Chapter 14
14
TOM
Why don t we grab some dinner? I say on impulse. Take advantage of being here. I still owe you big for the blisters and frilly pants. Let me treat you. After we ve done the video.
Oh, I… Nadia hesitates and then says, Dinner would be fab. But only if we go halves. I choose; we both pay. That was the deal.
We did the deal before either of us realised the terrible sartorial and blister lengths you d have to go to at my mother s hands.
She laughs but shakes her head. I insist on going halves.
Fine, I concede. But you are absolutely choosing where we eat.
Done.
Okay, so shall we get the video done? It s actually fairly quiet here? And we can get Big Ben in, in the distance.
Nadia nods, before checking, So we re going to do it as a selfie video and I m going to say something and then we re going to sing?
Exactly.
Okay. Let s do it.
We stand together with our backs to the river at an angle, with Big Ben in the distance.
Maybe before we start recording we should take a couple of photos so we can see how we look? Nadia suggests.
We kind of both just stand there and then I take a couple of photos and we check the screen.
If you don t mind, I say, I think we should put our heads closer together.
Definitely. The way we look as though we re trying very hard not to touch each other really doesn t scream in love .
Yeah, I think the reason that we look like that is that I really dislike the way I can t help… just… noticing her a lot. Like, being really aware of her. It makes me feel like a disgusting lech, because no-one should feel like that about people they aren t with , or might be with, and that is not us. So, yep, I don t like it. However, needs must.
I adjust closer to her and take another couple of photos, and we pore over the screen again.
I think it ll be fine once we re talking and singing, Nadia says. No-one would expect us to be actually touching. No-one likes seeing too much PDA.
Yep, okay, so are we doing it? I switch to video and press the red start button.
Hello! Nadia beams into the phone. I m so sorry that I m not going to be with you for your party, because I have to leave for my overseas work placement, but I just wanted to wish you a huge happy birthday. And Tom and I have a song for you.
She looks at me and I look at her, and we smile – I smile because she s smiling and it s a smile that you can t not smile back at – and then she says, Aaaaaand, and launches into Happy Birthday and I join in.
When I say join in, I mean that I do my best to match the notes she s singing, but I m pretty sure I fail. Her voice is amazing .
You should go on X Factor , I say. Or whatever they replaced it with.
Been on it, she says, but I didn t get beyond judges houses.
I stare at her. She isn t even looking at me. She has her head slightly tilted and is gazing up the river, like she s in full sights-of-London appreciation mode.
Actually been on it or joking?
Actually.
Wow!
I know. It was very cool. And if I m honest I didn t even mind not making it into the live rounds, because it s kind of obvious that a lot of the people who make it through do get a little messed up by it. And I love my wedding singing.
My word. I have a lot of questions for her and I just ask all of them. Which judge. Which songs. How much of it was staged. Outfits.
This is so funny. She s nearly choking with laughter. It isn t that cool.
It is . If I d been on it, I would ve been the comedy terrible act. I could never do what you did. Nor could most people.
Loads of people have good voices.
I shake my head. Not like yours. Do all your recent friends and colleagues know about the X Factor thing?
Actually, no. You can t just say oh by the way I was partially on X Factor .
Very true.
Come on. Dinner.
I still have more questions, I tell her, which makes her laugh again.
We try a few restaurants along the river, and they re all fully booked for at least the next couple of hours, apart from one that s really empty, which Nadia points out is not a great recommendation.
I think all the signs are pointing us in the same direction, she says.
What is that direction? I ask, not wanting her to say that the signs are saying that we shouldn t get food and should just go home instead.
We should phone the very nice-looking Italian restaurant we walked past on the way to that sports pub and see if they have a table.
A very good idea. I m ridiculously pleased that the evening s going to continue.
Hang on. Have we even looked at our video? To check it s okay? Did we get distracted by your X Factor questioning?
Okay, let s phone the restaurant first and then check.
