Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Isn’t it strange how at Christmas we all become big fans of light?
Anything that glows and sparkles, we ooh and ahh and watch it, entranced.
Big flashing snowmen sitting on the gables of a house, strands of bulbs hanging off a lamppost, garlands festooned from doorways and windows.
We like it when the season literally glows.
The lights are some special form of festive magic; it’s good for our souls, it helps us get our Christmas on.
I look up now at the trees and I get it, those twinkling lights transport you back to being young and that sense of fascination you had with the world which seems to diminish.
‘Mulled cider, madam?’ A hand reaches out in front of me and I take the cup from Nick, the lights reflecting in the pupils of his eyes. ‘I also got us some bratwurst from a man in lederhosen.’
‘That’s one steamy sausage,’ I tell him, looking down as he attempts to juggle everything.
‘That’s what she said.’
I grin broadly. Old Nick. This season has felt as though we’ve gone through London’s greatest Christmas hits on our dates – from watching The Nutcracker last week, to Harrods to ice skating.
We find ourselves in Kew Gardens tonight, enjoying the illuminations and seeing the place lit up, from towering Christmas trees to archways and installations, sparkling in a kaleidoscope of colours.
Tonight, Nick’s wrapped up in a beanie and puffer coat, and the cold has hit his rosy cheeks.
He beckons me over to a bench and hands me a sausage swathed in mustard and sauerkraut.
I can’t lie. Hot wiener is an excellent idea, the temperatures have dropped considerably and I will take anything to feel a sense of warmth.
I take a bite of mine and immediately wipe away at the remnants of mustard coming out the corners of my mouth to not have a repeat of the hog roast incident.
But then I remember that was with the other Nick.
Jesus Christ, I am mixing my meats here.
That wasn’t with you. I have no feelings for the other Nick at all.
Honestly. I actually can’t think about him because it almost gives me a headache.
The last time we met at that school library, something had changed.
There was open flirting. Possibly. It moved into innuendo and we don’t normally do that.
But then as soon as our time in that school library was over, we went out into the car park, back into his truck and it was as if it never happened.
And so I pushed it all away. I can’t even tell if it’s a spark.
It’s almost like lighting the burner on a hob – it doesn’t spark immediately but when it does, the flame goes out again.
It’s starting to become vaguely frustrating.
It’s almost made me grateful for Old Nick and the comfort I get from knowing we’re into each other and can say that out loud.
I glance over at him now, looking up at the lights in wonder.
‘It’s quite a thing, eh?’ he says.
‘It is. And if I forget to say anything later, I had a very cool time tonight,’ I mutter.
‘Why did you say that in an American accent?’ he asks.
‘I was trying to go all Pretty Woman.’
‘Isn’t Julia Roberts a hooker in that film?’ he asks.
I stick my tongue out at him. Books and films, they’re my currency. Indulge me. There’s a way we sit next to each other which is comfortable, an ease I always have with him. It’s strange how all this time later, that’s not gone away. It’s a jigsaw puzzle where the pieces will always fit.
‘The electricity bill in this place must be off the chain,’ he says, gazing up at the lights. It’s a practical stance, he’s perhaps less entranced by the magic of it all than myself.
‘They must get through a lot of bulbs too.’
‘Very true,’ he says, sipping on his warm cider. ‘How’s that wiener working for you?’
‘It’s delicious.’
He smiles and I return that smile knowingly.
We have been keeping up with the idea of fun, on our dates and in bed.
It is different from our university days – sex back then was scrappy, we went into it with basic knowledge from few partners and were occasionally drunk or stoned.
But now, we’ve learnt things, we are a little more confident in our own skins and skills set.
It’s certainly matured in a lot of ways, we’re enjoying each other, regular orgasms can only be described as fun.
‘It’s very Instagrammable, isn’t it?’ he asks. ‘People are just here for the social media filler, eh?’
We look at a family across the way in matching Christmas hats, all arranging themselves for a selfie. It’s all a perfect picture ready to show the world how happy they are until their mum takes the picture and they all part, one of the children punching the other in the stomach before running off.
‘Well, this is absolutely lovely, Nicky! Delightful! What a wonderful idea!’
