CHAPTER 3
KATIE
The next morning, I wake still full from my Indian feast the night before and still reeling from my encounter with Nathan.
What would have ordinarily been a reunion worthy of many revisits in my mind felt like so much more because we talked about my mum.
And it’s been a really long time since I’ve done that with anyone.
“Katie? Are you decent?” It’s Jade, my next-door neighbour and the closest thing I have to a best friend, letting herself in using her ‘in case of emergency key.’ I gave it to her a few months after I moved into the building, after she’d bulldozed her way into my flat and my life, and she’s been walking in and out of my place willy-nilly ever since.
I kinda love it.
“Define decent,” I mutter around my cup of tea.
Jade bounces over to where I’m lingering in the kitchen, contemplating whether to skip breakfast. She grabs her favourite mug and fills it up.
“What’s new?” She asks this every time she sees me as a bit of an inside joke.
Because I never have anything new to report.
Unlike Jade, who lives a hectic life filled with yoga classes, hip hop dance lessons and a full roster of friends to see, I live a life on the quieter end of the scale.
I go to work, I feed Nuke, and I watch a lot of TV. It’s a peaceful life. It’s also boring.
“Do I have a story for you.”
Her dark brown eyes widen in surprise, and I get a thrill from it. Not only do I have a story to tell, but I have the story to end all stories to tell.
“Spill,” she orders, cradling the mug in her hands as she walks to the couch. I follow along, chuckling at the mug she’s chosen: You’re <0.05.
Classic.
“So, do you want the short version or the long version?”
She squints her eyes at me, pointing a finger complete with a long orange nail in my direction. “Long version. Always the long version.”
Smiling, I sink back against a cushion and pull a throw blanket over my legs for maximum comfort. My flat is small and well-insulated, but come December time, there’s always a chill in the air. Even with the heater up full blast.
“Have I ever told you I went to school with Nathan Jackson?”
“You what?” Tea dribbles from her mouth as she gasps for air. Her model-worthy cheekbones turning a deep shade of red.
Excellent. Exactly the reaction I wanted.
“Yeah. It was no big deal. It was only one year before he disappeared into racing. And”—I put my hand up as her mouth opens, to ask a billion questions by the expression on her face—“And last night I bumped into him.”
“Where? Here? In Brixton?” she squeaks.
“No, in Clapham. He helped walk me and my oranges home. Don’t ask.” I make a face, still mortified by the whole thing.
She inches closer to me, flinging her long, jet-black braids over her shoulder in a move I know as ‘I mean business.’
“Are you telling me this man”—she takes her phone from the front pocket of her fire-engine red overalls, which she’s paired with a butter-yellow turtleneck underneath—“you’re telling me, this man”—her phone is now millimetres from my face—“was in our building and you didn’t think to invite me over to say hello?
Express my undying adoration? Ask him to marry me? ”
I ignore her deranged ramblings, focusing instead on the photo of Nathan on her screen.
She’s picked a good one. He’s all hot and sweaty after a race, his golden hair plastered to his temples, his mouth stretched into his world-class grin.
Tracing my finger over his delightful cupid’s bow, I wonder again that this man had, mere hours ago, been sitting on this couch, drinking my tea and talking about my mum.
It's so surreal.
“It happened in a blur,” I explain when she runs out of puff. “Before I knew it, he was at the door. And then I had to hide all my laundry. Period underwear,” I divulge.
She blanches, and I nod. Awful.
“And then he was drinking tea.”
“From one of these cups?” She gapes down at the one she’s holding in her hands, and I nod again, defeated.
“Yikes. And then what?”
My mind drifts over the conversation, stopping on his memories of my mum, of her impact on him as a teenager. “And then he left.”
Her lips purse. “That’s it? He had a cup of tea and was on his way?”
“Well, he did ask for my number.”
She goes scarily quiet, her eyes bugging out of her head as she places her cup of tea on the coffee table with a loud thud.
“Katherine Winslow. Are you being serious right now? He. Asked. For. Your. Number? Your phone number?”
I giggle at her dramatics. “No, my NHS number. Of course, my mobile. But it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’s going to use it.”
As if scripted, right on cue, my phone lights up with a notification on the couch between us.
Frowning, I pick it up. The only person who’d ever message me on a Saturday is sitting in front of me, so it’s most likely a scammer trying to steal all my money.
Good luck with that, buddy. I have barely two quid to steal.
