Chapter Five
I lay in bed with Nick snoring softly next to me.
He didn’t snore at home because if he did, I’d go as far as to say I would have been reluctant to move in with him.
I was a bad sleeper at the best of times, but tossing and turning with someone snorting and snuffling in my ear all night had been next-level torture.
I was now in that horrible limbo where I was too exhausted to get up, but not tired enough to actually sleep.
I thought it must be morning, although the curtains were so thick, I couldn’t tell if it was light outside or not.
Nick stirred next to me.
‘What time is it?’ he mumbled.
It was the first time he’d woken since his head had hit the pillow at just gone midnight.
I envied him the ability to sleep anywhere.
He’d managed to sleep through most of the train journey from Paris to Turin too, which had wound me up no end.
It was all right for him: he’d practically woken up and we were there!
I, on the other hand, had fidgeted around for hours on end, tried and failed to get into a new book and made endless, pointless journeys to the ‘buffet car’, which was essentially a vending machine full of disappointing sandwiches and Italian biscuits.
I must have had at least five cups of weak, black tea, just for something to do.
‘Quarter past seven,’ I whispered. ‘Go back to sleep.’
Yep, not only did Nick sleep like a baby all night, but he loved long, luxurious lie-ins when he got the chance.
I did too, sometimes, but not if I had something on my mind.
Like Aidan, who had been flashing in and out of my thoughts for hours now.
If I was here on my own, I would have left the hotel immediately so that I never had to see him again.
I’d worked hard to stop thinking about him.
It had been overwhelming at first, a sort of loss, I supposed, even though we’d only been together for just over a month.
Other than Lou, I’d never told anyone how crap I’d felt when he’d left because I knew it sounded ridiculous – how could I have been that upset about a ‘relationship’ ending after four weeks?
And yet, I’d had no control over it – I’d wished and wished that I could just chalk it up to experience; could have told myself that he clearly wasn’t the person I thought he was and therefore I’d had a lucky escape.
But nothing had worked, not for months. Meeting Nick had helped, but not entirely.
And now here was Aidan, throwing a spanner in the works yet again.
I was incensed, if the truth be told. Stupid Aidan and his stupid charming personality and his ridiculously handsome face.
With any luck, he’d have bolted overnight, too scared to confront me – and the truth – about what had happened between us and why he’d morphed into a different person overnight.
Nick pulled me into his arms. I tried to relax into them. You’re with Nick now, I told myself. You are safe and loved and getting married.
‘How did you think last night went?’ he asked softly, stroking his fingers up and down my leg.
‘OK,’ I said.
This was my chance. I’d been wondering when – if – I should mention Aidan to Nick, and this would be the perfect opportunity to slip it in. A sort of: the evening was great, but I was kind of thrown by seeing my ex-boyfriend sitting at the table behind us.
‘You were pretty quiet,’ said Nick.
‘I didn’t think I was.’ Anyway, what was wrong with being quiet? I hated it when people used that as a veiled insult. Were we all supposed to be guffawing loudmouths like Sophia?
‘You weren’t letting my mother intimidate you, were you? She’s quite a … strong character.’
That was one way of putting it. And what did that even mean? In my opinion, it was perfectly possible to be a strong woman and to not be rude. To be a strong woman and to not assume your opinions were always right. It seemed like a lame excuse for not caring about upsetting other people.
‘She didn’t intimidate me,’ I said truthfully.
I just didn’t think she was very nice, that was all, but I could hardly say that to Nick, could I? My vibes were at play again and let’s just say I was picking up on a LOT of negative ones.
I cleared my throat lightly. ‘Does Sophia always talk to Daisy like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘You know … snippy. Like Daisy can’t do or say anything right.’
I was having to tread carefully, but I’d actually found it really uncomfortable to watch. Daisy wasn’t the easiest person to be around at times, but that was teenagers for you, wasn’t it? And if I could clearly see that she was struggling to find her footing with Sophia, how come Nick couldn’t?
‘It’s not easy being a single mum,’ said Nick. ‘I only have Daisy every other weekend, so most of it falls to her. And she’s not the most patient person.’
Nick had worked his way around so that his fingers were now trailing up the inside of my thigh.
‘Did you know she was coming?’ I asked, burying my face in the soft, fleshy part of his shoulder.
He was silent for just a few moments too long. He knew.
‘It wasn’t definite. But then she does business in Florence, sometimes, so it made sense for her to combine the two.’
‘Right.’
‘Do you mind?’
My instinct was to reassure him. To tell him that it was a little awkward at first, and that she probably felt the same, but that, no, it didn’t matter at all.
But then I thought about what Lou always said to me about standing up for myself and I decided to tell him how I really felt for once.
I’d test the waters. See how it went down.
‘I think that, yes, I do mind,’ I said.
Silence.
See, this was why I avoided conflict at all costs.
‘That she’s here, or that I didn’t tell you?’ asked Nick.
He’d taken his hand off my thigh and had rolled over onto his back with his hands behind his head. I must have really annoyed him. Oh well, I’d started this – there wasn’t much I could do about it now.
‘Both,’ I replied.
Nick sighed. I braced myself for him to flip out.
