to convince himself he wants to be here in my and Emmie’s apartment.

‘Hey.’ I look up at him, reminding myself that the appropriate response to him taking a step forward would be to stand back, to actually let him in. But for some reason I just stand there, awkwardly close, my eyes oscillating from Jack’s gorgeous brown eyes to his slightly open mouth. I trace his gaze, which is now looking past me and further into the apartment, to see Emmie and Adrian trying to devour each other. PDAs are awful at the best of times. Never mind when I’m inches apart from some random guy from uni that I’m seventy per cent sure I drunkenly tried to throw myself at when he walked me home that one time.

‘How’s it going?’ Jack asks casually, so casually that I’m not entirely sure he’s not just saying hello again. He casts another quick glance behind me and then reaches out an arm.

Cautiously, I open my arms too, ready to embrace him, before I realise that he’s now reaching past me, that Adrian is handing him an open can of beer from behind me. I force my open arms down to my side immediately, like a solider that has just been called to attention. But it’s too late, my sudden movement has knocked the beer in his hand, and he fumbles to save it; all of Jack’s attention is now safely on me.

‘I’m so sorry. I thought—’

‘No, no, it’s okay,’ Jack replies quickly, reaching a hand forward, hoping a friendly handshake can cover over the awkwardness brimming between us. But the feeling of his hard stomach muscles against my fingers tells me that this time Jack was actually going for a hug.

‘Oh crap, I . . .’ Now it’s his turn to look sheepish. ‘Can I . . . ?’

I stand as still as a statue, not wanting to risk another wrong move. Can he what? Hug me? Shake my hand? Leave this apartment and never come back again?

My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and I hate that I look flustered, that he probably thinks I’m trying and failing to flirt with him somehow. I am not trying to flirt with him. Arrogant guys like him were the reason I spent more nights at the Feminist Debate Society than out on the sticky club floors of Hackney. Except that one night.

‘Can I . . . erm . . . use your bathroom?’ Jack looks for an escape.

‘I’ll show you.’ Emmie surfaces, coming to our rescue, clearly not so submerged in snogging Adrian that she has forgotten her surroundings.

Jack gives me a strained smile before brushing past me and following Emmie across the room, the scent of his subtle aftershave catching on the air.

‘Don’t you go making any moves on my woman,’ Adrian jokes behind them.

I swear I’m a little sick in my mouth. Emmie laughs though. Despite nights spent bemoaning dating in the digital age, that all the men online are misogynistic and, well, just weird, she’s clearly changed her tune.

A tune that doesn’t mind being called someone else’s ‘woman’.

I turn to watch Jack’s broad shoulders disappear into the room, not knowing why I feel the need to. Then my phone buzzes in my pocket. I reach for it, feeling that damn key bite into my hand as I do. It’s my mum. Apologising for missing our call. Another work meeting. It’s all the reminder I need that this flustered feeling is the reason I don’t really date. The reason she taught me to follow my dreams and never follow a man. And it’s the reason Emmie should stop being so concerned about how I’m taking the news about my dad. We’ve done okay without him these past two decades. I slip my phone back into my pocket and the key jabs into my hand again. It’s not like he even got in touch to say he was unwell.

And that’s exactly why I have no idea what I’m going to do about this key.

Jack

I would love to say I walk across the living room, but I’m pretty sure I’m staggering.

Two hours have passed since we arrived at Maya and Emmie’s party and today’s sorrows still aren’t drowned. But hey, can’t blame a guy for trying. It’s hardly on brand for SoberApp – not that that matters anymore. Still, one more drink and I’m definitely going to call it a night. Adrian will be stopping over here. It’s soon to be his home anyway, but where the hell is my home going to be? My heart starts to hammer at the thought. Walking closer to the kitchen, I’m surprised to find Maya looking bored, staring down at her phone blankly.

‘Tired of your own party?’ I ask, and she looks up, surprised. I’m definitely not sober.

‘Oh, I . . .’ Maya fixes her searing green eyes on me in recognition.

I’m not sure just how far back she recognises me from. Not that it matters. It’s not like I’m going to be in her future. The thought churns in my stomach again. I don’t want to go back home. I can’t.

