Chapter 17
17
NADIA
I chomp my sausage roll hard and hope that I just made a good recovery. My words came out very wrong and I definitely sounded as though I wanted the fortune teller s words to be true.
I keep on chomping. Very attractively, I m sure. I kind of do want her words to be true about us. Me and Tom. If I allowed myself to think about it, I imagine I would really want her words to be true.
But her prediction is not correct, and Tom and I have not spoken for a few weeks and he is clearly still hung up on Lola – which if I m honest is kind of stupid because she s clearly as interested in him as he is in me, i.e. not at all, and it s just not going to happen – but whatever, the point is he s not interested in me.
I swallow the last bit of my sausage roll and wash it down with quite a lot of wine.
Tom hasn t said anything for a while. Nor have I.
So, poker, I say. How much do you play?
Tom returns from wherever he seems to have drifted off to in his mind – possibly wondering how he ll get away from the deranged woman he s with who wants the fortune teller s words to come true, possibly thinking about Lola, possibly just grappling with a bit of indigestion – who knows – and says, I m not sure whether I should tell you that.
And why would that be? I ask, pleased that he s brought the conversation back to normality with his answer.
Because you are— he looks me right in the eye and empties his glass —clearly a poker hustler.
Me? I place my hand on my chest and feign hurt. And then laugh.
No, no. No laughing. This is a serious matter.
I m still laughing but I m also staring at Tom. Because that seemed, almost… flirty.
And we don t flirt with each other. Not for real.
I take a big gulp of my wine.
And then I say, Oh really? How serious? And take another gulp.
So serious— Tom leans in so far that I can feel his breath whispering across my cheek when he speaks —that I think we should have a rematch.
My stomach dips and I reach for my glass. Oh. It s empty.
When? I croak.
Now?
Um. I don t like to play poker when I ve been drinking, and I definitely don t feel sober right now.
Are you… scared ?
Certainly not. What I actually need, I realise, is another drink. But can we finish our food first? Because this is delicious.
Of course, he says. Never look a gift burger in the mouth. There are tiny cheeseburgers and also spicy chickpea and mushroom ones, both in brioches.
Yummmm, I say after my first mouthful.
Stunning, Tom agrees, and we munch happily on.
We don t really talk about much at all, just a bit of commentary on the food and how Carole is an amazing hostess and how much fun it all is.
We re just finishing our burgers and saying how tempted we both are by the mini pavlovas and treacle tarts that are calling to us from the table, when Bea and Ruth join us.
I realise, to my shame, that I d completely forgotten about them this evening. My mind s been too full of someone else.
Have you had a go on the rodeo yet? Bea asks.
Rodeo? I query.
VR, Ruth explains. There s a gaming room.
Hey. Tom nudges my foot with his. I wonder whether they have Brawl Stars.
Porn stars? Ruth queries. I d be surprised.
Brawl, I say loudly. It s a phone game that Tom got me into. I ve been addicted for ages now. Really annoying, actually.
Hello. Carole appears holding bottles of red and white. The Waterloo Five together. So lovely to see. How was the fortune teller? White or red? She sloshes wine into all our glasses without waiting for an answer.
She was wonderful, gush Bea and Ruth.
Mmm, yes, Tom and I both say.
When you ve finished eating, come to the big room at the back, Carole commands. The main part of the evening is barn dancing. Ideally everyone will have a partner, and you are very handily already paired up.
I look sideways at Tom and see that he s looking sideways at me.
The only thing I can do is bury my face in my glass. And keep on drinking while Bea and Ruth eat.
* * *
Twirl me now, I pant some time later. Tom obliges immediately but we re still half a beat behind the rest of our set (who are much older and on paper you would think less fit but are actually amazing at barn dancing).
Back to back. Two steps right. I keep on instructing out loud because Tom s even worse than I am. He had some great moves in the silent disco (if I m honest I couldn t have looked away if you d paid me) but right now he s basically laughing too much to concentrate.
I, however, have decided that I want to get it right, so I tut and just keep on going.
Tom carries on too, but I can see that his heart isn t in it.
And now people are tutting at both of us and if I m honest I m feeling a bit sick from all the backwards and forwards and turns.
Maybe we should take a break, I whisper to Tom next time our heads are close.
Good idea. Right now?
