Chapter 19 #3
As the Dorset countryside disappears behind me, the views out of the windows become more inland kind of scenery and then increasingly urban as we head into London.
It feels weird coming back here, almost as though I’m leaving a safe haven and returning to the fray.
It is not the fray, I remind myself as I get out of the train at Waterloo Station.
It’s a city where I’ve spent a lot of happy years and that I know very well, and I’m going to stay with very close friends who I’ve known since uni, and we’re all going to a party together tonight, with lots of other close friends.
It’s going to be a lot of fun. I’m actually wondering whether I’ll be reminded that this is my home, and I ought to make more of an effort to return sooner rather than later.
It’s actually lovely to see everyone – I’m staying with my uni friend Anna and her husband Amir – and as soon as I’m with them I feel in some ways as though I’ve never been away.
The buzz of the city is great too. I do love London. And I also love Milbury. I’m not actually sure which I love more.
Anna and I eat cake and hot chocolate in one of our favourite cafés, as well as shopping together (there is no comparison between London King’s Road and Chartfield’s shops – the King’s Road wins every time, however busy it might be), before going back to Anna and Amir’s to get changed and head out to the party (a fortieth).
It’s in the upstairs of a big pub in Earl’s Court.
This is the first time since Rick and I split up that I’ve been to a big, lively party, with lots of people I know but also lots of strangers.
And that’s the first time I’ve really thought about Rick for ages, and the memory of him now evokes zero emotion whatsoever other than a little bit of I should have said goodbye after our very first date.
I greet all my old friends, and have a lovely time catching up.
Every single person I speak to tells me that they really want to visit me in Milbury, which is lovely.
I’m almost tempted to arrange a party for everyone to come down before Christmas, before I remember that there’s the Marcus complication, which I do not want to tell anyone else about, because, well, it’s kind of difficult to explain and presumably at some point we’ll fizzle it out and be regular friends instead of pretend-dating ones.
Maybe I’ll invite them all in January, if I’m still there then, which, realistically, I will be because currently I haven’t even applied for another job.
An hour or two in, holding a glass of Prosecco in one hand and a plate of mini spring rolls and dumplings in the other, I’m looking round for somewhere to put my glass so that I can eat, when a tall, blond man with a very attractive smile says, ‘Always a tricky one at parties when you want to eat, isn’t it. If only we had three hands.’
‘Exactly,’ I say. ‘And you don’t want to lose your drink, plus you feel rude putting a used glass in the middle of the food table.’
‘What about I hold your glass for you while you eat and then you do the same for me?’
‘Erm.’ I feel a little weird about this, because he has a mildly flirty air, and I don’t feel quite right about flirting back.
I am hungry, though, and I am also, in fact, single.
Entirely single. I’m not in the market for any kind of relationship, but there’s nothing wrong with having the occasional fling.
I mean, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life like a nun.
So I say, ‘Good plan. Thank you,’ and hand my glass to him with a smile.
‘I’m Dan.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Dan. I’m Frankie.’
We chat as we pass our glasses to and fro and eat, and I do enjoy myself.
When we’re done with our food, and have both accepted refills of our glasses from passing servers, I realise that we must have been talking for a good half hour.
And, utterly ridiculously, I feel a little grimy, kind of like I’ve been semi-cheating on Marcus.
I am not cheating on him, I tell myself sternly as Dan asks me if I’d like to go and dance, because Marcus and I are not actually dating, and therefore I can’t cheat on him.
The thing is, though, I’m not feeling it at all with Dan, despite the fact that he’s friendly and interesting and has made me laugh at least three times and is really very classically good-looking.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I came with uni friends who I haven’t seen for a while, and I ought to get back to them.’
There’s a tiny pause and then Dan says, ‘Well, great to meet you. Thanks for helping me eat.’ His smile is rueful and cute and, I suddenly realise, if it weren’t that he isn’t Marcus I would find him extremely attractive.
‘Likewise.’ I consider trying to tell him somehow that it isn’t him, it’s me, and then I realise that, no, that would not help.
As I leave him and walk towards Anna and some of my other girlfriends who are sitting at a table in the corner, I feel like I have something a little unnerving to think about.
Or, more accurately, I don’t have anything to think about: I know. Somehow, my friendship with Marcus has become more important to me than it should have.