Chapter 16
16
TOM
Carole is a force of nature. And she s a very kind and generous woman. I m pleased to know her.
I didn t enjoy that Lola reference, though. And I really didn t enjoy that Nadia-and-me reference.
Anyway.
It was worse for Nadia really.
And it doesn t matter.
With regard to Nadia, I doubt we ll see each other again after this weekend.
And with regard to Lola, I should really have moved entirely on by now. It s hard, though, when you aren t sure exactly what happened and why. I haven t made any attempt to find her, because she clearly just didn t want to see me, and I have to accept that, but I still find it difficult not to think about her at times, and wonder.
Carole s still talking, thanking people. There s more toasting.
I tune back in.
Yep, it isn t just Nadia and me she s overshared about. To name but one fellow victim, a red-faced man named Barry has just recovered from a septic vasectomy that we now know all about.
Carole s very open. It s endearing. Lovely. Genuinely.
* * *
Eventually, Carole finishes her speech. And now I want everyone to party like there s no tomorrow. Starting by downing a lot of cocktails.
Everyone cheers, we all toast again, and then, basically, we re off.
And when I say we re off, we really are.
It s like the mood in the room immediately changes. There s a near charge on the bar as everyone clearly decides that they need to take Carole s last words extremely literally.
As I join in the surge (I m weak-minded enough, and also pissed off enough at Carole s speech, that a real cocktail suddenly very much appeals), I catch sight of Nadia, her bare shoulders looking extremely stiff, a man I was talking to earlier speaking in her ear.
Nadia moves a little and I see her profile. She looks as though she has her lips clamped together, and I get the strong impression that whatever the man is saying to her is not going down well.
I think he told me he s a colleague of Carole s (i.e. he works in her company). He s definitely on the pull; he told me earlier that he d love the irony of meeting someone at a divorce celebration party.
I can imagine that Carole s well-intentioned words about Nadia might have given someone who was already inclined to be looking for a snog – or a lot more – the impression that Nadia would be fair game.
The man places his hand – like a paw – against Nadia s lower back. She steps away and his paw follows her.
I can t in good conscience not go to her rescue.
A few seconds later, I m by her side, saying, Nadia, hi, I lost you over there.
She looks up at me and rolls her eyes in the man s direction.
I nod at him. Excuse me. I put my arm round Nadia s shoulders and draw her away, towards the edge of the room.
Thank you, she says. What an arse.
I think his name s Richard.
And Dick would be a very appropriate nickname. She rolls her eyes again. Honestly. I would just like to say that under normal circumstances I could and absolutely would have got rid of him by myself. I do not need to be rescued by anyone. It s just that it s particularly awkward this evening; I didn t want to make any kind of scene and ruin Carole s party.
I know that, I say. And it wasn t because I m a man that I was able to rescue you. Could equally have been a girlfriend.
Thank you. And that is very true.
And also usually no-one would have announced that you were recently blind dating.
Also true.
I smile at her. Come and try the real cocktails?
There s still a big crush at the bar, so we re stuck there together for the next fifteen or twenty minutes with nothing to do except chat. And that s a good thing, because we do chat, and soon we re laughing, the way we did before I lost my mind on the South Bank, and it s nice. And also handy, because it would be nice to enjoy each other s company, because I feel as though it would be a little mean not to stick around Nadia for the duration of the evening, after Carole s inadvertent signalling that she s single and up for meeting someone.
I mean, she might be up for meeting someone, actually, because obviously she might have binned her dating detox, but at least with me around she won t be harassed.
Want to go and begin to explore the other rooms? I suggest.
I think it would be rude not to.
* * *
The first room we enter has been set up as a casino. As we go in, a black-clad man hands us each a velvet bag containing a pile of chips and then leans in, as though confiding a secret that he won t tell absolutely everyone who walks through the door, that, while there will be no gambling for money, there will be prizes for the people who end up in first, second and third place when their chips are counted at the end of the evening.
Really . Nadia has a very competitive gleam in her eye. Let s get gambling. What do we have?
We begin with roulette.
How does it work? Nadia asks the very professional-looking croupier.
