Nick
Nick
They stay up late chatting, filling in all the blanks from the past five years and, if anything, it’s better than the old, brief time they spent together at university. Despite being apart for so long, they seem to have grown together, their opinions, thoughts and repartee more in tune than before.
But by 1 a.m. he can see that Beth is tired and even though he doesn’t really get tired these days – he’s permanently wired – he suggests they get to bed.
‘Where…’ Beth begins, her cheeks flaming.
‘You can sleep in my room,’ he says. ‘I’ll take the sofa.’
‘No, Nick…’
‘It’s fine. I quite often pass out on the sofa after work anyway. And I’ve got to be in the office for 6.30, so I’ll be gone early. I don’t want to wake you. The sheets are clean… My cleaner came on Monday, so they’ve barely been slept in.’
‘I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight,’ she says. She looks as though she might cry. ‘I mean really. I’m sorry to land on you like this. It’s been so great. I just… It’s just so good to see you.’
He swallows. He can’t allow his brain to do that thing. He won’t.
‘It’s nothing. I’ll get you a key, so you can come and go as you please while I’m at work. I think tomorrow night there’s some drinks thing Celine wanted me to go to… She’s just signed with a new agency and they’re holding a bash in Soho, so it’ll probably be a late one.’
He pauses. He’d always intended on staying over at Celine’s house tomorrow night, but he can’t leave Beth alone all day. It’s the perfect excuse to come back here, just to check on her.
‘Agency?’
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Yeah, er, she’s a fashion photographer. I told you that, didn’t I?’
He doesn’t like the way her head dips slightly as she digests this information.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Uh, well, yeah. She’s French. Just moved over here to try her luck with the magazines.’
‘Wow. She sounds… cool,’ Beth says.
‘Too cool for me, you mean?’
She flushes.
He feels uncomfortable so he shakes his head, changes the subject.
Once she’s settled in his bedroom, and he’s lying on the sofa with a blanket thrown over his legs, he finally gives in to the feeling. A strange kind of joy. Of knowing that she is here, that he is able to take care of her, in the only way he can.
It’s all he’s ever wanted to do.
But he’s been so busy with work, it’s been easy to push thoughts of Beth aside. He loves the office: the combative atmosphere, the noise and the bustle, the never-having-time-to-thinkness of it. It makes him feel alive. Truly alive.
And he’s good at it. He’s really good at it. His mind works differently from others’ and he’s able to spot opportunities where others might not. He’s almost embarrassed about the amount of money he’s helped the firm make in the past year.
He knew about Paulo. He’d seen the Facebook pictures of them together on Beth’s birthday, taking the clipper down the Thames. It hurt his heart to think of them sailing past his building at some point, without him even knowing she was close. Beth had captioned the pictures: ME AND MY brILLIANT BOYFRIEND. Afterwards, he immediately looked Paulo up on Google. Watched his showreel. He didn’t seem particularly brilliant to Nick, but Nick didn’t know much about acting.
And now… Now it turns out that Paulo is a total arsehole.
He hadn’t paid close enough attention. He thought she was out there, happy, living her best life. But she wasn’t.
He turns over on the sofa, flipping the pillow. But he’s like a kid at Christmas. How can he fall asleep, knowing she’s next door?
He wonders if she’s having problems sleeping too. And then his brain does that thing he wishes it wouldn’t: it goes back there, to that night.
He slaps himself over the head.
But it’s too late, his imagination is tormenting him. Thinking of her now, in his bed wearing… what? She’d brought a small bag with her, but he didn’t see what was inside it.
Is she thinking the same?
Oh God, why? Why must he do this? He’s disgusting.
He gets off the sofa, flinging the blanket away and grabs his phone, scrolling to the photo library. He finds the pictures he took of Celine last weekend, when they were messing around in her bathroom. He tries to focus on them, thinking of her…
But Beth is next door.
Argh.
He stands up and goes to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He opens the mirrored cabinet above the basin, and rummages around until he finds the right pills. Marty from the office brings them back every time he goes to New York. It’s easy to get stronger stuff over the counter in the States.
He takes two, swallowing them with a gulp of water from the basin.
‘Are you OK?’
He turns, his heart hammering.
Beth is standing behind him, wearing a shapeless GAP t-shirt he assumes must have once belonged to Paulo.
His fist clenches involuntarily. He wishes he was wearing more than his boxer shorts. Wishes he spent more time in the gym, even though he suspects Beth doesn’t care much about things like that.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I couldn’t sleep. These things really knock me out.’
‘I can’t either,’ she says, leaning on the doorframe. Her eyes are taking him in. All of him. ‘I feel too bad about you being out on the sofa.’
‘No really, it’s not…’
She takes a step towards him, and even though he knows what’s coming and he knows that he wants it with every fibre of his being, he also knows that he can’t do it.
He can’t do it to her. Not now. Not when she’s so vulnerable. It would be taking advantage.
‘Nick,’ she says, and she puts a finger to his lips and he almost collapses with the ache of it. ‘Nick Parker. You’re all grown up.’
‘Please,’ he says. ‘Please, Beth, don’t…’
But then her hands are on the small of his back and he’s utterly helpless.
She stares up at him.
A million things flash through his mind, all at once. The touch of her fingers is like a thousand tiny sparks against his skin.
But then, the horrendous picture returns. Her face, streaked with tears, pulling him towards her as he tried to go back into the building.
If only he had gone back inside…
He feels sick.
‘I can’t…’
‘Don’t say anything,’ she says, as she moves her face even closer. ‘You can.’
‘No, Beth, I can’t.’
She’s upset, about Paulo, and about having to be here, humiliated, and even though he could and he wants to, he knows that tomorrow will be different, that he won’t feel the same way he does now.
But still she holds him, ever so lightly tugging him towards her.
‘Beth,’ he says, shuffling back slightly, so that his bottom rests on the washbasin. He feels exposed, vulnerable, in his stupid red boxers. ‘This isn’t what you want.’
‘Yes it is.’
He’s cross now, his senses back under control. He extricates himself from her as gently as he can, and takes a few steps away.
‘This is just a reaction to Paulo,’ he says. ‘It’s not the right time…’
And as he knew she would, she starts to cry.
‘Oh, fucking hell,’ he says, pulling her towards him again, but this time in a hug. He speaks into her hair. ‘You’re tired and confused. You’ve had a horrible day. This isn’t… It wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Trust me.’
‘Why do you have to be so sensible?’ she says, sniffing into his shoulder.
She’s trying to be kind, trying to say she forgives him but all that happens is that he is reminded of the core truth about him.
That he has always had to be sensible, because of his mother. He was born with a heightened sense of danger and an aversion to risk. For all his bluster and irresponsibility he has never taken a real risk.
A real risk would be the sort he might take now: to kiss her, to take her back to his bed and make love to her in the way his whole body was screaming for him to do.
But he can’t.