Chapter 6
SIX
‘It’s fine. The lady can have the teapot if she wants,’ he says, still smiling, a hand casually placed in his coat pocket.
I am speechless. He’s standing there, a Dickensian Christmas shopping apparition.
How did he appear out of nowhere? Plus, this isn’t fair.
It’s glowed-up Nick Coles – older and wiser, in a really well-tailored navy suit, a dark wool coat, a striped-burgundy scarf wrapped around his neck, his sandy-blond hair well-styled. I remember those eyes.
Clementine is looking at me worriedly, as if she can see that the joviality I had running through me before has gone. Perhaps she’s not sure what that means with so many breakables in the area.
‘I have other teapots if you want to see those? I’ve got a lovely Royal Albert – I’ll throw in a milk jug with it,’ she says, as she and her colleague try and de-escalate the situation.
I don’t think there’s a lot to de-escalate.
I’m not angry per se. I think I’m in quiet shock.
This is a man I’ve not seen for eight years.
Last time I saw him was when he dumped me. In the pub.
I shake my head. ‘It’s fine. Let him have it. I’m not going to fight over china,’ I say jokingly. I wave to him and he strides over to my side of the stall. As he gets closer, a strange feeling of fizziness comes over me. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement.
‘I thought it was you. It’s the hair. Completely unmissable.’
He looks into my eyes, the fairy lights from the stall illuminating the angles of his face.
I smile because as much as a face changes over time, there’s still something there to recognise.
Eight years, Nick Coles. I’m not sure he gets to open with a line about my hair, though I am happy I used the good conditioner this morning.
‘Nick fucking Coles.’ As I say it, I feel the grin spread across my face.
Opposite us, Clementine and the other woman who works on the stall hold a teapot each, watching.
I wish they’d pick up a teacup and saucer and have a sip to break this tension.
I don’t know how to follow this up. Is it good to see him?
I get the same feeling as when my neighbour’s cat comes into my garden and stares at me through my kitchen window. It’s very unnerving. Why is he here?
‘Can’t believe it’s you,’ he says, studying my face, his gaze falling to the outline of my face, my lips. Yeah, don’t do that.
‘It is me,’ I say, unable to hide a touch of dryness in my tone.
‘You look great.’
I sigh. Unfortunately, he does too. Nick was one of those exes where our break-up was unexpected, and it was deeply painful because my heart was young and na?ve.
In university, my expectations of love were curated around books and TV and so when I met him, I thought I’d met a forever person.
This was what love looked like, it was cutesy, fun, and involved brunch.
When it finished I therefore, mourned him dramatically.
I cried. I ate a whole tiramisu in my pyjamas.
I think about that sad idealistic girl now and cringe.
Why did we break up? Is it terrible I can’t remember?
‘You look… healthy,’ I say.
He chuckles. That wasn’t a joke. He works out now, and I can see the better fit and quality of his attire. He smells nice and that is a terrible thing to pick up on so quickly.
‘I forgot how funny you are… Always knew how to make me laugh,’ he says to the ladies at the stall, both of them enjoying the sort-of reunion, a bit of Christmas magic unravelling here.
‘“Knew.” He speaks in the past tense as I haven’t seen him in nearly ten years,’ I tell them.
‘Is there a story there?’ Clementine asks me, hopeful that it’s a good one. Maybe we were separated by war, a desert island, warring families. Maybe this is a love story for the ages.
‘We used to date,’ Nick says, affection in his voice.
‘Before he dumped me in a pub just before Christmas.’ Not that type of love story, Clementine.
Those words instantly transform the hopeful glances of these two ladies into grimaces. They both look at him expectantly, waiting for his explanation. I find this all very good fun.
‘We were young. Hand on heart, I made a terrible mistake,’ he says, though I know that’s directed at me. I try not to react, instead watching the ladies as they warm to his words. ‘I mean, look at her, right?’
I’m not sure what to say. Young love is like that, I guess.
Relationships can be brief, passionate, but usually fizzle out on a whim.
We had some good times. He was excellent at buying me flowers and cuddly toys.
However, he did dump me, that much I remember, and then he disappeared.
Time and distance meant he quickly got erased from my mind and I moved on.
I still can’t shake that secret thrill at seeing him again though.
Clementine smiles at me. ‘I’d be more inclined for you to have the teapot if he was an absolute wanker,’ she says. I smirk as Nick pouts in her direction. There’s solidarity there if ever I needed it. ‘I can sell him sweet FA if it would be a good way to get back at him.’
‘Or maybe I can buy you the teapot?’ Nick adds.
I try not to let my emotion show. Clementine’s colleague on the stall keeps looking Nick up and down.
He’s giving off a kindly aura, and I remember that generosity, the way that he would buy drinks for a whole group of people he didn’t know.
Clementine looks at me for cues. ‘Is it for your nana?’ he asks.
Nick met Nana on a number of occasions whilst we were going out.
I’m pleasantly surprised that he remembers her.
‘Yes.’
‘Then you really should have it. Please let me buy it for you.’
He keeps trying to prolong the glance between us. I force myself to be civil. This should be a nice moment but it feels as though he’s trying to buy my affections here. ‘I can buy my own teapot for Nana. Thank you though,’ I say.
‘Well, maybe I can get you something else?’ he suggests.
I look around the stall, trying to find something really bloody expensive which I could then re-sell to buy myself a new bicycle.
‘Let him get you something,’ Clementine’s colleague says, still trying to save the situation.
‘Maybe some nuts?’ he jokes.
‘We don’t sell nuts,’ Clementine says, looking confused.
But the line does make me smile. It’s a nice thing, to know how much an ex remembers, how much they think about you.
