Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
NICK
Nick couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like the waiter might have spilled his drink on purpose. He certainly hadn’t apologised for it, and the glass of lager had been thumped down unceremoniously.
‘Friendly guy,’ he murmured.
‘He was certainly a lot more friendly the last time I was here,’ said Wren, grimacing.
‘Ah. So he thinks I’m competition,’ said Nick, taking a sip of his drink and looking away as he realised that might sound a bit forward. Truth be told, he really did just want to make sure Wren got back safely, and the suggestion of a shared dinner was genuinely out of ravenous hunger, but now he was sitting opposite her, he kept getting flashes of their time in the cave. Floating in the blue water, he was sure there had been a little moment, gone as quickly as it arrived, but it kept coming back to him.
Wren laughed self-consciously, and her hand went to the necklace that lay at her collarbone. She toyed with it, rolling her fingers over a seashell pendant that had pearly stripes. She’d taken her dark hair down from its ponytail, and it hung haphazardly around her face, which was what he thought might be described as heart-shaped. She had round, pink cheeks and blue-green eyes with dark, long lashes.
‘I think he might,’ she said. ‘If only he knew this wasn’t actually a date but a post-traumatic therapy session.’
‘True. And this spaghetti isn’t date food – it’s just medicine.’ He twirled some pasta around his fork and put it in his mouth, slopping sauce down his chin. ‘This is the reason it isn’t date food obviously.’
She raised her glass. ‘Cheers to that. Let’s clink our glasses of tranquilliser and get on with it.’
He tapped his glass against hers and speared some more pasta.
‘Most therapy sessions start with a bit of background information, I would imagine,’ he said. ‘So, Wren, I know you’re from the North East, due to the charming accent, but what brings you to Italy? Travel blogger? Mafia connections?’
She smiled. ‘You’re closer with the first one. Keep guessing.’
‘Um. A writer?’
She nodded. ‘Well done. How about you? What’s your line of work?’
‘Uh-uh. I quite like this game. You have to guess as well.’
She bunched up her nose. ‘Hmm. Marine biologist?’
‘Nope.’
‘Graphic designer?’
‘You’re not even trying. Do these look like the hands of someone who taps on a computer all day, or strokes dolphins or whatever a marine biologist does?’ He held up his hands, which were callused and work-worn, and had the odd nick and scar from altercations with Stanley knives and shards of glass.
‘A clue. Excellent.’ She nodded and stroked her chin like Columbo. ‘A blacksmith?’
Nick was mid-drink and almost spat it out as he laughed. ‘A blacksmith? Sorry, I hadn’t realised I have the air of an extra from Game of Thrones .’
‘I’m just being imaginative,’ she said, shrugging.
‘Well, you’re a writer. You would be.’
‘So, go on, tell me what you do.’
Nick sat back in his chair, nursing his beer glass in both hands. ‘No, no, no. I didn’t get a free pass on my guess. How about I just tell you when you get it right?’
She chewed some pasta, thinking. ‘Or how about this? We have to guess everything about each other, and we can only know the answer when we guess correctly?’
‘I like a challenge,’ he said, feeling an easy grin spread over his face. She was fun. It had been a long time since he’d bantered back and forth with anyone who wasn’t his brother or nanna, which was quite tragic. He was enjoying it.
‘Okay, I’ll have one more try,’ she said. ‘Landscape gardener.’
‘Not even close.’ He dug his fork into a piece of chicken and popped it in his mouth happily. He could do this all night.
They passed a happy half hour exchanging guesses about their identities. Nick successfully guessed that Wren’s favourite colour was purple and that she wasn’t actually here for her writing work, just a holiday. Wren managed to surmise that Nick was a single dad, but she still hadn’t figured out what he did for a job.
She’d just shouted out ‘Set designer for a burlesque show!’ in frustration when he happened to look at his watch. It was ten o’clock. He winced, both at her guess and the time.
‘Wrong again,’ he said. ‘And we might need to call it a day on the guessing. I’d better be getting back.’
‘Oh. Aren’t you going to tell me before you go?’ she said with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Nick was secretly gratified that she looked disappointed.
He shook his head, and perhaps because he was bolstered by a few beers and a lot of laughs, he found the confidence to say, ‘Maybe we could meet up again before we go home? If you like? You can have another go then.’
She hesitated for a moment then nodded. ‘Maybe we could.’
He scrolled his phone to see how he could get to Naples from here. No buses or trains were running at this time of night, unsurprisingly. He opened his Uber app, eyes widening at the price, then switched it off. He’d have to brace himself before he confirmed that pickup.
‘Are you okay? You’ve gone a bit pale.’
He smiled. ‘I’m alright. Just preparing to fund a taxi driver’s second home.’
‘Oh, shit. Is that the only way to get back?’
