Chapter 15
‘I think Rich has gone to Paris without me.’
It’s Monday night and I’m in Vandi’s kitchen helping her make Tuscan chicken with orzo. My contribution so far involves skipping songs on Spotify she doesn’t like and topping up her rosé.
Her eyes widen. ‘Why do you think that?’
‘His sister works at a gallery in Paris and I saw something on her Instagram.’
‘What did you see?’
‘His suitcase. Or at least, one that looks like his and happens to be stamped with his initials: R. O. E. B.’
‘Okay, quick sidebar: he’s got two middle names? Bit pretentious.’
‘Richard Orlando Edmund Benson. In his defence, that’s on his parents, not him.’
‘Fine, I’ll give him that. Have you spoken to him yet?’
‘I’ve got nothing to say to him.’
‘Surely you’ve got things you ought to discuss, though. Aren’t you going to see him at work tomorrow?’
‘I don’t want to think about that. Tonight I want to enjoy your fantastic cooking.’
She serves up, and we take our plates and wine to the living room, arranging ourselves cross-legged on the floor.
‘How’s it going at home?’ she asks, as we tuck in.
‘Fine and dandy. Tig’s getting married in three weeks.’
She almost spits out her wine. ‘What? To that guy she’s been seeing for five minutes? Are your parents okay with that?’
‘Sadly, they are because Theo’s a nice Greek boy and he’s a doctor.’
Vandi rolls her eyes. ‘My parents would be exactly the same. “Here’s a nice Hindu doctor, please rush headlong into matrimony, there can’t possibly be anything wrong with him.”’
‘Have they started trying to match-make again?’
‘No, thank God. My life doesn’t need more drama. You’ve given me quite enough, thank you.’
‘Talking of dramatic twists, here’s a fun fact for you. The best man is Mark Marino.’
‘What? No friggin’ way.’
‘He’s Theo’s best friend – they studied medicine together in Leeds.’
She shakes her head. ‘What are the chances?’
‘It gets worse.’ I take a sip of my wine. ‘He’s supposed to be moving to South America but postponed it for the wedding and he’s staying with – of all people – my brother.’
‘Jesus Christ. What was Yan thinking?’
‘He doesn’t know what happened at Leo’s funeral.’
Vandi was the only person I could bear telling.
‘I’m so sorry, Nell.’ She squeezes my arm. ‘Maybe you can avoid him until the day itself?’
‘I saw him last night. He turned up at Tig’s unannounced.’
‘Oh, balls. How was it?’
‘As bad as you can imagine.’
‘What a dickhead. The universe has a perverse sense of humour sending him your way when all this shit is happening with Rich.’
Her words make me stiffen. It’s unintended, but she’s implying that Mark’s arrival is like some sort of karmic balance.
I hurt Leo, and now Rich has hurt me.
Guilt settles like a stone in the pit of my stomach. I drain my glass. With enough wine, maybe I can get the stone to float.
I carry our plates back to the kitchen, and Vandi follows me with the empty wine bottle.
‘I’ll take that to the recycling crate,’ says a deep male voice. ‘I’m on my way out.’
The Doll is standing at the kitchen door.
‘Oh, thanks,’ says Vandi, handing him the empty bottle.
His bright blue eyes crinkle as he smiles. ‘No problem. I’m meeting Jonno at the pub. Join us if you want. I’m sure he’d love having an audience while I demolish him at pool.’
He gives her a wink, nods at me and leaves.
Vandi risks serious injury by rubbernecking him all the way to the door.
When she notices me glaring at her, she huffs.
‘What?’
‘You’ve gone bright red.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ She laughs. ‘Okay, okay, but did you see his flipping jeans? They looked painted on. Christ, it’s a good thing he’s moving out because it’s getting harder and harder to stop myself taking a bite out of his peachy bum.’
Oliver, his muscled thighs, and his biteable backside take up a lot of Vandi’s head space.
‘He’s leaving?’
‘Yeah, he’s moving in with his girlfriend. I told you already, but I forgive you for forgetting to offer me condolences.’
‘Sorry, Vand.’
‘Just be there for me when he leaves. I will be wearing black for a full month, mourning the fact I won’t get to see him stroll in after a hard day’s work landscaping, sweaty, stubbly, jeans straining around those glorious thighs, the top three buttons of his lumberjack shirt undone, then drink a pint of tap water while his Adam’s apple does that obscene swallow-y thing. ’
She stops to enjoy the picture she’s painting, I laugh, but can’t help enjoying it along with her. Delicious really is the only word.
‘Right, washing up,’ I say, snapping back to reality.
I’m scrubbing the saucepan when my phone buzzes with a message on the kitchen counter.
My hands are wet with soap bubbles. ‘Check it, would you, Vand?’
She peers at the screen. ‘It’s a message, but it’s not a number in your contacts. Probably spam?’
‘Can you unlock it and see?’
I always open unknown numbers in case it’s a patient.
The pin is her birthday, a fact that still makes her smile.
‘Okey dokey,’ she says. ‘What do we have—’
She slaps a hand on her mouth.
I turn sharply. ‘Vand?’
Her eyes are wide. ‘So yeah, Rich is definitely in Paris.’
Quickly wiping my hands on my jeans, I take the phone from her.
It’s a photograph from the viewing platform of the Eiffel Tower, where someone has draped a bed sheet over the railing. Painted on it are the words: I love you, Lentil.
I gasp. ‘Oh my God.’
‘There are more,’ she says.
She’s right. The next picture shows Rich standing next to the makeshift banner. Then more pictures arrive, this time blurrier: a uniformed man trying to pull the sheet off, another man dragging Rich away.
‘What the fuck?’ I whisper. ‘Is he being arrested?’
She shakes her head. ‘That’s completely bonkers, but also … kinda romantic? It’s where you met, isn’t it?’
I nod, not knowing what to do. ‘Should I reply?’
Before Vandi has time to answer, another slew of images arrive.
Two green cocktails in martini glasses sitting atop a bar, a grinning accordion player, a Toulouse-Lautrec poster.
I blink to ward off tears. ‘It’s the bar we went to after the Eiffel Tower.’
‘Oh wow,’ says Vandi.
Next is a dizzying photograph taken underneath the Arc de Triomphe. The place we first kissed. Then, the Pyramid at the entrance to the Louvre, followed by a picture of Rich inside the museum staring up at the Venus de Milo, the Cypriot goddess.
She blows out a breath. ‘A whistle-stop tour of the places you went to on your first date? It’s a hell of a gesture.’
My phone lights up – but this time, instead of texting, Rich is calling.
‘What should I do?’ I whisper in panic.
‘Do not answer it,’ says Vandi.
‘I think maybe I should speak to him.’
‘I’ve got a better idea.’