One table, a cancellation, I mouth a minute later as I m on the phone to them. Serendipity.
Perfect. It looked so nice.
I smile again because she s doing the smile that I can t not return, and then say, Let s look at the video just in case we need a reprise.
Well. Objectively (I think), we are cute together. We make a very convincing couple in the video. That makes me feel a little… odd, but then I think most people if they stuck their heads close to each other and self-videoed would probably look schmaltzy-happy in each other s company. They just would.
Unfortunately, however, unnoticed by us (not sure how), there s a man doing really remarkably rude gestures just to the right of my head. And then he manages somehow to get his hand between our heads.
Erm. I m not sure I can edit those out, I say.
I d be impressed if you could. And even if you could it would probably be quicker to just record it again.
Sure you don t mind?
Totally sure. And if I m honest, out of vanity, even though I will never see any of your family again, I d be more than happy to get my hair a little more under control.
What? Your hair looked lovely, as always. I mean it. I like her hair a lot. It s big hair, and it s great big hair. But we do kind of need to do it again if you re up for it.
Definitely. But shall we do it after we ve eaten so we don t lose the table?
Oh, yes, very good point. Let s go.
We almost speed-walk to the restaurant; Nadia really wants to eat very specifically at that restaurant and I really want to eat at any acceptable restaurant because I m starving, and now she has the boot on she can get around at a pretty good pace.
It s a warm evening for hobbling that fast. Nadia fans herself as we wait for our table having almost catapulted ourselves through the door.
* * *
They seat us at a round table for two in a corner at the back of the restaurant, one on each side of the corner so that we re both somewhat facing out into the rest of the room and we re immediately given tap water and glasses, together with the menu.
This looks as good as I expected, Nadia says. If I m honest I couldn t believe that you would walk past here on your way into the pub that time. And choose pie and mushy peas over lovely Italian.
Okay. I m very grateful to you for the video work you ve already done and are going to do, not to mention the pants and the blisters, obviously, but I cannot let that pass. I m sure this restaurant is amazing, but it is not going to beat pie and peas.
Nadia just stares at me. Nonsense, she says eventually. You know what I m going to do? I m going to point out how much you owe me for those frilly pants in particular and ask if you ll let me order for you.
Well… I just want steak and salad.
She gives me the evil eye.
Okay, I say hastily.
A few minutes later, she s ordering for me… in fluent Italian. With a very genuine-sounding Italian accent.
My mum s Italian, she explains when I state the obvious and say wow she speaks amazingly fluently. And I used to spend a lot of my summer holidays staying with relatives in Rome.
Well I did not know that, I say.
Nadia smiles and I wonder what else there is to find out about her that you wouldn t expect. Although actually I m not surprised that she s half Italian and speaks the language or that she s been on X Factor . More… interested .
Funny how you can find out all these things about someone after you start fake-dating them, I say.
I like it, Nadia says. Finding things out about people as you go along. It always happens with new friends.
True. I m not really sure actually why I m so struck by getting to know Nadia better. It isn t her I m getting to know better, it s facts about her. She is the person I met on the Waterloo clock evening and the more I know her, the more she just seems her .
A waiter interrupts my thoughts with a bowl of steaming arancini and a big platter of antipasti plus some bread.
I m actually starving, I realise.
This looks amazing, I say.
Better than pie and peas?
Nearly as good as. And that s a huge compliment.
Nadia frowns. Eat and then you ll realise that what you just said was total sacrilege.
Three mouthfuls in of some stuffed peppers wrapped in Parma ham, I m already wavering. If I m honest, there are very few pies as good as this. And once I ve had one of the rice balls, I m a convert.
I contemplate for a moment pretending that pie still wins, but she s looking very fierce.
I will say that a good pub pie is better than a lot of the stuff that I would usually order from an Italian, I settle on. But I didn t know what the best things to order were.
What would you have chosen?
I m not really sure, but probably none of this.
Nadia tsks. Honestly.