‘Yeah,’ he said, attempting to sound breezy. It wasn’t her problem after all. ‘To be fair, it is a long way – I should have known. Anyway, I imagine you need to get back too. Can I walk you to your hotel? And I mean that literally – it’s not a line! I did say I’d see you back safe.’
‘Oh no, honestly. It isn’t far from here. Just up the hill.’ She pointed to the hillside behind them, and Nick saw the twinkly lights of lit windows above.
‘I’m guessing there are some pretty isolated paths up that hill though. Please. I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t get back safe. And I owe you one after you tried to save my life today.’ He winked.
She thought for a second. ‘Well, you had every opportunity to drown me in the privacy of that cave, I suppose. So I can probably trust you. Okay. Thank you.’
They asked for the bill, and Nick listened to Wren’s North East accent again. It was a bit more refined than his own, her vowels sounding softer around the edges like a vinyl record compared to his own staccato version, which could cut glass.
‘Where exactly are you from then, Wren?’ he asked, finishing the last of his drink.
‘Well, I suppose you’ll have to guess,’ she said, leaning forward with her arms crossed on the table. Her eyes twinkled with a challenge.
He grinned. ‘The game continues… Okay. What about?—?’
Then, just before he could say another word, the surly waiter returned and slapped a little silver tray in between them bearing a folded bill and a couple of dusty-looking mint imperials. He stood over them, waiting.
Wren pinched her lips between her teeth, obviously trying hard not to laugh as they rustled in their pockets for some cash, and they both placed money on the tray. It was whipped away without comment, and the waiter stalked off.
Their laughter escaped like uncorked champagne. ‘I don’t think we’re getting any change,’ said Wren, wiping her eyes.
Nick laughed. ‘And the offer of mint imperials has been withdrawn. Mind you, it might be for the best. I have a feeling he might have picked out the ones that went off in 2002, just for us.’
The path up the hill was shaded with trees and pitch dark in places. Nick was glad he’d insisted on taking her home. They climbed steadily, swapping jokes about what might have happened if they’d eaten the cursed sweets, until they arrived outside a nice-looking hotel building.
‘Here we are,’ she said, digging her key out of her bag.
‘Here we are.’ Nick put his hands in his pockets. If it hadn’t been a date they were on, it sure felt like one now. The feeling of standing opposite her stirred memories of doorstep kisses from his past, and he reminded himself he was here as a good deed.
There was a moment where they glanced at each other and looked away.
‘I’ll be—’ He was about to finish with ‘off then’, but she spoke over him.
‘Hang on a minute,’ she said, letting her bag fall to her side. ‘I have a few more questions for you. Have you ever been to prison?’
‘Um, no?’
‘Do you have anything illegal on your person? Drugs, knives and so on?’
‘Er, I don’t think so…’
‘And did you vote Leave or Remain in Brexit?’
‘Remain. Obviously.’
She visibly relaxed. ‘Okay. On that basis, do you want to sleep on my sofa? I’ve got spare blankets. So you’re welcome to… if you want?’
‘Are you sure? Really, I don’t want you to feel like you have to…’
‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Don’t pay silly money on a taxi. You can sleep here then do the bus or train in the morning.’
Nick nodded. If he slept on the sofa, it would be no different from sleeping in a youth hostel dorm. Nothing dodgy in that. Although he should probably ask her a question too.
‘Okay, well I have a question for you. Have you ever seen Misery , and have you any aspirations of re-enacting it?’
‘Yes, and no.’
‘Then thank you very much for your hospitality.’
And with that, they went inside.
After some awkward back and forth to the bathroom, and a quick text to Travis to let him know where he was, Nick tucked his rucksack under the sofa and pulled the blanket Wren had found over himself.
Wren came out of the bathroom dressed in pyjamas, and she scurried to get under the covers, smiling awkwardly. ‘Night, then,’ she said, switching off the light.
‘Night,’ he said, still feeling wide awake. He closed his eyes and tried to relax enough to sleep. He was surprised to find that, in the darkness, tiredness stole across him like an energy-sapping thief.
Wren’s voice came sleepily across the room. ‘One last question,’ she murmured. ‘Why did you think you’d brought bad luck to me? You looked like you meant it. In Capri.’
Nick opened his eyes and stared into the darkness for a moment. ‘Ah, it’s nothing. I just had an unlucky day.’
‘Did you get trapped on a chairlift too?’ Her voice sounded so drowsy, it was almost like she was sleep-talking.
Nick blinked hazily. ‘Um, weirdly… yes. Almost. But I’m also looking for someone, and I didn’t find them.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she murmured then paused. ‘Is this part of the guessing game?’
He smiled. ‘If you like.’
‘A friend?’
‘No.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘I don’t have a girlfriend.’ He realised as he said it that he wanted her to know this.
She was quiet for a moment. ‘Um… your mam or dad?’
‘My dad.’
‘I see. Is he lost?’
‘Something like that,’ he said quietly, feeling his eyes start to close.
He pictured the empty restaurant before he drifted off to sleep.