No. At the end of this dance. We can t let our set down. Although we are letting them down right now by constantly going so wrong. Now focus, just for the next few minutes.
You re very strict, Tom grumbles.
* * *
Eventually the dance is over and we march ourselves straight over to the door.
On our way out we encounter a bartender carrying a tray of cocktails, which he offers to us.
Rude not to. I take one for each hand.
Tom raises his eyes at me.
The tray looks really heavy, I point out. We re doing him a favour.
Oh yes, you re right. Tom takes two too, and then we go and sit on a little window seat near where the fortune teller was, and drink in companionable silence.
I feel like we should go for a walk, I say, when I ve finished the first cocktail. I feel like I m getting hiccups so I decide not to drink the second one for now, and stash it carefully by the side of our bench. Blimey, I say admiringly. You re very good at drinking.
I am actually, yes. Also, this stuff has grown on me. What did you just say we should do?
Walk. I stand up and sway a little, so I hold on to the wall for a moment. Outside in the garden.
Good idea. Tom stands up. He isn t swaying at all, I notice.
You re very clever, I say.
Thank you.
We wander off down the corridor and then Tom halts.
We missed a room.
We poke our heads inside. It s a kids party game room but for adults.
I really want to play, I say.
Me too.
This one first. I advance to the other side of the room. Pin the tail on the donkery.
Donkey, Tom corrects.
I shake my head at his pedantry and also because he s wrong. Donkery.
Donkey, he persists.
It s donkery.
It isn t, though. He s like a dog with a bone.
I stare at Tom and think, hard. Maybe you re right. Or wrong.
I m right. It s donkey.
I ve known that word for a really long time, like thirty years. I m really confused now. Donkey or donkery?
Donkey, confirms the black-clad man who s helping with all the games.
Well! I m very surprised by that. Why did I get that wrong?
You ve had too much to drink, Tom says. That s why.
No, no, no. You ve had more than me. Anyway, shut up. I need to get blindfolded and pin that donkery.
I don t like the blindfold because it makes me feel sick but when I take it off it s worth having worn it: my tail is in exactly the right place.
Look at that, I crow. I win again.
You ve pinned it to its face, Tom says.
Oh. I look more closely. I think he might be right.
Stupid game anyway, I say. Let s go for our walk.
Tom decides that we should drink a lot of water before we go. He thinks we should have two pints each, which takes quite a long time to drink. Eventually, though, we ve finished our second pints and we re on our way to the garden.
It s really nice out here, I say. I like it. I wave my arm around and nearly fall over. My arm s really heavy, I explain.
Hold mine, Tom suggests.
Good idea. I love his arm. All of it. From sexy shoulder to handsome hands. If hands can be handsome. I feel like doing alliteration though. Eek. I freeze and look up at his profile. Did I say that out loud? I ask.
Say what?
Thank goodness for that.
Nothing, I say airily.
We stroll along and comment on the moon and stars. (The sky is very clear. It s the countryside.)
I don t really think hands can be handsome, Tom muses a minute or two later as we pass some big trees.
Oh dear.
Okay. I m going to style it out. Just engage in reasonable conversation about it.
I think they can, actually, I say. Very reasonably and conversationally.
Oh, right. What about… elbows?
Um. Extremely elegant?
Nice. Legs?
Loose? Long? Lithe. I m pretty pleased with lithe . Anyway, enough alliteration. Isn t the moon nice?
Still lovely, Tom agrees.
Ooops, I scream, as my heel catches in something.
Oh no, it s okay. I haven t fallen over. Tom has his arm round my waist and all is well.
For a moment there I thought you were going to have another foot incident, he says.
No. There s no chance of that. It would be ridiculous. As previously discussed.
Yeah. Should we maybe sit on this bench, though, for a bit?
Good idea. I m very happy with Tom s idea, actually, because his arm that was round me kind of stays round me as we sit down, although now it s round my shoulders, and it feels very right there, like it belongs.
I know we ve said this before, I say after a bit, but the stars are very, very nice. Twinkly.
Yeah.
We sit there some more, just looking at the stars, and then – I m not really sure why, well, just because I want to, I suppose – I kind of snuggle into Tom a bit more.
Cold? he asks.
Am I cold? No. Do I want to un-snuggle? No.
Not now, I settle on saying.
