Chapter 13
13
NADIA
I ve said it before and I feel like I m going to say it again. Marisa s craning her neck further than you d think possible to get one last look at Tom out of the back window Tom is hot .
I nod, a little miserably. Objectively, she is of course right. Subjectively, too, now, I can t help being very aware of his gorgeousness pretty much the whole time I m with him.
Marisa turns to face me. Where s he going in the morning?
I panic for a moment and then say, Las Vegas. (I ve just been reading a book set there.) With friends. He s away for ten days. I am so bad at lying. It makes me feel very hot and clammy-handed and unable to look people in the eye without making a very big effort and doing it weirdly consciously. So I should really stop embellishing my story and change the subject. Thank you so much for coming to the hospital with me. I m very, very grateful. Once I m in there and being seen you should go home.
Nope. I m staying. I m working from home tomorrow morning; I ll be fine.
I am such an idiot. I really didn t think this through. The reason I asked Marisa to meet me was that she also lives in Wimbledon, only a few roads away from me. I can t expect her to stay up half the night with me, though.
Maybe, with hindsight, I should have asked Tom to help me to the hospital and then he could have left and I could have managed by myself.
We could be there for hours . I mean, we almost certainly will be there for hours. I cannot do this to Marisa. I m a grown-up. I can totally wait there by myself.
I m almost tempted to tell her the truth but I really don t want to hurt her feelings and she would definitely be hurt, because I ve been lying to her. I could have told her that Tom was a fake date before taking him to the work drinks. She wouldn t have told anyone else.
We have to stop. All this lying is an absolute nightmare.
I think I ll finish this when Tom fictitiously gets back from Vegas. I ll have fictitiously realised while he was away that our relationship was in fact just a fling. And I will never, ever again do any fake-plus-one-ing.
So now I m detoxing from blind dating, app dating and fake dating.
Nadia? You look as though you re in a lot of pain? Marisa s concern makes me feel even guiltier; she s obviously misinterpreted my uncomfortable thoughts for physical pain. Although, to be fair, my ankle does hurt a lot again after the train journey, despite the second round of painkillers I stocked up on just before we set off. Basically, if I m not moving it at all, it kind of throbs, and if I do move it or put a bit of weight on it it s borderline screaming agony and it makes me feel really faint.
Just a bit. I d be very grateful if you d get me to A she has way better payment stats than the rest of us – and it s genuinely scary. Remember the time when you spent the entire night with me in A she s brilliant. The doctor I m seen by – once I do actually get to see her – is also brilliant. And obviously – as Marisa and I point out to each other quite regularly during the hours that we re there – the long waiting times are no-one s fault but due to successive governments underfunding the NHS; every professional we meet is amazing. (Not every patient we encounter is amazing but that s kind of par for the course in the middle of the night in A I just have to wear a foot boot for the time being and follow a few simple instructions about caring for it.
Tom s texted me periodically during the night to check that everything s going okay and to see whether I ve changed my mind about him coming to the hospital, and when I message him to tell him the final diagnosis, he replies immediately.
Cute, Marisa says every time she sees me messaging and asks if it s Tom I m talking to and I confirm that yes it is. (I m pretty sure that no-one else I know will be awake at this time.)
It is cute, I say, wishing that my heart didn t beat a little faster every time I see his name come up on my phone.
We finally make it back to my flat at quarter to five in the morning.
Marisa insists on coming upstairs to make sure I m in safely, even though now I have the boot I m all good to walk.
Once we re in there we decide that we re very hungry. We have pancakes and berries from my fridge, and then Marisa falls asleep on my sofa while I m in the loo. I try unsuccessfully to wake her and then put a blanket over her and tuck her in and take myself off to bed.
Tom messages me in the morning while Marisa and I are spoiling ourselves with croissants for breakfast after our bad night.
Is his flight delayed? she asks.
Shit.
Yes, I say. Very annoying for him but never mind. More coffee?
I m definitely ending the fake relationship when Tom fake gets back from Vegas. The lying is a killer.