UNKNOWN
Hey Kitty Kat. Turns out Cherry is having a farewell do later today. So, I’ll be back in your neighbourhood. Do you want to catch up for coffee? Or dinner? (This is Nathan, by the way).
Dumbfounded, I turn my phone and shove it to Jade. She reads the message, a wrinkle growing between her brow, before she reads it again. I watch her mouth out the words, and after her fourth re-read, I snatch the phone back from her.
“This is unbelievable,” she mutters while I do a re-read of my own. Maybe my eyes are playing tricks on me. And also, Jade’s. Because that can’t be a message from Nathan Jackson. It just can’t.
“That’s a message from Nathan Jackson,” Jade says finally, jumping up and onto the couch a la Tom Cruise in that infamous Oprah interview. “He’s hanging out with Cherry Brenner—ohmigosh, that means Nicky Dimitrios—and he wants to have dinner with you. How is this our life?”
I love how she’s woven herself into this. That Nathan is now part of her life as well, when he’s not even a part of mine.
“I don’t understand,” I say, staring down at my phone, willing it to make sense. “Just because he’s in Clapham doesn’t mean he has to see me.”
She tsks. “Duh, the guy wants to see you.”
My stomach swoops at her words. “That can’t be right.”
Jade settles back down next to me, pointing at the phone clutched in my hand. “First things first. Write back and tell him you will meet him for dinner.”
Stomach. Swooping. Overdrive.
“And what’s the second?”
Her grin is wide and excited. “We spend the afternoon planning what you’re going to wear, of course.”
?·?·?
Six hours later, I’m buttoning up my winter coat, still in a daze that this is happening.
After much cajoling and threatening and pleading from Jade, I agreed to meet Nathan for coffee.
It was a compromise, a way to give in to my friend’s pleas to ‘go meet the drop-dead gorgeous F1 driver so she can live vicariously through me,’ and not have to commit to an entire meal, because honestly, what do I have to talk to Nathan about for hours? Plural.
“Do I look alright?” I ask again.
Every article of clothing had been picked apart and discarded before we landed on the only thing in my cupboard worthy of her approval.
It’s a long, creamy-beige coloured, woollen jumper dress, off-the-shoulder and fitted to my mid-thigh, paired with tights and knee-high brown boots.
Jade raved about how it makes my waist seem tiny and my hair appear darker, and I was so fed-up with trying on outfits I’d given in, even though it’s not something I’d wear on a normal day.
But as she pointed out, this is not a normal day.
“You are gorgeous. A goddess, with all that hair tumbling down your back. You should be on the cover of a romance novel. Or in an ad for shampoo.”
We’d spent much of the last hour straightening my hair, before adding curls back in and combing them out into gentle waves, cascading over and down my back, where they end at my waist. It’s a lot of effort to go through for a coffee, but every time I’d object, she’d flash another image of Nathan in front of me, and I’d give in.
It makes sense to want to look your very best in front of a man who has only ever looked his very best.
“Thanks.” I draw in a calming breath, reaching down to pat Nuke, who’s been giving me judgey eyes all afternoon. These are different from her usual judgey eyes; it’s like she knows who I’m off to meet and she feels betrayed. Because she already loves him more than me.
“I mean, that jacket is a travesty,” she adds, her eyes now also judgey as they sweep over me. “Make sure you lose it the minute you enter the pub.”
Rolling my own eyes (not judgey, mostly panicky), I fasten the last button of my jacket.
It’s long and ugly, but as warm as if I were wearing a sleeping bag.
She’s already vetoed me wearing a beanie (“a crime to hide all that beautiful hair”), so I’m not forgoing any more of my comfort for the sake of looking good.
“Wish me luck,” I say, checking I’ve got my phone and keys and that my Oyster card is tucked in my wallet. I could walk to the Clapham Pub, where Nathan is meeting me, but my feet in these boots and the curls in my hair wouldn’t survive the trek.
Jade sinks onto my couch, scooping up a grumpy-looking Nuke onto her lap. “I’ll be right here waiting for a full report when you get back.”
I spare one last glance to where she and my cat are cozying up together, and kinda wish I was spending the afternoon with them. It seems a more comfortable way to spend it, if not much less exciting.
“Bye.”
Neither feline nor friend pay me any more attention, so I quit stalling and make my way out of the building and towards the tube station.
Once there, I get on the next train and stand near the door for the three minutes it takes to get to the Clapham Common station.
A three-minute train ride that would have taken me twenty minutes on foot.
No, thank you.