So do you cook Italian food too?
Yep, but only for friends and my dad s side of the family, never for my mum s. They d disown me. What about you? Do you cook?
Kind of. As in, not as much as I should. Very basic. But I did learn a couple of things from my ex-w… I nearly said ex-wife there. Out loud, which I rarely do. From my ex. And am not too proud to use them still.
Nadia looks at me for a moment, like she s wondering whether to say anything or not, and then says, So talk me through your top cooking tips.
We talk about food for quite a while (possibly a little over seriously on my part until I feel that we ve definitely moved far away from any ex mentions) until the conversation shifts somehow to the first cars we ever drove. (Nadia drove straight into a wall on her first time out – no-one was injured – and didn t drive again for five years and then passed her test first time; at seventeen I thought I was an incredibly skilled driver and was astonished by every one of my five failed tests.)
The stunningly delicious food keeps coming (I love listening to Nadia s Italian whenever a server comes to the table) and the conversation s as good as the food.
We ve just finished sharing a truly spectacular tiramisu, when Nadia says, Whoops, look we re almost the last in here.
Oh yes. I hadn t noticed; for however long we ve been here it s like I ve had everything I need in the world at this one table. We should probably let the staff clean up and go home and get back down to the river and do our reshoot. If you still have time?
Definitely.
* * *
As we walk, Nadia says very naturally into a lull, It sounded difficult with your ex? And suddenly I find myself telling her all about the nightmare ex-wife thing. Which I never, ever do if I can help it because usually I just don t like talking about it.
Yeah, she says simply at the end. That was her, not you. Which I hope you know. She didn t deserve you. You re wonderful.
And I feel very, very, well, just warm when she says it.
Thank you. I smile at her and give her a quick gratitude hug that I have to fight with myself not to prolong.
And then Nadia – just in the nick of time so the moment doesn t get too maudlin or full of regrets or embarrassment about what an idiot I was to marry someone so entirely wrong for me – says, Wow, that s a seriously garlicky smell coming out of that restaurant, and then we talk about garlic (and, yes, with the right person, you really can have a garlic chat).
* * *
We go back to the same spot where we shot our first video and get ourselves into position again, standing close together.
It s really hard not to just inhale the scent of whatever shampoo Nadia uses, but I have to make sure I don t do it, because she d be able to see me because we re basically watching ourselves.
I shift a little closer to her to get both our heads fully into the frame.
It s ridiculous how well we seem to fit together, like we were made to shoot selfie videos as a pair.
I press the red button just before she looks up at me, smiling, and asks, Ready?
Already recording, I reply, smiling back, because her smile is infectious again.
She rolls her eyes slightly. Then… start again.
I laugh, and then realise that I m still recording. I pull my eyes from hers – when you look at them properly you realise just what a stunning and unusual shade of green they are, and there s something about the shape of them, and the way her eyelashes and brows frame them that it s hard not to just stare at – and press the button again.
Aaaaand go? Nadia suggests.
I swallow. Yep.
And we re off again. She repeats her little voice message and then we sing. This time, I can hear that I m not keeping the tune anywhere remotely near the actual one. I try not to laugh but fail, and then Nadia begins to laugh too but carries on singing. (I ve given up.) I wrap my arm round her shoulders and stand there grinning as she continues to the end, making Happy Birthday sound like the most amazing musical composition ever (she sticks in some gorgeous twirly operatic bits at the end).
Honestly, she says, still laughing, when she s finished, and then I stop recording. Do you think there s any chance that worked?
Worth checking? I hold the screen so that we can both see it and press play.
It looks like an amateur video of a woman who could be a professional singer saying a few lovely words and then making Happy Birthday sound incredible while her boyfriend attempts to join in and fails and just stands there looking at her adoringly.
That s what it looks like.
There s quite a long pause, and then I say, It s perfect. She ll love it as is. No need for any more recordings I think. Thank you.