‘It’s not really my party,’ Maya says, her shoulders shrugging as she looks around the room. ‘I don’t know half these people.’ She drains the last of her drink.

‘Red or white?’ I lift up two bottles of wine from the counter, displaying them by the neck. I try to focus on her eyes, but it’s like my blurry vision is attempting to take in all her features at once, from her small and symmetrical nose and her sun-kissed cheeks to her slightly parted lips, which manage to look plump even though she’s pursing them tight. Her wavy dark hair stretches down her back, looking even longer thanks to her petite stature.

‘I can pour my drinks at my own party.’ She rolls her eyes, reaching for the white.

She forces a laugh, trying to pass it off as a joke, but we both know she means it. Maya doesn’t need anyone. I remember that much at least.

‘I thought you said it wasn’t your party?’ I retort, pouring my own glass of red.

‘It’s not . . . it’s . . .’ she begins and then stalls, her eyes widening again at the speed at which I’m downing my drink. ‘Bad day?’

‘You have no idea.’ I sigh, and she seems to soften before me. Misery loves company.

‘Try me,’ Maya says, looking at her phone one last time before stashing it in her back pocket.

She’s probably waiting for some loser to message her back. Guys can be dicks. I should know. I can’t help thoughts of Daisy, and all the other girls I couldn’t commit to, from flooding my mind. But it’s better than thinking about the one girl I could commit to.

‘Rather hear about yours,’ I say; it feels like the most honest thing I’ve said all night.

Maya

I take a sip of my wine, letting it soothe my confusion. Then, I notice Jack is still watching me, waiting intently for my reply. Oh, he actually wants to hear about my day. His handsome face is looking back at me, our silence speaking volumes in a room full of chatter.

‘It’s nothing,’ I say, forcing a smile. Jack has come here for a party, not to be my agony aunt. Though from the look on his face, I’m not entirely sure he’s in the party mood.

‘Doesn’t look like nothing,’ he says back, my own face clearly saying it all.

‘There’s just been a lot going on,’ I begin, reluctant at first.

Until three hours ago I hadn’t seen this guy in years, and even then, we were never really friends; a subplot to a bigger romance – or a never-quite-a-romance – at best. And yet, somehow, him standing here in my kitchen, choosing to keep me company at a party that we both now know isn’t mine at all, it kind of makes me feel safe.

‘I finished my masters two months ago and started working on my PhD a week later,’ I begin as I search Jack’s face for surprise or insecurity. Usually, this admission would welcome one or the other, but Jack simply nods, encouraging me on.

‘And money’s pretty tight,’ I admit, though I have no intention of asking anyone for help. Other than accepting Emmie’s cheap rent; it’s the only thing that makes perpetual studies possible in a city like London. My stomach somersaults at the thought of asking her for another rent reduction tomorrow, but despite how distant we’ve been since she started dating Adrian, I know the answer will be yes. We’ve always had each other’s backs. ‘Then there’s some family stuff,’ I say; now I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop.

‘I’m sorry,’ Jack apologises, in the way people always do when they suspect something awful has happened. That stupid sympathetic head tilt.

‘No, not like bad family stuff,’ I correct, smiling. And I’m serious, I’m not upset about my so-called dad dying. More confused. ‘It’s just a bit complicated.’

‘I guess that’s one of the perks of being eleven thousand miles from home,’ Jack says, taking another swig of his wine. ‘Makes family stuff seem that little bit simpler.’ His smile falters for a second.

‘Adrian, stop it.’ Emmie’s delighted squeal steals us from the moment as we both look across the crowded room to see Adrian tickling his girlfriend.

‘Oh, please,’ Jack and I say at the exact same time before his laugh laces into mine.

‘I try to tell myself it’s cute, but it feels like they’ve moved really fast,’ I say before I can stop myself. I sound jealous. Maybe I am? But not of Adrian, and not of their relationship, but maybe of the fact that we always used to be ‘Maya and Emmie’ and now it’s ‘Adrian and Emmie’.

‘I know.’ Jack grins. ‘When Aid first told me, I thought he was crazy, but now, seeing them together, this next step just makes so much sense.’ What next step? Jack fixes his dark eyes on me as my cloudy mind scrambles to fill in the blanks. ‘They’re going to love living here.’ Jack smiles again. ‘What date are you moving out again?’