I did move on from Nick. I graduated, travelled, I had relationships with other people and grew, all on my own.
But I sometimes wondered about him, about us.
Don’t we all? On a cold night, unable to sleep, I’d sometimes scroll through my hall of fame, stalking people, seeing where they ended up.
He was part of that roll call of people.
To be honest, he was my first big love. So seeing him so suddenly is a jolt to the senses, thinking about halcyon moments lying with him in sunny fields, wrapped around each other, draped off each other in clubs, in bed, having sex.
Eight years ago, Kay. That was a very long time ago.
That was back when I had a fringe. I’m glad I grew that out.
‘I’m good. Thank you again though,’ I say to him, a little tickled that I hold power here. He can’t seem to be able to look away from me.
Clementine’s colleague looks up at me. ‘Seriously?’ She looks between the two of us. ‘Where did you two meet?’
‘We went to university in Bath,’ I say.
‘And almost ten years later, you’re both here in front of Clemmie’s stall, meeting over a teapot? That’s got to mean something, right?’ she continues. ‘It’s Christmas, lovely. Maybe it’s worth a second pop,’ she says, looking Nick up and down. ‘I would…’
Nick looks down at that moment, trying to hide his embarrassment.
Well, he does wear that suit well. He side-eyes me.
I have no idea what this is. He could be married by now, with kids.
I could very well be in the same situation.
This is a chance meeting between two people who once knew each other. Intimately.
‘You have to admit, it could be fate,’ Nick says with a grin. ‘It is quite the thing to bump into you again.’
I look down, trying to keep my smile to myself. I have no idea what to say. I watch as he hands over a bunch of notes to Clementine, much more than what the teapot and all his haul is worth.
She looks down at the money and over at me. ‘What do you think?’ she asks me.
She appears to be still debating the morality and emotion of the situation. I nod. I’ll take free Spode if it’s on the table. I’m not stupid. And if it leaves you quids in, Clementine, then you take this man’s money. She and her colleague start to wrap everything up in sheets of newspaper.
‘Thank you,’ I say, finally catching Nick’s eye.
‘Will you tell your nana I bought it?’
‘No,’ I say.
He laughs in return and there’s a strange feeling of electricity in remembering that sound. ‘I really can’t believe it’s you,’ he says again, a strange look of wonder in his eyes. I can’t believe it either. ‘Do you live in London?’
‘West London, Shepherd’s Bush.’ I’m not sure why I divulge that information so quickly. ‘You? I thought you lived in New York.’
His eyebrows shoot up. Damn. That does mean I have looked him up since. ‘I did but I live in Fulham now. I work for the Wiseman Brothers in town.’
‘That explains the fancy suit.’
He keeps grinning because that infers I’ve been looking at said suit.
‘Fulham’s not far from Shepherd’s Bush.’
I nod, wondering where this conversation is leading.
I could walk away here. We’ve ascertained that I still look good, we live near each other and we dated a long time ago.
Is it worth flirting with history? But then, like a flash of lightning, I think about the moment he dumped me.
It wasn’t me, it was him. We needed space.
Maybe we could be friends? And a bitter feeling like bile rises up in me.
‘Well, maybe we can—’
‘No,’ I reply, shaking my head, laughing. I wait as Clementine hands me my teapot and winks at me. She gets it. ‘Thank you so much. Your stall is amazing. Have a lovely Christmas.’ Nick looks a bit confused, collects his own assorted plates and cups and follows me briskly.
‘Umm, what do you mean, no? You didn’t know what I was going to ask,’ he says jokingly as I try and traverse this maze of a building.
‘Oh, I do,’ I say, still walking as quickly as I can amongst the crowds. ‘Look at all this fate in action. Maybe we can meet up for a drink, reminisce, catch up…’ I jest.
‘I don’t see what would be so bad about that.’
I stop for a moment by a stone pillar as Nick looks at me, a brooding look to his face, trying to lure me in. I don’t deny there’s a flutter there, as light as a butterfly’s wing, a curiosity. But then flashbacks of our break-up come into view. It’s why I’m toying with him a little.
He continues to glance at me, warmly. ‘How have you not changed in nearly ten years? What’s your secret?’
Korean skincare. The problem is he’s not changed either.
We are just both grown up versions of ourselves.
It’s a strange thing to see him close up, looking this good, this polished, because every other memory I have of him is fuzzy, with him in straight-leg jeans and bobbly woollen jumpers.
‘I drink a lot of water. I don’t date wankers who dump me in pubs anymore. ’
‘Ouch. I possibly deserved that though,’ he sighs, realising that perhaps I have more sense than to bounce back into a flirtation that didn’t end well the first time. He takes a long deep breath. ‘Kay Redman.’
‘Saint Nick,’ I say, a little too softly, but suddenly thinking of what Davinia told me outside that restaurant, about the universe delivering. Well, the universe thinks it’s pretty funny, giving me something secondhand.
He smiles. ‘Highly appropriate that we should have bumped into each other at Christmas then.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Look, I think we should get a drink. Are you free now? Maybe a hot chocolate? With no hope or agenda or anything; it would be nice to chat, to catch up.’
This should be the moment where I say no.
I have a teapot and a glorious Demis Roussos vinyl in my shopping bag.
I can circle back and get some earrings and old poetry books from that stall I walked past earlier.
That would be a power move. To leave him and what we had in the past. That said, in the last hour, my agent told me to go out there and have some fun, she felt so strongly that the universe would deliver.
Nick used to deliver. Quite well, if I remember.
‘One hot chocolate,’ I say.
He smiles again. One drink.