Surprisingly, it turns out that most of the people round the table haven t played before. Once we re all up and running with the rules, we all begin to place our bets. I go red to start off with. I like a fifty per cent chance of winning. Nadia goes number seventeen. I place three of my chips. Nadia places one.
It lands on seventeen. Which is black. And Nadia gains a lot of chips due to the unlikeliness of anyone choosing the right single number.
Well, that was cool, she says.
Then she places one chip on number thirty-one. I put another three on red.
Black thirty-one it is.
Nadia gets lots more chips.
She s already got a crowd around her, because – as is obvious whether or not you re a roulette aficionado – this does not usually happen.
Wondering whether I should quit while I m ahead, she says.
I don t feel like you re going to make much of a dent in your massive pile if you carry on only gambling one at a time, I point out.
She goes for a row of numbers this time.
And wins.
Unbelievable, I say (very unoriginally; everyone round the table is saying it). If only you were playing for real money.
We are, Nadia says very seriously. There are prizes at stake.
When she places her fourth single chip on a red sixteen, everyone except Nadia is very surprised when she loses.
I m going to take my winnings now, she announces to the table. Everyone cheers and Nadia laughs and bows.
Once she has all her chips stashed in the two extra velvet bags the croupier gives her, I say, So what are we doing now?
We?
I would very much like to see how the rest of your gambling pans out. Should you choose to continue your winning streak.
Is it a streak, though? She says it like it s a very serious question. Given that I lost on that last bet?
Er it was a big win overall, though?
Hmm, we ll see. I d like to play something involving more skill and less chance next time.
We look around the room. There s also poker and there s blackjack.
Poker s definitely very skilled, I say, going by what everyone says. I never know how, though. You have so few cards. How can you work out what anyone else has? I ve played a few times and I m terrible.
Really ? Nadia studies me. Is that true, or are you being cunningly poker-faced so that you can fleece me of all my hard-earned winnings?
I smile at her. Who knows?
Hmm. She continues to look at me through narrowed eyes and then says, Okay. I m going to go for it. How bad can it be?
Yesssss. I m going to fleece her.
It becomes immediately apparent that she s never played before. She has to ask for a chart of all the poker hands, plus she keeps forgetting how to play. So it would be easy to fleece her of her roulette chips except her aversion to betting big continues and she folds really easily (once she gathers what folding is).
Soon I give up on the idea of fleecing Nadia and just concentrate on winning money from the others in the game. It goes very well. I m going to need another velvet bag or two myself.
Okay, says Nadia as I pull another pile of chips towards myself. This is ridiculous. I want another go. Your luck s going to run out soon like mine did with the roulette. There s no way you can carry on like this for long.
It isn t entirely luck, though? I point out for the sake of honesty. I mean, for example, you have the world poker championships and you don t get complete beginners winning them, do you?
Really? Nadia has her elbows on the table (that is really not good poker-playing etiquette but obviously she doesn t know that and I m not going to be petty enough to point it out because this is a party, not a serious poker evening) and her hands propping up her chin, and is looking searchingly at my face. Her eyes move to the table and the cards. How is that possible, though? There aren t enough cards used in the game. How can someone work out what everyone has, given how many there are left in the pack?
Okay, I ve done enough honesty. I want her chips.
Fair point, I say, trying hard not to glare at her elbows. I still think I m going to stay lucky though.
Well… Nadia folds her hands under her chin, elbows still rudely in place. I didn t stay lucky at roulette. No-one stays lucky forever. That s the classic gambler s issue isn t it. Not knowing when to take your gains and run.
Yeah, no. That s not going to happen to me.
Oh-kay.
It s actually lucky for Nadia that she s so nice (and so pretty) because the other players are a lot more proficient than she is and – now that she s decided she isn t folding immediately – would definitely be getting irritated with how she s slowing the game down with all her questions if she weren t just so lovely.
In fact, an older man called Howard (not un-Roger like) seems to be positively enjoying explaining, in the most patronising manner possible, how to raise someone. He s mansplaining in a way that will give all men a bad name; he s literally telling her how to do very basic mental arithmetic. As in literally how to add two and two.
It s halfway through Howard s explanation that I suddenly realise.
