Take A Chance On Me ☆ [Mamma Mia - Bill Anderson X Reader]

☆35☆

Bill's POV

"...so it's really between here in England and Greece," and as soon as I hear the name of the country I haven't gone back to in years, I'm transported back into the present where Kisha is watching me frustrated. No, not frustrated - downright angry.

"How come you never listen to what I'm saying, huh Bill! We've been together for five fucking years - God knows how, because you never pay attention to me! It's like I'm dating a brick wall!"

Oh crap. Am I that bad a boyfriend? I realise, as she lights a cigarette and huffs smoke like she's a bull in the ring, that I really am. Perhaps this is one of the reasons Y/N and I would never work out.

Or maybe, I think when in a flush of desperation I notice Y/N on the street corner helping a homeless lady cross the road... perhaps Y/N is the reason me and Kira won't ever work out.

Again ignoring my girlfriend - oh, I understand properly now - I watch Y/N talk companiably with the homeless woman like they've been good friends for ages, as they step onto the opposite side of the pavement and walk out of sight into another part of London. I wonder where she's taking her.

I kinda wanna go after her. And maybe talk to her. And maybe apologise. And maybe...

I glance to my girlfriend, and seeing her so lovely and pissed off, I know that maybe I need to do what I should've done years ago.

I turn round to properly face Kisha.
"Kisha, babe... I haven't been fair to you. I got into a serious long term relationship with you five years ago because... because I thought, if I let down the woman I love, I couldn't ever have love again, so maybe I could just settle for someone who wants to be with me for no apparent reason."

She opens her mouth, about to rip me to shreds, but blinks a couple times as if remembering herself and lowers the fist she had raised at me.
"Bill, you're gorgeous, and a total charmer... but I kind of knew you didn't love me, and I don't think I really loved you. I guess dating you was a kind of status symbol - every woman I told about you had this sort of revered reaction, like you were a hot commodity. But the thing is," she says as she regards me, "I don't think you are a hot commodity, or a legend - you're just a guy. A guy whose childhood was perfect but badly influenced by his parents' generation of sexism and hedonism; who lost the woman who made him realise he didn't have to be a selfish sleaze; who can't get that woman back, so decided to be a selfish sleaze to try and help him forget. Don't be a selfish sleaze anymore. Go. Get her."

My jaw has officially dropped. I didn't know Kisha was... insightful.
She rolls her eyes at my shock, and quips, "I studied Psychology in Costa Rica. Can you pay for my cab and plane back? It's the least you could do."

And just like that, our relationship is over, almost in the same fashion as how it begun - matter-of-fact and disinterested. It's actually astonishing we lasted this long, given how loveless this relationship was.

So I give Kisha the money to get a cab and plane, plus all the extra cash on me because it's the least I can do for her, and after she leaves for the high street I dawdle.

Should I follow Y/N, or should I not?

Eventually my heart overrules my common sense, and I make my way down the same street Y/N took the homeless lady down.
It's been so long since she went round the corner that I don't exactly know which corner it is, so I just walk round one of them and hope it's the right one.

I walk further until I reach this long stretch of huge houses, and from one of them the front door is partially ajar and there's warm voices coming from it.
As always, I'm intrigued.

I step up to the door and push it just enough to get in without alerting anyone to my presence. Inside, a heaping mass of London's underground and homeless gather in front of a well grown fire, roaring in response of the people's cold due to their raggedy clothing and visible shivering.

Why are so many homeless and helpless people in this big house?

Your POV

"Right, there's more firewood, and there's where you can put your stuff - oh, no, I'm okay," you finish with a warm chuckle as the old woman you showed your house to tries to give you the few pennies she has.

"But how on Earth can I show my appreciation? You've helped almost everyone in need in this part of London," the woman states, and as you look around you nod in agreement because, yes, you have indeed helped a lot of people.

You finally bought your old house and are now using it to shelter and help the needy. Just like you've wanted to since you learned the extent of the houseless in London.

You feel like you've finally done something worthwhile. And you're so proud of yourself.

"Are you sure you want no repayment?" the old woman asks, and you insist once again that you don't want anything. As a matter of fact, you've just spotted another new person standing near the door. Letting the others know there's a new woman needing introducing, you then go over to the new one near the door.

"Hello, I'm Y/N Sheridan, I own this house. Who are you?"
The man at the door just looks at you like he's seen a ghost. He brushes a hand through his blonde hair, a little long for a guy's but slightly thinning, then gulps.
"I'm, uh... I'm just looking at the house. I'm, um, just going. It was nice to... meet you, Miss Sheridan."

And like that he's off, speedwalking away from the house at a rather alarming rate. Your eyebrows lower quizzically, trying to remember if you've ever met him or if he's a member of the London homeless posse, but you can't place him. Odd...

Your new chunky 90s mobile phone rings through the hubbub of talking, and still staring out into the street you answer the call and put the phone to your ear.
"Y/N speaking."

"Auntie Y/N! You need to come over here!"
"Sophie?" you ask, then put a hand to your forehead. "Oh, I've missed the last visit. What has it been, nearly two years now? What is it?"
"Oh, Y/N, I'm engaged! I'm getting married!"

You almost drop your phone.

Well... you weren't expecting that.