I don’t really register the voice at first as I’m still laughing at the two children who are beating each other up but Nick gets up from the bench and my head turns to see two people standing there, one of them in a giant fur hat as if she’s going to visit the Kremlin.
And then I realise who they are. Shite. They’re Nick’s parents.
Marjorie and Lester. I stand up immediately, not knowing what to do with the half-eaten sausage in my hands, glad I did my best to eat demurely.
I haven’t seen these people in, well, nearly a decade.
Such is a break-up, one minute you’re part of a family and the next you don’t see them, you don’t get a chance to say goodbye.
The last time I saw them was for a family birthday party at their house in West Hampstead.
I remember a really good carrot cake and one of my biggest regrets was never getting the recipe for that.
‘And you… how have you not changed in all this time?’ Lester asks, coming in for a hug.
I’ve been ambushed. I really have. I know I’ve met them before, Nick, but it’s your parents and you could have warned me.
You keep giving me mixed messages about what this is.
You said this was fun; this is not fun, this is a relationship milestone where I’ll have to be on my A-game and engage.
I’m wearing one of my tatty old hats, jeans and trainers.
This is not how to make an impression after all this time.
I really need to find a way to get rid of this sausage too.
‘It’s so lovely to see you both,’ I say, looking at Nick who clearly doesn’t understand that this may be awkward for me.
‘Kay, how wonderful. We were so happy to hear you were back in Nick’s life,’ Marjorie says, an eyebrow raised.
Was that sarcasm? She’s a bit posh and her brow carries all her judgement.
‘Don’t let us stop you. Finish your food, sweetheart.
’ I look over at Nick, who seems to have finished his bratwurst, and I do my best to gobble mine down as quickly as possible.
They’re not just ambushing me, they’re watching me eat.
‘Tasty? We were thinking of getting some, weren’t we Lester? ’
I nod, trying my best to get it down me, my throat tight with nerves. I put my thumb up in the air. As they look away, I stare at Nick. What on earth is this? You told me sausage, lights and fun.
‘Mum, Dad… there’s a cabin up there with mulled cider, go get some cups and we’ll meet you there,’ he says, clearing up our things. They stroll away as I swallow the last mouthful, still a little confused as to why they’re here.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nick whispers. ‘I should have…’
‘Said something?’ I’m trying to downplay any threat of a quarrel with a smile.
‘It’s not a big deal,’ he says. ‘You’ve met my parents before.’
‘Yeah but… I would have worn my best trainers,’ I whisper. ‘It’s kind of a big deal, no?’
‘Or not. They always liked you,’ he says casually.
‘But I thought we were having… you know, fun,’ I jest. You don’t meet the parents if you’re just having fun.
I don’t know by which parameters he measures his relationships but fun is sex, low-key dates and trading in memes.
I’ll be honest, were it not for the earrings, I was going to get him a joke Christmas gift – a wind-up Santa or a comedy pair of socks.
Dates involving parents are always going to be a level up from fun.
‘This is fun. Maybe just go with it. Chill. It’ll all be good,’ he says.
As we start walking towards the cider cabin he takes my hand, lights still reflecting off his face.
I look into his eyes. I think the problem here is not being able to read him.
There’s an equivocal look there which I can’t interpret.
Does he want to be more serious? Should I be flattered that he can just introduce me back into his family with such ease?
As we approach Nick’s parents, his mother comes up to him immediately, linking an arm through his and walking away with him. ‘Darling, I have to tell you about John Partridge’s daughter. She went to Thailand and got bitten by a monkey…’
This leaves me with Lester and we traipse along behind them. I never minded Lester but he always gave me labradoodle energy, a lot of bounce but a little clueless. I stare at the back of Nick’s head confused that this is what our date has turned into.
‘I am so glad that you kept your hair,’ Lester says. ‘I always thought you had terrific hair.’
‘You too,’ I say. Yeah, Kay, that wasn’t the right reply there.
This is because I’ve gone into this blind and completely unprepared, but also because he’s certainly lost a bit more hair from when I knew him nearly a decade ago.
He doesn’t know if I’m joking. No Lester, that’s me displaying my wondrous social skills.
‘I mean, there’s no way to get rid of this hair.
It’s literally all I have. It’s how my nana used to find me in crowds. ’
‘What shade is it?’ he asks.
‘I’ve always gone with auburn.’