Nadia is lovely, and kind. But she isn t a saint . I ve seen her get irritated before. She s too tolerant of Howard. I think she knows how to play poker.
I begin to watch her very carefully, and realise that the careful watching is reciprocal.
With the exception of me, everyone at the table is very surprised when Nadia says, all eyes wide open, guileless smiles, Am I right in thinking I got lucky? as she places four aces on the table, straight after I ve shown my full house.
I laugh. She s clearly played before but she also clearly did get lucky, because it s obviously fairly rare to get a full house.
Several increasingly intense rounds later, I have discovered that Nadia now seems to get lucky every single round, be it with a good hand or a bad hand. She knows when to fold, she knows when to gamble big, she just knows . And the weird thing is, I m pretty sure that I ve begun to be able to read her, except… it doesn t work . It s like she can read me better . Or alternatively she is in fact having the luckiest evening of her life and it s unfortunate that she wasn t playing for real money.
When I ve demonstrated the gambler s crucial failing of not quitting while I was ahead and she has a lot more chips stowed in two more velvet bags, and we stand up from the table, she says, Well that was fun. Who knew someone could get so lucky at both a game of chance and a game of skill in one evening? Assuming it is skill.
Ha, I say. Do you play a lot? Clearly, she does.
In your words, who knows? She laughs. I did warn you. I m having a lucky evening.
So what next?
I m not good at blackjack. I m quitting while I m ahead. Also, I want to see what s happening in the other rooms.
After we ve given our chip bags to a man on the door and he s recorded our names, I follow her out of the room. I don t have to stay with her (although it s obviously better if I do, so that she won t get harassed by anyone else) but, if I m honest, I m loving her company.
You know what I really loved in there? Nadia murmurs to me as we move towards the next room, from which we hear music.
I lean in to hear her answer.
The way you couldn t stop looking at my elbows, she says, just for me, fixing my eyes with hers. Like they were offending you so much, but you very tolerantly weren t going to say anything because how was ignorant me to know. Loved it.
I laugh – she s completely right – and try not to adore the way she s standing so close to me right now. And not to wonder what else she s completely right about. And why I m wondering that.
I m still looking at her, and she s still looking at me.
I have no idea what we were just talking about. She has some shimmery make-up on round her eyes, which makes them look mysterious and as though you could drown in their depths. Her lips curve in a smile that makes me question whether she knows what I m thinking about her eyes, not just her elbows.
Would you like…? she asks.
I lean even closer. Our faces are barely an inch apart now.
Yes?
To go to the silent disco?
Oh. Yes. Sure. What was I expecting her to ask then? I don t know.
Sure sure?
Yep.
And in we go.
* * *
I ve been to silent discos before. I ve laughed in them, pulled ridiculous moves in them, had the odd snog in them. I have never before just adored watching the way someone else moved, be it fully throwing herself into the music, or just swaying, depending on the song.
To be fair, I ve only been to them in groups with friends, not with just one woman, and I doubt I ve been to one sober. And I haven t been to one recently. But even given all of that, this is different.
We re definitely listening to the same channel and dancing to the same things at the same time. Taylor Swift s Shake it Off has just finished and now we re listening to Dua Lipa. And I can t take my eyes off Nadia.
It s weird. We re several feet apart. We came in together and we re dancing near each other but we re certainly not dancing together. But…
I m watching every move Nadia makes and she s looking at me too. As she leans one way, I lean the same way. Until she leans one way and I lean the other and then we re asymmetrically mirroring each other and everything that she does I copy. Her body is… I mean, yes, it s… well, I don t even want to allow myself to think the thoughts I m thinking. She s basically bloody gorgeous and frankly, wearing that dress, which is not in itself anywhere near as risqué as some of the dresses that are being worn tonight, it s no wonder she s getting lecherous glances from far too many people.
On that thought, I move a little closer, still watching her the whole time.
There s something very… physical … about dancing with someone, mirroring their movements, but looking into their eyes the entire time. Like you have this connection with them because you re only seeing their body in your peripheral vision, sensing it but very in tune with it.