Jack

Shit. Shit. Shit. Maya’s green eyes have never been bigger. Her mouth hangs open, trying to form a word before letting it go. Her neat features tell me everything I need to know: Emmie hasn’t told her yet. Just when you think a day can’t get any worse.

‘I, err . . .’ Maya tries that sentence again and then stalls. If she was an app, I’d just reboot her. But she’s not, she’s very much real, and I’ve just really, really put my foot in it.

‘Sorry, I, err . . .’ I can’t help but mirror her confusion. ‘I thought Emmie must have . . .’

I watch her look at Emmie and Adrian again, and I swear I see tears threatening to fall. Then she narrows her eyes and, with shaking hands, pours herself another drink.

‘Maya, look, I’m sorry,’ I try again. If she was anyone else, I’d try to put my arm around her. But I remember enough about Maya to know she doesn’t want to be rescued.

‘She should have told me,’ she whispers under her breath. ‘Like before now, before this party, before you knew . . .’

She looks at me in anger and I realise I’m holding my breath. I can’t let her confront Emmie now. Not at this party, not in front of everyone, not until I’ve had a chance to collar Adrian and tell him what I’ve gone and done now. Maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving the country soon? Even now, I don’t believe that.

‘I’m just going to go and talk to her,’ Maya says, slurring her words as she does. Man, we need to leave. Now is not the time for a best-friend showdown. Maya just needs some space, some fresh air, then she’ll be fine.

‘You know what?’ I begin, daring to put my hand on her arm. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

She looks at me, a glimmer of vulnerability darting across her face.

‘I can’t, it’s my part—’ she begins, and against my better judgement I raise my eyebrows. She shakes her head, and with it any vulnerability disappears, her boundaries back up.

‘You’re right.’ She reaches for two unopened bottles of wine. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

Maya

I don’t look back when I leave the party. Instead, I walk into the cool night air. I have no idea where I’m going. I just know I’m going away from their apartment.

Jack keeps in step by my side, his strong arms just inches away from me. For a second, I am transported back to university, to me and Emmie watching him play in the rugby varsity finals. It’s not like I even knew him, not really. And here he is watching me have a full-on meltdown. I glance at him, striding aimlessly beside me, and our eyes meet.

Are you okay? His empathetic expression is easy to read even if he knows better than to ask me when the answer is so damn obvious.

‘I’ve spent the past few weeks just trying to find the right time to talk to my best friend,’ I say, the wine loosening my lips. ‘To ask her if I can pay less rent whilst I work on my PhD. I never imagined she’d been biding her time to tell me that she wouldn’t be needing my rent at all.’

‘What are you doing your PhD in?’ Jack asks, perhaps longing to steer our conversation onto safer, only-just-acquaintances ground. I keep striding forward before stumbling on a broken paving stone. Jack’s big arms wrap around me before I can fall.

‘Feminist Studies,’ I mumble back at him, his face inches from my own. The words feel somewhat ironic seeing as I just needed a man to catch me.

‘Cool,’ he whispers, the sweet scent of alcohol laced in his breath.

I shrug him off, brushing myself down.

I pick up pace, steering us down side streets until the buildings part and I can finally see the city lights dancing across the river. Jack doesn’t say anything, he just tries to keep up.

‘What the hell am I going to do now?’ I breathe, not meaning to sound so dramatic.

‘I don’t know,’ Jack says unhelpfully; he sounds a little hopeless too.

My feet quicken as my mind races. I know better than to ask my mum for help. What good is bailing you out going to do, Maya? I started from nothing and I’ve never relied on anyone. I can almost feel her disappointment now. She’s never taken anything from anyone, not even my dad. That’s why it’s so damn hard to talk to her about the key in my back pocket, the apartment it leads to.

The apartment, I realise, I’m walking towards now.

Jack

I try to keep up with Maya, literally and metaphorically. I want to say something to make it better but I’m the kind of guy who can make things worse without even trying.

‘Let me carry those . . .’ I eventually mutter, my pathetic attempt to lighten the load.

‘Being kicked out of your own home sucks,’ Maya s. . .