Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
‘Merry Christmas Eve!’ Lester says as he stands in the doorway of Nick’s childhood home, wearing a wonderfully festive dark-green Fair Isle jumper, a glass of something in his hand that very likely contains alcohol.
‘You’re drunk,’ Nick says as he approaches him, giving him a hug.
‘And you’re not. How very disappointing, son. Kay, always a pleasure.’
‘Lester…’
I look up at the big stone doorway in front of us, trying to remember the last time I was in this house.
I am very West London, my family grew up around Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith and my experience was little mews houses and winding streets.
Nick’s a North London boy and West Hampstead was his manor.
I remember when I first told Nana that and she clutched at her fake pearls to tell me I was moving up in the world.
She’s a posh bird now. The thing is, she wasn’t wrong.
Their West Hampstead house has six bedrooms, the sort of terrace that looks unassuming from the outside but inside, it’s a trove of large rooms, modern kitchens, loft conversions and, knowing London prices now carries a market value into the millions.
They know how to do Christmas too. In the bay window sits a large tree, wide and tastefully decorated in gold, just gold.
Garlands are festooned down the stairs and storm jars line the hallways carrying candles with holly and berries.
I look through to see people carrying drinks, the tinkle of tasteful Christmas music in the background.
I reach down for Nick’s hand to find some reassurance and am grateful when he squeezes it back.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he says, pulling my hand up to kiss it gently.
Last night, Nick’s magic worked. It was almost what I needed, a gentle evening with him to reconnect and not be bedazzled by big dates and venues, to just chat, laugh and have faith that we were brought back together for a reason.
And we did have sex back at his flat and it was perhaps less frenzied than before, it was tender and sweet and it led to us waking up together, getting ready to come here with all our gifts, almost like, dare I say it, a proper couple.
‘Uncle Phil!’ Nick says as we walk into the living room, removing our coats and scarves and embracing the warmth of the fire roaring in the hearth.
‘Nicholas, you rascal! Come here!’ I think I’ve met Uncle Phil. I think he’s the investment banker who is very competitive when it comes to Monopoly. He’s a large hirsute man, a fan of corduroy it would seem and he shifts his gaze to me.
‘I believe you may know Kay?’
‘Christ, I think I do.’ He jolts his head to look at me and back to Nick. ‘It must be years since we last saw you!’ he roars.
‘Nearly ten to be precise, how are you?’ He comes in to hug me and I now remember him as the uncle whose hands dip a little too low when he hugs.
We part but I can’t quite read that look in his face.
Disapproval, or maybe he’s just shocked to see me after all this time?
Either way, I put on my happy social face as I’m accosted by several other aunts, uncles, cousins, Lester’s boss, Marjorie’s best friend from university and a bloke called Calvin who I couldn’t hear but I think he’s either a neighbour or a Labour MP.
When I finally make it into the kitchen to see Marjorie, she’s wearing a black velvet cocktail dress, low-dernier tights and a sensible heel, a red cocktail in her hand.
I seem to live in jumpsuits at the moment and went a bit sparkly for the season.
I don’t think it’s too much but I see her eyes scan me up and down.
There’s something about her smile which still doesn’t sit right with me.
‘I never understand how jumpsuits work,’ she says. I’m not sure how you reply to that. Well, Marjorie, you step into them and zip them up. ‘How are you, Kay? Welcome.’
I glance around the kitchen trying to remember this place. There used to be a big oak table in the middle with benches, possibly pushed back for the purposes of the party, but they still have an AGA and a big wall of family pictures, a rogues’ gallery of all the Coles in one place.
‘I’m glad to be here. You look lovely.’
‘Thank you…’ She looks past me to see Nick still grappling with bags of gifts. ‘Oh, Nick, put those in the front room,’ she says.
‘The front room is packed, Mum. Is there room in here?’ I look around, every single space seems to be taken with bottles of drink and glass crates.
‘Maybe in your dad’s office?’ Marjorie says. ‘But before you do, come and say hello to Sally. Do you remember she used to teach you the oboe?’