And then suddenly the music switches several decades back to a Bryan Adams ballad, and without thinking, I stretch my right hand out to take Nadia s and give her a twirl under my arm, and then I don t release her hand, but give it a little tug, and she comes right in against me, and I slide my left around her waist, and we begin to sway together.
It is, hands down, the most erotic dance of my life. We re still looking into each other s eyes, and just feeling everything else that we do. And when I say feeling… I can feel her everywhere we touch, the slight warmth of her hand inside mine, the curve of her waist, the softness of her body against mine.
When it finishes and an Avicii song starts, I don t want to move apart, but also, yep, we should, because what was that?
I need a drink, I decide.
When I motion towards the door, Nadia nods, and walks out ahead of me.
We bump straight into Carole.
You have no drinks, she accuses us. Hang on.
Before we can say no thank you to more cocktails, she s pressing bright red drinks on us.
We take sips at the same time.
Blimey, Nadia says when her eyes have stopped watering.
Exactly, I say, still blinking.
I knew you d like them, Carole says fondly. What have you been doing? I heard that a beautiful woman with amazing hair and a lovely green dress did very well at both roulette and poker. That can only have been you, Nadia? Drink up.
We both sip and Nadia says, That s a very over-flattering description so maybe someone else did well, but I would say that I was on fire in there.
Carole and I both laugh, and then Carole says, Maybe you ll be in with a shot at the prize. In the meantime, have you seen the fortune teller?
Oh, no, I don t think… Nadia says, while I shake my head (I ve just taken another gulp of the red drink under Carole s forceful gaze and have temporarily lost the use of my vocal cords).
You have to go. She s very good and always right but also, the beauty of it is, you can tell yourselves it s all utter nonsense and then ignore her. I insist. But finish your drinks first.
The drinks are big, but Carole is fierce, and I find myself meekly downing mine, and Nadia does the same with hers.
When we ve both finished coughing, Carole pulls us along the corridor and round the corner behind the stairs to a small room, which has very low lighting. Sitting at a table is a woman dressed very stereotypically in a black dress with a fringed shawl round her shoulders and a kind of head-dress thing.
Enjoy. Carole basically shoves us towards the table and closes the door behind us.
You do not look very happy, the woman observes.
Ha, I say.
We re very happy to be here, Nadia says.
Have you been to a clairvoyant before?
We both shake our heads. Which clearly in itself tells a story because we re obviously both old enough to have chosen to see one if we wanted to.
I have a queue. The woman isn t looking too happy herself; she must prefer a more obviously receptive audience. Let s begin immediately. Show me your hands.
We glance at each other and then put our hands out for her.
She bends her head over them and then says, very rapidly, It s clear that you have only been together for a short time but that you are very much in love with each other. You will remain together for the rest of your lives and will have two children, a boy and a girl. You will live long and happy lives. Thank you. She pushes our hands back towards our bodies and looks at the door.
Um, thank you. Nadia stands up and moves towards the door.
Yep, thanks. I follow.
Nadia s giggling almost before we ve closed the door. Which I m delighted about, because otherwise things could have felt very awkward right now.
I can t remember the last time I ve been so thoroughly dismissed by someone, she hiccups. And how long were we in there? Thirty seconds?
Complete charlatan. I sound like my own father. Nadia just laughs more.
Let s get some food, I say. We ve had a lot of drink on empty stomachs. And now I m sounding like my own mother.
A few minutes later, sitting at a table with plates piled high with food, and glasses of wine, in the corner of a room with a long buffet down one side, Nadia says, If I were going to say that I could read fortunes, I wouldn t make a statement straight out that might be right or wrong. So silly. We might have believed her if she hadn t told us first that we re already a couple.
She looks up at me and freezes, her hand halfway to her mouth with a mini sausage roll. I freeze too.
I don t mean we would have believed her, she clarifies, and I relax. I mean other people in our position, i.e. very much not, certainly not, a couple, but in there talking to her together by chance, might have believed her. But they wouldn t have done because she made the incorrect statement before she said anything else.
Yeah, I say, and take a really long slurp of wine, because for a minute there I had a vision of being old with Nadia, and our son and daughter coming to visit us with their kids, and I liked it.