‘You’re right, I’m sorry. I should have given you a heads-up that she was going to be here,’ he said.
Oh.
‘Mum insisted on her coming, if the truth be told. When we separated, Mum was devastated. Sophia had been like a second daughter to her, and they’re so similar.
Tabitha – my sister – has always been in her own little world.
She and mum never really saw eye to eye.
But Mum and Sophia … they’re alike. They’re into the same things, I suppose. ’
‘Like what?’
‘Oh I don’t know. Fashion. Shopping. Interior design. They go to Wimbledon together every year.’
‘Don’t tell me, Centre Court, front row?’ I teased.
‘Usually,’ he said, without a hint of irony.
Top-priced tickets were clearly a given for Nick’s family.
‘But, yeah, I should have given you some warning. Can you forgive me?’ he asked.
I felt a little sliver of annoyance, but it wasn’t worth ruining the day over.
‘I already have,’ I said, kissing him lightly on the mouth. Then I rolled over and got out of bed. ‘I might get up. Go for an early walk.’
I’d spent a lot of time on my own when I was younger and so being in a group felt overwhelming sometimes.
It was a running joke with my friends and family that I’d often make an excuse to slope off and have a bit of a recharge.
Maybe I’d have a cup of coffee somewhere – I was sure I remembered reading something about the hotel having a roof terrace.
It was a bit of a risk, because what if I bumped into Aidan, who was the very last person I wanted to see?
He might have changed, of course, but he’d never been able to sleep, either.
He’d always been up before me; loved getting out in the fresh air before everyone else.
I eyed the video camera I’d put on the desk. Perhaps I should take it. Much as I didn’t feel like working for no money at seven in the morning, if I passed somewhere particularly evocative, it seemed a shame not to capture it on camera.
‘Don’t leave,’ said Nick, mock pathetically.
He grabbed my hand, pretending to refuse to let it go. I laughed lightly, pulling it gently away.
‘I can’t sleep anyway,’ I told him. ‘I’ve been awake for hours already.’
‘Are you sure you’re OK about this whole Sophia thing?’ he asked, turning over and getting comfortable, scrunching into the foetal position.
He was so going to go back to sleep.
‘I’m sure,’ I said.
I heard his breathing deepen, watched the rise and fall of his body under the duvet.
I went over and peeped out of the gap between the curtain and the window, wondering what the weather was like.
I imagined April in Italy would be like June in the UK, especially if yesterday was anything to go by, but I supposed you could never be too sure.
There were blue skies, though, and the few people out on the street seemed to be wearing long sleeves but no coat.
I should be fine in a dress with something over the top.
I picked out another Primark special, my favourite, a navy blue and white polka-dot skater dress.
Then I rummaged in my (silly, too-small) suitcase and pulled out my sandals.
Grabbing a cardigan just in case it was colder than it looked, I left the room, shutting the door gently behind me and then immediately realising I’d left my key inside.
Damn. Now I’d have to wake Nick up when I got back – depending on how long I was going to be, he’d probably still be dead to the world.
He slept like someone who had no conscience – I’d never, ever felt him tossing and turning, trying to solve a work problem at two o’clock in the morning, or scrolling through his phone at 3 a.m. because his mind wouldn’t settle and he couldn’t sleep.
Considering his high-powered job, this always surprised me.
He compartmentalised, he said. Whereas, for me, everything seemed to spill into the next thing – work and family and love and friends.
If I felt bad about one thing, I seemed to feel bad about all of them.
I padded down the carpeted corridor, wondering what everyone else was doing behind their closed doors.
Sophia and Daisy were somewhere on our floor, but Rosamund and Peter had a suite at the top of the hotel.
I supposed it was their anniversary, but still: a suite!
Part of me was desperate to engineer an excuse to go to their room so that I could have a nose around and another part of me found the idea of being alone with Rosamund terrifying.
I imagined her cornering me, interrogating me about my intentions with her son, accusing me of being after his money, or something.
I supposed she had no idea how much money I earned or had, but I assumed it was glaringly obvious that the answer was very little.
I’d noticed how Nick’s family swanned around the hotel, completely comfortable, their clothes and jewellery a clear indication that they had a certain amount of funds in the bank.
I thought everyone could probably tell that I didn’t have any such thing, and never had done.
I dreaded them asking what my parents did.
It didn’t usually matter; I’d just say my dad was a caretaker in a school and my mum was a beauty therapist and nobody would bat an eyelid.
But I imagined with Rosamund that where you came from, your heritage, if you like, was a sort of currency – Nick had been to uni at Oxford, for example, whereas I’d been to the University of Hertfordshire, which I’d be surprised if Rosamund had ever even heard of.
He’d been to a swanky private school and I’d been to my local comp.
I pressed the button for the lift, annoyed at myself.
Why was I letting these people make me feel bad about everything I’d worked hard for, that my parents had worked hard for?
It was almost as though they were projecting their antiquated ideas on to me and I, as usual, was sucking them up like a sponge: You’re not good enough.
You’re not good enough for someone like Nick.
I pushed the thought from my mind, but then another one came back in its place: You weren’t good enough for Aidan, either.