He hugs me in tighter.
I do fit very well inside his arm, actually.
I sense him shift to look at me, and turn my face up to his.
And then, like it s the most natural thing in the world, he bends his head and kisses me. At first, his lips just brush mine, but then he kisses me harder, and I kiss him back, and it s exactly like you always imagine the best kiss in the world would be like. It s delicate, and tender, and urgent, and almost desperate, all at once. Tom s lips are firm and soft and gentle and hard, and I never want this to stop.
It doesn t stop, for a long time. We just sit there, nestled together on the bench, kissing and kissing.
Until one of us moves, and then, frankly, we have hands everywhere , and it s amazing and I could totally , basically, have al fresco sex, except, also, I couldn t, and, suddenly, I slide out of Tom s arms and take his hands and pull him to his feet and hurry him back down the garden.
We have our arms wrapped round each other as we go. We re kissing, I think we definitely have arms under clothes, and now we re almost running, and then I trip and Tom picks me up and carries me upstairs to our rooms.
Mine, I say between kisses.
Tom slams the door closed with his back, and then we re on my bed and… it s amazing. Nothing , other than Tom himself getting up and walking away – which seems pretty unlikely right now – could stop me now. It s so good.
* * *
I wake up very confused for a moment. The sunlight is bright on my face, painfully bright. My head is fuzzy, my eyes feel scratchy like I didn t take my make-up off, and there s a solid man-sized weight against me, and legs across mine.
And ohhhhhh, all of that is because last night Tom and I had glorious, amazing, wonderful, divine sex for a very long time, in this lovely four-poster bed, and I didn t close the curtains or take my make-up off, and I might have had a teensy bit too much to drink, which would account for the headache (and possibly the sex, although I would very happily have done that entirely sober, and in fact I was sober by the time we were really doing stuff, thank goodness, because I remember it all very clearly and that is a memory I would be very sad not to have), and the solid weight against me is of course Tom. Who I know that I love very much. And with whom, from my side, I know that I was making love last night, as opposed to just shagging.
Not to say that the sex wasn t superb and worth it just for itself. In fact, I m remembering my conversation with Tom right at the beginning, the night we met, and I m wondering why I had this belief that no-strings sex was a bad thing. Because even if we never do that again (I really hope we do, many, many times) it will have been worth it.
Although… maybe it was only that good because I m in love with him. Which I very clearly am.
I move my arm a little, because it s going a bit pins and needly, and Tom stirs.
I look at his lovely, kind, stubbly, square-jawed, ridiculously handsome face, and smile, and wait for him to wake up.
What the bleurgh, what, where, what, he says.
Morning, I say.
And, Oh my God, he yells.
Not in a flattering way, if I m honest. His tone is what the actual , not oh wow lucky me.
His eyes are swivelling a little, and I can feel his whole body drawing back.
While I summon up my best acting skills, I turn my face into the pillow on my side and tip my head so that my hair falls over my face.
And then I say, really hoping that my voice won t sound as though I m crying (which, okay, I am a bit – my eyes are suddenly moist and internally I m absolutely wailing with misery because it s so obvious that he s just full of regret and nothing else), I know.
Which is the perfect phrase. I m just agreeing with whatever he s saying. Because I do not wish to be humiliated on top of everything else.
Um. He s pulling further away from me, so I scoot right over to my side of the bed and drag a sheet around myself (the bed linen is in complete disarray) so that my nakedness is fully covered.
Then I wait for him to continue.
I don t know what to say, he says. And waits.
I say, I know, again.
And then he says, I ll get my clothes and go and have a shower.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him pluck a sheet from the bed and wrap it round his waist, so that his lovely, solid chest and abs are still on full display, and then I close my eyes because he clearly isn t mine in any way, and I shouldn t be ogling his (gorgeous) body. I hear him move round the room, and then he says, Okay, well I ll go then.
And I say, Great, and then I hear the door open and close. I wait for a moment, before getting up and locking the door, and then I crawl back into bed and hug one pillow into my body, putting the other one over my head and allowing myself to really just sob for a few minutes.
Because there is nothing good about realising that you are hugely, probably irrevocably head over heels in love with someone who… just regretted your night of mad, passionate sex.
I think it might take me some time to recover from this, and the first thing I need to do is not see Tom again.