I smile. He played the oboe? This is news to me. I let him through before stepping in. ‘Come, let me,’ I say, putting my hands to his. ‘Your dad’s office is in the basement, yes?’
‘You’re an angel,’ he says quietly.
‘I know, Mr Oboe.’
I take the gift bags, shuffling through the corridor.
It is strange how this place brings back a semblance of memory even though I must have been in here only a few times.
I remember seeing his childhood bedroom and its dark-blue carpet, a garden space where his mother grew herbs and the way they had a lot of hand towels in their downstairs bathroom. I never got that.
But I remember his dad’s office was through a small door to the basement, not somewhere I have entered before in this house but I head down the stairs with the gift bags, trying not to lose my footing.
If anything, it’s a good chance to just readjust myself after that bombardment of an entrance.
Breathe, Kay. I spy a mirror and have a scan to see if anything is out of place, in case Uncle Phil was looking at an errant boob.
Nothing. I put down the bags and have a peep inside.
There’s a hamper of sourdough crackers and cheese that seems to have unravelled in the bag so I take it out and tie the ribbon again, taking out the gifts that surround it.
But as I do, my attention is drawn to a small box.
One I recognise because I wrapped it. It’s the pendant that Nick got for his sister.
I am very good at wrapping if I say so myself.
I think it’s my attention to the corners and the folding.
I don’t want this to get crushed though so I put it to one side, suddenly noticing the label.
N&N x
I take a moment to process what that means.
Because his sister is called April. Is it a strange sibling joke?
Possibly. I stare at it for a moment too long and then put it back in the large bag of gifts, heading back to the party.
As soon as I re-emerge from that door, back into the hallway, I step right back into Christmas. I take a deep breath to compose myself.
‘You’re Kay! I remember you,’ someone says to my right.
I look at the person talking and I feign surprise to see Nick’s cousin, Sean, standing there holding a drink.
Everyone is holding drinks and I feel I need to get in on the act here.
He reaches out for the obligatory double kiss to the cheek.
I remember Sean as we went drinking together once.
He was the sort of drunk who necked Sambuca shots and used to drool like an old dog.
My memory really does work in strange ways.
‘Sean.’ Sean has already engaged in a lot of alcohol this evening it would seem, given the way that he seems to be leaning at strange angles against a wall that doesn’t appear to be there. ‘Wow, you look… great.’
‘That’s very kind. You look…’
‘Exactly the same.’ All this time has passed and he still hasn’t updated his schoolboy haircut. Interesting. I’m going to predict that he works in the Middle East, isn’t attached and drives a Tesla. ‘How are you?’
‘Well, you know…working out in Dubai now, having the time of my life…’ Bingo.
‘Good to be back in ol’ Blighty for Chrimbo though.
’ I forgot he’s also incredibly posh. And short.
Or maybe I’ve grown. ‘God, when Nicky told me you were back on the scene, I was gobsmacked. I never thought we’d see you again,’ he says, in loud, brash tones.
‘I am just as surprised,’ I say. Seriously, where is the alcohol in this place?
‘I mean, after everything that happened, I didn’t think he’d move on that quickly.’
Hold that thought, Sean. I stand there, Nick in the corner of my eye as he’s still chatting to Sally who taught him the oboe. ‘Move on?’
‘You know? From Neve?’
I reach round to the kitchen and grab a glass and half a bottle of champagne. It’s time to drink. I top up Sean’s glass.
‘Rumour was her parents dropped thirty grand on that wedding.’
Wedding. The air sticks in my throat. Short sips, Kay. That will mean I don’t miss any of the details. I still keep Nick in my line of sight.
‘That’s a lot of money,’ I say.
‘Yeah, especially when the bride doesn’t turn up,’ he whispers loudly.
I take another sip of champagne. Maybe I should just drink straight from the bottle.
‘He was broken, you know? I tried to get him out to Dubai for a change of scene but I think he stayed in London to pine. I still can’t believe they work for the same company.
’ And an image suddenly jolts into my head of an icy blonde who looked me up and down at the entrance of the Natural History Museum.
A girl who was rude to the staff and who didn’t seem particularly happy to see me.
I knew at the ballet that I’d seen her somewhere before.
