2
LONDON
The Boyfriend
‘Jesus, Nate.’
Victoria put down her overnight bag, threw her coat on a chair and reached to turn down the radio, from which the Pussycat Dolls were blaring out at full volume. The kitchen sink was overflowing with unwashed glasses, dishes and pans. The draining board was empty, apart from an ashtray that was bulging with cigarette butts.
At just five feet two, with a petite frame, soulful blue eyes, neat appearance, and hair that cascaded like a waterfall of mahogany waves down her back, Victoria was the antithesis of her tall, gangly partner, who, with messy chestnut hair and full lips, had appeared in the doorway yawning loudly, wearing only a pair of snug black boxers.
Victoria tutted. ‘It’s three o’clock. Don’t tell me you’ve just got up.’
‘Give me a break, Vic. I haven’t had a weekend off in months, and I’m on a straight seven after today.’ Nathaniel Carlisle’s usually light Cumbrian accent strengthened.
Embracing her, he leant down to kiss the head of his girl. ‘So, how was Katherine?’
‘Katherine was pissed.’
‘The whole time?’
‘Yep.’ Vic sighed heavily. ‘My fault on Friday, though, as I felt I had to drink wine to get through it myself.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Nate held her tightly.
‘Tell me about it. I’m not sure how I managed to stay the two nights, but the place was in a mess, as usual, so I cleared up and took Chandler on a couple of decent walks to the river. It’s just so depressing that she won’t help herself.’
He lowered his head to kiss her. Vic quickly pulled away. ‘Ew, Nate! You stink of beer, sweat and cigarettes.’
‘Hmm. A desirable combination.’ He grinned boyishly. ‘And I did tell you to stay home. We’re like ships that pass in the night, lately.’
Vic smiled back at him apologetically. ‘I wish I had. I fell for the guilt trip. She sounded sober when I last spoke to her. Promised me she was off it. And when I got there, she proceeded to be vile and tell me that I was always the bridesmaid.’ Vic made a little groaning noise. ‘She’s like Jekyll and Hyde when she’s drinking.’
‘I’m sorry it was so awful.’ Nate squeezed her arm, then went to the fridge. ‘When’s Mandy’s hen do, anyway?’
‘Next weekend. I could do with it being the week after. I haven’t arranged any sort of surprises yet and, being head bridesmaid, that’s my job, evidently.’
‘So I’ll be home all alone again,’ Nate said dramatically, levering the top off his Budweiser and pulling a piteous face. ‘Although I’ll be working for most of it.’
‘Exactly.’ Vic shook her head at him. ‘And it was you who chose to take on the most anti-social job in the world.’
‘Yes, and I’m still not sure if it’s what I want to do. I feel caged. It’s a cool restaurant, but when I’m out the back in that steaming kitchen, I could be at a Michelin star place or at Nando’s. It makes no difference to me. And I can’t see me becoming a head chef anytime soon. The money’s shite for the hours I do, too.’
‘Oh, Nate.’ Vic started to busy herself by clearing the washing-up bowl.
‘What does “Oh, Nate” mean? Please don’t start on me. And leave that – it’s my mess. I’ll sort it later.’
Feeling a twinge of guilt for laying into Nate, who despite working ridiculously long hours did usually pull his weight in the flat, Vic turned off the hot tap and squeezed his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Boo. I’m just agitated after the weekend I had. I looked at Mum before I left. She’s sixty-one now, which isn’t in any way old, and I can’t see her ever giving up the booze. I reckon she’ll continue the same old routine, doing the same cleaning jobs until she’s so unfit she can’t. She’ll sit on the same old sofa, poisoning herself and watching the same crap TV for the rest of her life. It’s such a waste. What if I end up like her?’
‘What the fuck, Vic? Listen to me. You’re the one who tells me that we’re all in charge of our own destiny. You’re doing well in your job, you have great friends, and most importantly, you have me.’ Nate’s eyes smiled at her. ‘I do love you, you know.’
‘I know, but we’re thirty-five and still live in a one-bedroom rented flat in Wandsworth.’
‘Oh, Vic. Not this again. Most couples our age are in exactly the same situation.’
As Vic emptied the filthy ashtray into the bin, her subconscious spoke up without warning. ‘It’s not just that, is it?’
‘What is it then, baby girl? Talk to me.’
Vic let out a funny little anguished groan. ‘I’m too tired to do anything now. And you will remember to ask for the weekend off for Mandy’s wedding, won’t you?’
‘What date is it again?’
‘Nate! I’ve told you so many times.’ Vic tutted. ‘And what happened here?’ She picked up her art easel, which was lying on the floor, and propped it against the kitchen wall in its rightful place. Nate shrugged. ‘And it’s next month, the nineteenth of November. The wedding, that is.’
Nate screwed up his face. ‘Weird time of year to be getting married, isn’t it?’
‘I know. Her brother’s flying over from New York, and it was the only time he could fit in around his work, or something.’
‘I’ll try and get it off but no promises, all right?’
She rounded on him. ‘Really?! It’s my best mate’s wedding, for Christ’s sake.’
