Nick
Nick
‘That was delicious,’ he says, pushing his plate away. ‘Thanks Beth. I can’t remember the last time someone cooked for me. Someone I wasn’t paying to do so, that is.’
She smiles. He met her after work earlier and they’ve spent the whole time since talking and laughing. It feels so natural to be with her. Comfortable. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed.
‘Pleasure. Had you ever actually used that frying pan? I mean, it’s a really, really good one.’
‘I don’t know,’ he says, trying to remember. ‘Probably not. I’m not even sure where it came from.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s a waste,’ she says, grinning.
‘OK, I get the message. I’ll try to fit learning to cook into my seventy-hour working week. I’ll just give up sleep for a bit shall I?’
She rolls her eyes at him and he leans back in his chair. For some reason, he likes the way she teases him. It reminds him of the kind of chat he used to have with his handful of childhood friends: familial, good-hearted.
Has he ever even sat at this dining table to eat dinner? All the furniture came with the apartment – it was part of a package. His landlord is a Hong Kong property company and they own most of the flats in the building, so they are all furnished exactly the same way, all rented by people like him who work in the Wharf.
It makes him feel sub-human sometimes. Like he’s part of a robot army that scuttles back to their identical recharging bays every night.
He would never choose this dining table. It’s black, high-gloss, some kind of ebonised wood, with a reflective surface that shows every finger smudge. But until today, he’s never given it a second’s thought.
What kind of dining table would he choose? He has no idea.
He doesn’t give a shit about dining tables.
‘You didn’t cook much at uni either, did you?’ Beth says.
She glances at him, a quick, narrow glance that he recognises as being her way of checking that it’s OK to discuss that time.
He supposes they can’t avoid the subject forever.
‘I guess I just don’t have the culinary gene.’
When he was growing up, his mum made a real effort to feed him. It was her way of showing love and she was a decent cook, but everything was so chaotic that often things wouldn’t be ready at the same time, so he’d end up eating her meals in separate courses: vegetables first, then a little break before she’d serve up the meat, the gravy inevitably following later in a mug.
He doesn’t want to think about his mother. Whenever he does, the guilt that he’s not still living with her is right there, ready to admonish him. He visits at least once a month, calls regularly. But it’s not the same, and he knows it.
Beth is staring at him now.
‘You’ve changed a lot,’ she says, quietly.
He holds her stare. ‘So have you.’
She picks up her wine glass and takes a sip, as though she’s considering him. He feels an apology emerge, making its way to his tongue, but he doesn’t let it out. What would be the point? An apology now would be meaningless. He never meant to hurt her; he just didn’t have a choice.
‘It’s the fifth anniversary today. Do you think about it much?’ she says, her voice sticking in her throat slightly.
He feels his muscles stiffen but he doesn’t respond.
‘I had to walk past the building every week when I had a particular lecture,’ she says, leaning away from him now. ‘There was no other way to get there.’
He can read the subtext in her comment: she had to confront what happened all the time, while he got to hide away.
Why is she bringing this up? She’s ruining what was a lovely evening.
He pushes his chair back, standing abruptly. He doesn’t want to talk about the fire. He doesn’t want to talk about anything to do with that time.
‘Have you never been back?’ she asks. ‘Not once?’
He shakes his head.
‘I don’t know. I guess I just prefer to look forward.’
‘Hmm.’
He’s not sure what that noise means.
‘Do you ever hear from Rosa?’ Beth asks. He looks up again but she’s still staring at her lap.
He pulls at the collar of his shirt.
‘Oh,’ he says. ‘Occasionally.’
Beth’s head snaps up.
‘Really?’ she asks. ‘I never hear from her. She completely cut me off afterwards.’
‘Well, it’s not like we’re meeting for coffee every week. Just the odd text from time to time. She moved down to London after she graduated. I think she works in HR for a supermarket.’
‘I can’t believe you’re still in touch. I used to see her around campus and she’d practically run in the other direction.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nick says. ‘I guess that was her way of dealing with it.’
‘She blames me,’ Beth says. Her voice is full of pain. ‘She blames me for coming between you and Anna.’
He sits up in his chair.
‘No, Beth,’ he says. ‘I don’t think she even knew…’
‘I think she saw us together. In the union, afterwards.’ She clears her throat. ‘It’s OK. I get it. I would be the same. I guess from her point of view it’s my fault that Anna is dead.’
He closes his eyes. He knew this would happen: he knew that the second he and Beth truly reconnected all the agony would come to the surface again.
He thinks of Celine, his job, the busy, distracted state he’s been in for the past two years.
It’s been like living in a soundproof booth, where all his senses are dulled. All his senses are dulled, which means nothing can hurt him. But it also means he feels only half-alive most of the time.
Get rid of the lows, and you get rid of the highs too. Still, it’s preferable to the dark place he found himself in after the fire.
‘Pudding?’ he says, hoping to change the subject. ‘I have a tub of ice cream in the freezer?’
Her eyes spark.
‘What flavour?’
‘Cookie dough.’
‘Well, it’s not my favourite but I guess it will just have to do.’ Her eyes are twinkling again, and he’s glad of it.
‘Yes, your majesty.’
He grins at her as he hands her a bowl. She’s finished her glass of wine and is pouring another. The tension has dissipated. He feels himself relaxing again.
‘So,’ Beth says. ‘I have some news.’
‘Go on.’
‘I got the job. The yoghurt ad.’
‘That’s fantastic, Beth.’
‘Thanks. It films next week, so I’ll be out of your way for three days. It’s in Manchester. They’re going to put me up and everything.’
‘You’re not in my way. But I’m happy for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she says, tucking her hair behind her ear. The longer length suits her, emphasises her heart-shaped face. ‘It’s a relief. It’s going to be syndicated abroad too, so the fee is very good. Once they pay me, I should have enough for a deposit on a flat share…’
He swallows. She seems to be in a great hurry to leave, but he doesn’t want her to. But that’s not fair, is it? She’s not a pet. He can’t keep her here indefinitely, mess up her life by not being with her but by also making sure no one else can be with her either.
‘Well, there’s no rush,’ he says. ‘You know that.’
She blinks at him. For some reason, he wants to cry. He swallows the lump that’s formed in his throat, takes another spoon of ice cream.
Having Beth here has brought the highs back to his life.
But he knows that if he lets her stay, the lows will be just round the corner, waiting for him to finally deal with them.