And she was so incredibly cold and dismissive there.
The way Nick was so aggressively rude about her.
‘But you know she’s always had that effect on him, he followed her to New York all those years ago, like a bloody puppy. ’
Oh dear. Maybe now’s the time to get real, to think about working on ourselves.
Those words echo in my head from the time we first broke up.
None of that was true, was it? There was someone else.
And if he went out to New York to be with her then that means for the last eight years, she’s been a fixture in his life. I really am some special sort of idiot.
‘I can’t believe they’d been together for all that time,’ I say. I can’t believe I’m still able to stand here and hold this conversation so calmly.
‘Right? So when I saw those pictures on social media of you and him together, I thought, OK, my boy is finally growing a pair and getting over that bitch.’
‘Pictures?’ I ask.
‘Yah, there was one which was WOW, I can’t believe he’s saying that.
’ He gets out his phone to show me a Facebook photo from a few weeks back at the ballet.
It’s the first time I’m seeing it, maybe because I don’t do social media too regularly but also because he’s not tagged me.
It’s a photo of me outside the building, walking away.
The caption below reads: An old love in a new tradition x It’s not wholly inaccurate except we’ve not really used the word love around each other.
‘He proposed to her at the ballet. In New York. It was on her birthday in January, a couple of years ago.’
All of the realisations start to settle like a thick dusting of snow, the music and chatter from the party fades into silence, and I let out a resigned and strangely calm exhalation. ‘Which makes her birthstone garnet, yes?’
‘I guess. I’m not really into that shit. I’m a Taurus if that matters?’
‘N&N,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Thank you, Sean,’ I say.
I glance over into the kitchen and see Nick standing there, still chatting. He catches my eye for a second and we exchange a look. Yes, you are good looking, there is charm and attraction there, but now its effects are almost vanishing, a mist is clearing.
You OK? he mouths.
The thing is I think I am. Despite the revelation that’s been put at my door in the last five minutes, I feel weirdly calm and am strangely relieved.
No wonder there was hesitation all along, because on paper this was lovely, but deep down I knew that it didn’t work out the first time for good reason.
Shame on me, I guess, for romanticising any of it, for shifting my focus to what worked as opposed to what didn’t, for believing any of what that na?ve young twentysomething of me felt for this man.
‘And so I turned down Riyadh, I may do Bahrain next. Everyone is going to Singapore but who knows?’
I turn to Sean who’s still talking. I don’t think I asked, babe, but I smile politely.
‘Exactly. Sean, could you be a doll and get me one of those mini quiche things? I need something to soak up the alcohol.’
‘Right-o,’ he says.
I wait until he disappears then head down to the basement office again.
I don’t know what to do. I can’t stay. I don’t doubt that Nick upstairs likes me.
We’ve had sex, he’s been generous and reasonable company, but I know now he doesn’t love me.
I think I may have been a rebound, someone to fill a gap and possibly make Neve jealous.
The ballet, eh? At least that was fun though.
I’d never been to the ballet. And it’s then I suddenly think of the other Nick.
And I realise I shouldn’t refer to him now as the other Nick. Maybe he was always the only Nick.
I need to get out of here, don’t I? I hear the doorbell upstairs and more guests being greeted.
I don’t think I would be too conspicuous slipping out now, but then I also don’t want to cause a scene at somebody else’s party.
It should be a quiet departure, I should slink out of here.
I look around. There’s a window that leads out onto the street.
Through there maybe? I look at the angles of it to see if I would fit. That could work.
I grab a chair from the desk and step onto it, holding the window open as I push my coat out first. This will be easy, just push myself up and slide through, like some Cirque du Soleil contortionist. Girl, you’ve fit through a Christmas tree netting machine before, you can do this.
I suck in my stomach and hoist myself up, putting my head through the window, the cold air prickling my face.
But something’s wrong. Is it the angle? Is it my boobs?
I try and push myself through. Please. No.
I kick my legs like a small child. You’re not underwater, you don’t need propulsion, you need a crowbar.
And just like that, a shrill alarm suddenly sounds in my ear, and I hear footsteps down the stairs to the basement.
Shit.