Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
‘So basically, I’ve entered the season of Nicks,’ I say to Lucy as she leans her elbows on the restaurant table grinning at me.
‘It’s just one of those names, isn’t it? Like Tom or Sam. You don’t register when there’s more than one,’ Lucy says, unbothered that I’m being plagued by men of the same name during this festive season. There must be a festive message in all of this.
‘Miss Kay, long time no see,’ Jin, the waiter, says in welcoming tones.
‘You say that, Jin, but I was in here last week,’ I joke, and he laughs, the Santa hat on his head slipping down over his brows. ‘This is my friend, Lucy.’
He looks at me confused. ‘Miss Kay, did you fall in a bush?’
I obviously didn’t shake my hair out hard enough or should have taken up Nick’s offer of a horse brush, plus I am a little sore, battered and torn. A brief visit to the bathroom beforehand showed that I also have a large purple bruise appearing on my thigh the size of a steak.
‘Kind of but I have lived to tell the tale.’ My use of idioms is throwing him.
‘Then I am happy you are alive. You ready to order?’ he asks.
‘A Tsingtao for the lady, jasmine tea for me, some dumplings and two of the stewed beef noodles, extra chilli oil on mine.’
‘Perfect.’ He nods and takes his leave. I do love this place.
It’s round the corner from my flat, open all sorts of hours to account for the hospital staff in the vicinity, and is authentically Chinese.
From the very basic décor, the chopsticks piled in a container in the middle of the table, the white paper tablecloths – the sole nod to Christmas being a lot of tinsel – and a Santa figurine at the bar next to one of those nodding gold cat statues.
Given tonight’s events, I’ve also realised I haven’t really eaten much except canapés, a ginger biscuit and two stolen crispy M I think it’s won foodie awards.
And then they have this nursery, fruit picking in the summer, they grow flowers…
it’s all very fucking wholesome,’ Lucy says sneeringly.
Lucy, since I’ve known her, has never really bought into the idea of wholesome.
She prefers a life of adventure and experiences, so I can see how someone like Nick doesn’t really appeal.
‘And Nick makes furniture or something. I don’t know. I’m only ever there in December.’
‘To get your free turkey…’
‘Exactly.’ She studies my face as Jin brings a plate of extremely crispy-looking dumplings to the table.
I tap my chopstick to the underside of one and a happy feeling runs up my spine.
‘How you met is a meet-cute for the ages though. He cut me out of a Christmas tree netting funnel. He was dressed as Santa. We could play the video at your wedding reception,’ she says, laughing.
I hit her with my napkin, telling her to help herself to a dumpling before they get cold. ‘They make them fresh, they’ve got chives and prawn in them.’
She reaches over, looking me in the eye. ‘I can make that happen you know, if you want to go there?’
‘I don’t,’ I say.
‘Or if you’re into Nicks this season, my mate, Eve, has a dad called Nick. You could make it a thing.’
‘Is he fit?’
‘He’s in his sixties. Cracking paunch.’
I choke on a bit of ginger as she draws a heart in the misted window of the restaurant and writes the name Nick in it. I spy it there curiously. She then draws a cock and balls because that’s what Lucy does.
As my jumpsuit is ripped and my thigh is starting to throb with pain, I call it a night after noodles, leaving Lucy to call herself an Uber to take her to a party in Peckham.
It’s been an eventful evening that I think calls for a bath and a cup of herbal tea to cleanse my system of alcohol.
I also have Christmas Lindt that was meant for someone else that I can jump into.
I don’t know what it means when the prospect of getting cosy under a duvet with chocolate and pyjamas is exciting.
I may break open the fluffy socks, a hot-water bottle and a film.
Home Alone. If it’s good enough for Santa…
I’ve been living in Nana’s maisonette since she left, and I’ve grown to love this little terrace off the main road, cobbled and made up of different-coloured doors.
The maisonettes inside are small but have enough character to make up for it, and at Christmas, we all put in the effort to ensure the exterior lights are all hanging from pillar to lamppost to make this little corner of London all the more magical.