* * *
Tom of course does not go to Vegas but he does go for a long weekend to Lisbon with some teacher friends. He has a good time there, managing to fit in a lot of sightseeing, a lot of good food and a fair amount of drinking and partying. I know that because, even though we are no longer fake dating (on my side anyway, which I ll tell him soon), we re messaging several times a day.
It began the day after the wedding with him checking up on my ankle and asking how I was coping with life as an injured person, and me asking what he was up to in his school holidays while I battled spreadsheets. I told him about the wedding I was singing at and he was very interested in my song list, and when there was a huge mouse incident (one in the honeymoon suite no less) naturally I told him, given his mum s incident while we were at Bea and Ruth s wedding. And then we just carried on messaging.
And now Tom has just texted to say he s home from Lisbon and that he has a little present for me and do I fancy meeting at Waterloo on my way home from work in the next couple of days so he can hand it over.
I say yes of course and decide that that will be the ideal time to fake break up with him.
* * *
Tom s waiting when I hobble over to the clock at Waterloo three evenings later. I knew he was already there because he messaged me when he arrived to say I was a loser because he d beaten me to it. I sent him a middle-finger emoji back.
He s looking handsome , lightly tanned from his weekend away, big, solid, square-jawed. My fanciful mind thinks that he looks like a dependable oak tree in a storm as people (pretty much all smaller than him) swirl around him as he just stands and grins at me.
I can t believe that I didn t really notice the first time I saw him how very attractive he is. I mean, I did notice that he was attractive, but in a very objective way; it didn t almost floor me like it does now every time I see him anew.
Hey. He leans down for a quick hug (I m proud to say that I release him slightly before he releases me, rather than clinging in lust). Looking good with your attractive grey boot.
I know. Rarely do you get an item of footwear that allows you both super speed and high fashion. Nike should take note.
Fancy taking your high fashion boot to the pub?
The football one?
No, and also there s no football on this evening.
Dammit, what a shame. Yes. Cool. Eek. I m already kind of dreading our fake break-up. Maybe we ll both feel as though there s no point messaging any more. I hope not.
* * *
Tom puts my glass of white and his pint on the little round table we ve found and sits down opposite me.
First things first. He takes a little bag out of his pocket. I m not saying this is a big present, because it isn t, but I m pretty confident you ll be happy with it.
I pull it out of the bag. Oh, wow, I breathe.
I know. Incredibly proud of myself.
It s a Portuguese cockerel made entirely out of jelly beans. And it s particularly apt because Carole let slip that, after we left the wedding, they d handed out lots of puddings involving jelly beans, and I was gutted to have missed out (yes okay maybe that s a little childish but in my defence I did have a broken ankle) because jelly beans are one of my biggest guilty pleasures in life.
It s perfect . Thank you.
He s going to make someone – Lola or whoever – an amazing real boyfriend one day. So thoughtful on top of all his other attributes. I really can t understand why he wasn t snaffled by some lucky person long ago.
It s so pretty as well, I say. Really it shouldn t be eaten.
Tom mock gasps. So are you not going to eat them?
No, no, they ll all be gone by the time I go to bed, I say happily. It s an amazing present. I m already imagining myself chomping away. You re an excellent present buyer.
I will accept that compliment. And I would like to make it very clear that the present was entirely separate from the big favour that I m about to ask.
Tom. I purposely widen my eyes and drop my jaw. Were you trying to buy my help?
I was not. But I would say that if that s what it takes I m more than happy to buy as many jelly beans as you can eat.
I shake my head. I really don t think any normal person could afford that.
Okay, he amends, I m happy to buy a lot more jelly beans than you should eat but not as many as you could eat. He pauses. Because I m a little bit desperate. But also, obviously, please feel very free to say no. And I will still feel beholden to you just for having asked it, which I will bear in mind next time I pass a jelly bean shop.