Nate took a slurp of beer and laughed. ‘I’m teasing you, little one.’ As he kissed the back of her neck, Vic wriggled, giggled, then pulled away. ‘I’ll be there. But for now, how about I have a shower and then me and my moody little Sharpie can make some much needed lurve.’
Vic groaned. As much as she still did fancy him, she really wasn’t in the mood for sex. In fact, she had been so stressed about her mother and worrying about the future, she hadn’t been in the mood for it a lot lately. Realising that she was beginning to run out of excuses, she frantically thought back to when she’d last been menstruating. ‘I’ve got my period, Nate. Sorry.’
‘ Quelle surprise .’ Nate turned up the radio. Victoria’s jaw clenched as he began singing along to the Arctic Monkeys, then he stopped, and said, ‘No betting required here, I know you look good on the dance floor. Ruthie at work said she thought I looked a bit like a more rugged version of Alex Turner, too. I’ll take that.’ He started dancing around her. ‘Love this track!’ Nate gently smacked his girlfriend’s bottom, headed for the bathroom and shouted back, ‘At least come and join me in the shower.’
Who the fuck is Ruthie – or Alex Turner, for that matter? Vic thought as she turned off the radio and resumed washing up.
It would be six years this Christmas since she had first met her quirky boyfriend in the queue at McDonald’s in Waterloo station. They were both drunk, had simultaneously ordered a Big Mac meal with ‘fat Coke’ and then proceeded to chat about the joy that was McDonald’s after a bender and the hell that was families at Christmas. He had insisted that she write her number on a serviette, which she had thrown back at him as she sprinted for the platform to find the train that would take her home to Windsor. And the rest was history.
She had been twenty-nine then, and had just moved back in with her mum after breaking up with Steady Stuart, an accountant five years her senior, who created spreadsheets to back up spreadsheets and who had insisted they had sex on the same days at the same time every week. They also had a weekly meal planner stuck on the fridge. Initially, she had liked having spaghetti bolognese every Monday and doggy style on a Saturday, for it created the order that she had never had growing up. And it helped that Stuart was extremely good-looking and hung like a racehorse. But after two years, she realised that she had just been desperate to make it work. That the magic had never been there, and as much as she craved order, order had never really craved her. And that as much as size did matter, spreadsheets did not.
Prior to that, her love life had mainly been drunken flings followed by prolonged periods of being single where she would flit on and off match.com, not really knowing what she wanted apart from occasional no-strings sex.
The spontaneity of Nate had been just the tonic she had needed after Steady Stuart. They were opposites in every way. Nate had been working at a call centre when she had first met him, then went on to be a garage forecourt attendant, a delivery man and recently a pot washer promoted to sous-chef at a restaurant in Putney. He paid his way – well, a two-thirds-to-one-third ratio on the rent, as she earned more than him. Their once-regular holidays together now consisted of Nate going away on some kind of annual mountain-biking holiday with his mates, whilst she’d have a spa break with the girls. Then, as Nate respected that his girl preferred sitting on a quiet quay or beach and painting to partaking in the more energetic pursuits that he enjoyed, together they would have the odd weekend or week somewhere picturesque and hot. So, with compromise, everything had been ticking along nicely. Until Mandy had announced her upcoming nuptials, that was.
Vic got into bed and plumped up her top pillow. Nate was already in and fiddling about with his iPod. He didn’t move or look at her as he spoke. ‘We used to always have a shower together on a Sunday night.’
Vic snuggled into his side and kissed him on the cheek. ‘I know. I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied lately.’
‘I do sometimes wonder if you still love me,’ Nate replied solemnly.
Vic sat up abruptly and propped herself up on her elbow. ‘Where’s all this come from?’
Nate continued with his music search. Victoria put her hand over the screen, and he batted away her hand, frowning. ‘Vic, stop it.’
‘Boo, look at me.’ Victoria’s voice had softened.
Nate turned to face her and gave one of his sexy lopsided smiles that still made her heart skip a beat. ‘What’s up, my little Sharpie?’
She gave him a quick peck on the lips. ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, Boo. You know I do.’
‘Are you trying to convince yourself of that, or me?’ Vic stayed silent as he continued. ‘I tell you what, let’s promise that after Mandy’s hen weekend, we make more time for us. OK?’
Vic nodded.
‘A date night at least once a month, and we start having our Sunday showers again.’ He began to tickle her. ‘Or how about we cut out the middleman and have a Sunday shag right now?’
Vic squealed and wriggled away from him. ‘Oh, baby. I told you. I’m knackered and it’s day one of coming on and…’
‘It’s OK, I can wait.’ Nate kissed her nose. ‘But be warned: it’ll be the longest shower you’ve ever had. Or saying that, maybe the quickest.’ He laughed aloud. ‘Come on, let’s get some sleep.’
Vic snuggled back down under the covers and held Nate tightly to her, covering his back with butterfly kisses as she did so. There was no doubt she loved him – but in what capacity? She realised too that on top of worrying about her relationship and family troubles, she couldn’t shake the niggling discontent that her conversation with Jake about not fulfilling her potential as an artist had fuelled. And she had no idea how she was going to address any of it.
*
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