As I walk up to my red front door though, I see something outside, a round shadow.
I walk up to it curiously and notice it’s a large bouquet of roses, sitting there with a note addressed to me.
I go and pick it up, opening the envelope.
I’m sorry x.
I sigh deeply, my breath clouding the cold air. There are at least thirty red roses here.
‘I really am sorry,’ a voice says from the shadows.
‘MUUAGRH!’ I scream, and Nick emerges from the darkness. Museum Nick. ‘We are in London. You don’t do that, I could have…’
Nick stands there laughing. ‘Made a very funny guttural noise?’
‘Attacked you with my front door key? Like a ninja,’ I say. I stand there for a moment as my panic dies down. ‘What are you doing here, Nick?’ I ask, a slightly pained expression on my face to see him, his bow tie loose around his collar.
‘I wanted to apologise in person for tonight,’ he says, walking towards me. ‘After you went to the bathroom, I got caught up with the senior execs. I had to go and help a colleague who was crazy drunk and got very ill. I had to call a driver, get him home which is why I went MIA.’
I listen to his explanations quietly. It’s a reasonable excuse, I guess, and I start to feel guilt that, in his perceived abandonment, I walked away thinking the worst of him.
‘I’m sorry I left. I had waited and walked around for an hour. You didn’t reply to my texts,’ I say, and he scrunches up his face, letting me know he feels bad about the situation. ‘It was also not really my scene. There’s only so many shares and investments a girl can handle, you know.’
He laughs again, heartily. You see, this Nick understands your comedic value. ‘I know. Finance people are not very good at partying. It did get better as the night went on.’
‘Did people actually dance?’
‘Oh, we moved on to liquid assets and venture capitalism.’
I giggle under my breath. ‘Thrilling.’
‘It was the wrong sort of place to have a date and I am very sorry I left you,’ he says.
‘I seriously thought you’d dumped me in the most spectacular fashion,’ I jest.
‘But why would I do that?’ He steps closer to me.
‘When I’ve just found you again.’ I feel a breath catch in my chest to hear those words, the romance of it in the low lights in the street.
He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I like you, Kay. It feels easy to be with you, even after all this time. Do you feel that too?’
I nod quietly. ‘It feels like…’ I want to say ‘home’ without it sounding corny, but there’s a strange comfort I get from being around him. He reminds me of a time when life was more fun, less complicated, and it’s warming to feel that at a time when my idea of home is so confused. ‘It feels nice.’
‘Only nice?’ he whispers, tilting his head, taking my hand in his.
I grin but his expression suddenly changes when I walk more into the light and he sees that my jumpsuit is ripped. Don’t look at my hair. I didn’t realise my curls had this much capacity to hold so many pine needles. ‘Shit. Did you fall?’
I pause for a moment, wondering how to explain this.
No, I went to the outskirts of Greater London and visited a Christmas tree farm, I then fell through a netting machine and got rescued by a hot Santa, also called Nick.
‘I may have tripped outside the museum and fallen into a Christmas tree,’ I say.
‘Those negronis were potent.’ His face immediately shifts to concern and care, and I pout.
‘I’m fine. I got fixed up. I found food.
Seriously, how long have you been waiting out here? ’
He shrugs his shoulders and puts his hands in mine.
Long enough to potentially develop frostbite.
I look up at him. This is very confusing.
I left that museum tonight thinking this was done.
We are from different worlds. We had our moment.
It’s done. But he’s here, with a large bouquet of roses, wanting to apologise, still looking pretty damn sexy in that tux.
I’m also not the sort of person to turn away someone in this cold.
‘Better pick up those flowers and come in then, eh?’ I say.
‘Are you sure?’ he says.
I lean over and kiss him on his cold cheek, my body folding into his, still loving how familiar and magnetic that feels. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Do you want a hot-water bottle?’ I ask him.
‘Sexy.’
‘I thought so.’