Okay, you have to tell me your request now. Your desperation s making me a little nervous. And I m obviously very happy if it results in more jelly beans. I m presuming the favour is fake-girlfriend-related, and I m not totally sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, there s the whole lying to people thing. It s horrible. And his family are lovely . But on the other hand it s an excuse to spend more time with him and I m really not averse to that I realise. Basically, I m very conflicted.
It s my grandmother s ninetieth soon. She very specifically wants you there.
Ohhhh. That s bad .
Yeah. I had a panic and thought of a lot of different scenarios. One, tell her the truth now. The thing is, I can t really do that. My family have been a bit worried about me on the romance front – for various reasons, well, one particular reason, a nasty break-up – and she specifically told me that she s very relieved that I ve finally met someone nice and she has high hopes for our future together and she s so pleased that she doesn t have to worry about me any more.
Oh dear, that s bad.
Yep. So. Not keen on telling her the truth at this point. So the second option is you coming. He looks at me and I look back at him, keeping my expression as neutral as possible.
The thing about that… He pauses and looks almost as though he s regrouping. Well, the thing is that my family loved you. And they want the best for me. So… as it turns out… we weren t just keeping them off my back, we were properly lying to them. And that s awful.
Yes, it is, I agree.
Oh. He says it as though he hadn t realised that I would feel the same way. Which I would find insulting if it weren t for the fact that I also hadn t realised that he would be feeling the same way.
I feel the same about Marisa, I clarify, feeling a sudden need to make it very clear that I am also not someone who likes lying to people they care about. I don t, if I m honest, feel the same way about Sammy in particular.
Fair enough. Total arse.
Yes, he is, I say, pleased. But anyway, everyone else – my actual friends at work – I hate lying to them. Marisa likes you. She s pleased for me. And it s awful. So I know exactly what you mean.
Had you also in fact resolved to stop with the faking?
Yes. I was thinking that we could grow apart while you were in Vegas.
Am I still there?
Yep. You aren t supposed to be getting back until the end of the week but I m thinking you might extend your stay because you like it so much and that might be my first inkling that we aren t really meant to be.
Nice, he says, in a congratulatory tone. Hopefully we ll be able to think of a way of us splitting up in due course that won t upset my family too much.
I think we ll just have to fizzle out? That s got to be the least upsetting way for everyone to hear about it. Just growing apart through circumstance.
He nods. You re very wise.
I ve had a lot of experience of failed relationships. I really don t want to go to his grandmother s ninetieth. It would feel awful. So… what did we decide about your grandmother?
Oh, yes, sorry. I think there might be a third and better option, which is you working abroad for a while like me going to Vegas, and sending birthday wishes from there so that it doesn t just sound like an excuse.
I like it. I like it a lot. Maybe I could make a birthday video.
That s a relief. Tom s beaming at me. And that s a great idea. Maybe – and please do feel very free to say no – you could sing Happy Birthday in it. Very cheesy, I know, but my grandmother does love a singalong.
Happy Birthday it is. Do you want to record it this evening? Maybe we re having a meal out together the last evening before I leave. Where am I going to, do you think?
Somewhere far, far away. So that it would be very difficult for me to visit you.
I d like to visit New Zealand, I say. I ve always wanted to go there. Very far and also very expensive to get to.
New Zealand it is.
Another good thing about New Zealand is the time difference. It would probably be very difficult to call me from the party. I d probably be asleep. That s why I m recording the video.
Even more perfect, Tom approves.
And then, I say, because utterly, utterly insanely, the thought of our fake break-up makes me feel a little melancholy, and I d rather say it myself than have to listen to Tom saying it, I m guessing that while I m away the distance will push us apart. We won t have any big bust-up, no-one will cheat on anyone, we ll just realise we ve drifted apart.
Tom nods and we kind of stare at each other for a few seconds, and then he nods again and says, Yeah, that s definitely the least bad way to finish a relationship. Sad, but just the way it is.
We stare at each other a bit more, and then Tom suddenly does a weirdly big intake of breath and then says, It is sad when relationships finish just because of circumstance. So it s a good job that this is all fake.
Yes, ha, ha, I say, very over-jollily, a very good job. Hmm. I think I might have sounded a bit peculiar there.