Absolutely no problem at all, Nadia replies extremely politely. I m only sorry I have to be in New Zealand and can t make the party.
Ha, I say, also very politely.
Sooo, I should probably get going. Nadia glances up at me as she speaks.
I m looking down at her as she moves her head and now we re kind of hovering, just staring at each other. I sense her chest move as she takes a deep breath and find myself swallowing in response.
I could so easily just lean a little closer, brush my lips against her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, gather her into my arms, where I already know she fits very well.
It would be so easy.
I m so very tempted.
I can t move from where I am now. It s taking so much energy to stop myself doing any of the things I want to do, like taking my finger and gently moving the few strands of her hair that have blown against her face, or, obviously, just kissing her to high heaven, that I don t have any left for working my legs or feet.
She has her lips slightly parted and is gazing as hard as I am.
When her eyes move from mine to my mouth and then to my throat, I find myself swallowing so hard I feel it through my whole body.
And I realise how very much I would like to feel her body against mine. Starting with a kiss, and then…
That would be an extreme instance of short-term gratification destroying a great friendship, though.
How often do you have such an instant fantastic friendship with someone?
She isn t Lola. She isn t the kind of woman I usually go for. She s my friend .
And I would do very well to remember that.
I try very, very hard to gather myself. It feels like I m making more physical – or mental, I m not really sure which now – effort than two years ago when I had to pull out of the London Marathon in the last mile. (I know without asking that Nadia would say that she could never do a marathon, but she absolutely could, even with blisters.)
She s gorgeous. She s fun. She s my friend.
She is my friend.
It s late. My voice is hoarse like I ve drunk a couple of bottles of vodka and smoked a couple of packets of cigarettes since I last used it. We should go. Don t want to miss the last train.
Very true. She s croaky too.
She takes a little step backwards, away from me, and I move sideways away from her. I m surprised that my legs do in fact work.
So. She looks all round like she isn t entirely sure where she is, and then shakes her head slightly. That way.
Yes, exactly. That way.
Our conversation s less easy than it has been. I say it s less easy. It s actually non-existent. As in what a beautiful evening, yes isn t it levels of emotionless banality. Well, not emotionless. Certainly from my side there s emotion; I m just not sure what the emotion is and I feel like that near-kiss moment, because that s what it was, is now a big barrier between us.
Do you have an early start tomorrow morning? I want to make this better; I want things to be straight back to the way they were before the video. It isn t like anything actually happened. I glance over at Nadia, to see that her brow s furrowed like she s thinking hard.
Erm. She looks at me. Eventually, she says, as though she s having to make as big an effort to be normal as I am, Ha. Losing my mind there for a moment. I was just trying to remember what day of the week it is. It s Tuesday today and it will be Wednesday tomorrow.
Nice day-of-the-week knowledge, I say, pleased to be able to get in a non-emotional weak joke.
Thank you. She gives me a small smile. Yes, so tomorrow morning I have a particularly exciting meeting first thing to sign off on some accounts and then I ll be segueing straight into a few more light-the-world-up accounting meetings before sneaking out for a client lunch with someone who s actually an old uni friend. Genuinely a client, but also a very good friend.
Nice.
I know. A we ve-got-to-the-middle-of-the-week genuinely legit treat for ourselves. What about you? Early start tomorrow?
Year 8 basketball club at 8a.m.
And we go from there, feeling our way back to our usual chat, and by the time we re at Waterloo, things kind of feel – almost – as though that didn t happen.
Only almost, though.
We semi-run together for a train, at Nadia s best speed-hobble, and if I m honest, I m relieved when, after Nadia has said extremely vehemently that she absolutely does not need to be escorted home, I leave the train at Clapham Junction.
Walking along the road home, I check what messages I ve had through the evening. And I realise that, as usual, I m a little disappointed that there s nothing from Lola, even though obviously there was never going to be.
And then I feel very guilty. Because it feels disloyal to both of them that I m thinking in that kind of way about two women at once.