Yep. Tom takes a really long glug of his beer and then looks at me. So when would you like to do the video? Maybe outside somewhere? Maybe next to the river?
The river s a good idea. Romantic.
Yeah.
Our conversation is gentle and fun and absolutely lovely while we finish our drinks, and then we get up to leave.
I really like walking (limping) across the pub with Tom just behind me. It makes me feel as though – at this moment – he s mine . As in, as though we re together. Just for this moment.
The door s heavy and he reaches over my head and helps me to pull it open, and I like that too.
It s still very – well, almost – romantic, as we wander at my hobbling speed along the road under the railway arches and then over to the South Bank. As we walk, we discuss very earnestly and in great detail (turns out Tom knows this area as well as I do) exactly where I should stand when we do the video. Tom s grandmother loves Central London but isn t as mobile as she was and isn t really able to travel into town, so we need to get the background right.
Surely it s obvious, I say. We need to include the best night view in the world.
The best city night view, Tom clarifies.
I nod.
Waterloo Bridge at night looking up towards St Paul s, he says.
I nod again. Of course. Maybe we should record each line of the song in a different place. Maybe some of the bustle around the London Eye and then panning across to Big Ben as well, because who doesn t love a Big Ben shot.
Or maybe we do an intro together, maybe in front of the London Eye. Then you sing the whole song in front of Big Ben. And then we close it with a together thing on the bridge. She ll like that. She used to bring me into town for dinner when I was little and we d stop on the bridge and she d tell me how my grandfather proposed to her from there.
I stop walking and look at him. We can t do a video of us from there, then. Knowing that we re definitely going to break up, which she will definitely find out. It could tarnish her Waterloo Bridge memory.
Oh my God, you re right. I m an idiot. What if… He frowns for a moment and then his brow clears, in a ping -I-have-it way. Maybe we never break up. Just for her. Or maybe for everyone else. We just have a long-distance relationship forever.
Erm. It s quite hard to know how to refer to someone s relatives mortality but it s very relevant. No. I can t do it. I can t say out loud: well, maybe it ll work until your grandmother… no, I don t even want to think it. I ll just point out that while it might be feasible with an older relative (although who knows; a ninety-year-old could easily live another ten-plus years), with his younger relatives this really won t work. You can t lie to your sister forever, can you? Like if you have a real relationship – with Lola, or you meet someone else – how do you split up with New Zealand me? Without looking like a total arse? You d have to tell your family that I was staying in New Zealand, and you d have to keep your new partner hidden for a bit so you wouldn t look like you d been cheating on me. It would be very, very complicated.
I mean, I don t think Lola s going to be beating down my door any time soon. And I don t think I m going to be meeting anyone else either, Tom says. I try very hard not to care that he clearly has no thoughts whatsoever in his head about me as a person he might meet. I shouldn t have any about him either.
But you re right, he continues gloomily. We should never have started this. But since we did , I feel like we should cross the splitting-up bridge when we come to it.
I feel like there s a pun in there to do with Waterloo Bridge just waiting to jump out.
Yeah.
We both stand and think for a few moments.
Yeah, no, I can t do puns, I say after a bit.
Me neither. Although I do admire a pun.
Same. Okay, so we re going to find somewhere without the bridge in the view and say a few words and then sing?
Perfect.
We start walking again, and are soon weaving our way through the crowds at the bottom of the Eye.
Hmm, I say.
Is your video director instinct telling you that it s too busy here?
Yep.
We begin to walk east from the Eye, along the South Bank.
I do love it here. I do a big sweep with my arm. I travel in and out of Waterloo all the time, but I don t come down here very often and just enjoy the atmosphere; I m always in a rush to go somewhere. When I am here, I always wonder why I don t come more often.
Yeah, same.
I love the buzz, the variety of people, the way anything goes. There are elderly people, people on their own, people in groups, people dashing straight through, people sitting and enjoying the moment, other couples just strolling together like we are.
Except. We are very much not a couple.
I need to remember that.