Chapter 18
18
TOM
It s rare to feel like a total dickhead first thing in the morning, but I do.
Carole has organised for everyone from last night s party to meet for breakfast.
I m sitting with Bea, Ruth and Nadia. Fortunately, we re in a row, me and Nadia on the ends, Bea and Ruth in the middle. I m chatting to Bea and the two people opposite us and I m trying extremely hard not to catch the sound of Nadia s voice or her laugh, because every time I do I feel incredibly guilty. In my head I have unfinished business with Lola, and I also have unfinished business with Nadia in that we are friends and we had sex last night. A lot of sex. A lot of mind-blowingly good sex. And we are friends . And sex is not a good thing to do with a friend who you would like to stay friends with but not have a relationship with.
Why do I not want to have a relationship with Nadia?
Because she s my friend and because of Lola.
Have you been, Tom? Bea s enquiry means nothing to me. I have no idea what we re talking about. Or rather what the others have been talking about while I nod and smile as my thoughts go in circles.
I need to message Lola, I decide. Tell her something once and for all. I mean, she s obviously ended whatever non-relationship we had by airing me, but I want – need – to round it off from my side. Or, equally, make one final attempt.
Tom? Bea repeats.
I look at her kind (but always quite stern) face and try to think of a good catch-all response. I fail.
Sorry. Really tired. Miles away for a second, I confess. Bea s forehead furrows just a little and she tilts her head slightly, like she s disappointed in me, so I continue, I had a very, very late night, and I might have drunk a bit too much. So I might just have nodded off for a second. But I would very much like to know where it is that we re talking about visiting and I will undertake to not nod off again.
Gibraltar, the woman opposite me says.
Gibraltar? I query, confused again.
Have. You. Been. To. Gibraltar? Bea says.
Oh. Nope.
The conversation pretty much carries on like that. I am uninspired and uninspiring. I just want some peace and quiet to decide what I m going to say in my message to Lola (because I definitely am going to message her) and what I m going to say to Nadia (I have to say something) and then I want to send the message and say the thing and then I want to go back to my flat and watch TV by myself to take my mind off everything else. And then get a full night s sleep in my own bed.
Finally , everyone s draining the last dregs of tea from their cups and looking ready to go. I don t want to be the first to leave (I feel as though Nadia would think that it was because of her, which would of course be true, but I don t want her to feel bad), but I ll be very happy to be the second to leave. I just want someone to make a move.
There s definitely a bit of shuffling and gathering of handbags now; this is it, hooray.
And then Carole, at the end of our table, stands up and says, Thank you for coming, everyone. You ve made a newly divorced woman very happy. After she s said some more nice things, she continues with: We have some prizes to announce. It takes a bit of time to get through them all. She concludes with the casino winners. And in first place, to no-one s surprise, I m sure, is Nadia.
I make sure that my cheering and clapping are at least as loud and generous as everyone else s.
Come and collect your prize, Nadia.
Nadia looks a little dark under the eyes this morning, and to me it seems as though the big smile she s produced is a little forced. Her lack of sleep could be the reason but I can t help worrying that it s because she s miserable.
We all clap again as Carole hands Nadia an envelope.
As Nadia opens it, Carole explains to us all that it s vouchers for a massage in the spa of a nearby country hotel and a champagne lunch in the hotel s restaurant. For today. For two .
Thank you so much, Nadia says. Her smile isn t reaching her eyes and her demeanour is that of a rabbit in headlights. She clearly has absolutely no choice but to stay and use the tickets. And, oh God. Oh no.
I thought, Tom, you might like to share the treat with Nadia. Carole s smile is a lot realer-looking than Nadia s.
Fuck.
I sit, also entirely a rabbit blinded by headlights, staring at Carole s beaming face and Nadia s pained expression.
I cannot think of a single thing that I can do other than say what a great treat. I can t let Carole down or indicate that there s any awkwardness between Nadia and me. I can t consign Nadia to having to spend the day with a stranger. I really can only say thank you and then grit my teeth and bear it.
Wow, I say. Great. Thank you.
As everyone claps again and Bea and Ruth both tell me that I m going to have a wonderful day, I go for some positive thinking. How bad can it really be? We can agree to read the news, catch up on emails while we re having the lunch, and it can be a quick one. And who doesn t love a massage? During which we obviously won t have to talk.
It will be absolutely fine.
Definitely.
* * *
Forty-five minutes later, I enter the massage room in a white towelling dressing gown, very aware that Nadia will be in the same room and very aware that under the dressing gown I m wearing only trunks and that Nadia is likely to be similarly under-clad.
Fortunately, the room contains two massage therapists and no Nadia yet.
Under instruction, I hop onto one of the beds and lie face down before my therapist switches my dressing gown for a towel.
I have my head turned away from the door, so that I won t lock eyes with Nadia when she comes in, so I m disappointed when it turns out that there are two doors and she s come in through the other one, so I m staring right at her dressing-gowned body for a moment. I give her a quick smile and turn my head the other way (trying my hardest to look as though I m just adjusting into a better massage-receiving position rather than whipping my eyes from her as fast as humanly possible).
I m going to enjoy this massage. I like them but I rarely get one. I am determined to take advantage of this.
You re very tense, my therapist tells me.
Well of course I bloody am.
Actually, with the soothing music and the expert hands of the therapist, I do relax and begin to enjoy it, and I m almost asleep and really not pleased when he quietly tells me that he s finished.
Nadia s has finished too, and I know that because her therapist tells us both that we can leave the room in our own time.
And there we are. Together. Semi-naked under undone dressing gowns, with a very big sexual elephant in the room.
Nadia is saying absolutely nothing.
I m really keen to be on my feet and dressed, so I bite the bullet. I swing round with my back towards Nadia to do my gown up and hustle myself back to the changing room.
It s easier said than done because some of my muscles have gone to jelly due to the firmness of the massage, but I manage not to groan out loud (I don t want to remind either of us of last night, during which I think there might have been a fair amount of groaning) and say, Good massage. I m going to get changed. I ll meet you in the hotel restaurant shortly. I think Carole said the table was at one. I ll see you then.
Great, says Nadia, her voice sounding distant, I m guessing because her head s still turned away from mine.
I take my time getting changed and then I slide out of the changing room – there s no sign of Nadia I m pleased to say – and then take myself off for a brisk, brain-clearing country walk.
* * *
I m back for lunch and in the restaurant by five to one, because I don t want to seem rude.
I slightly wonder whether Nadia will turn up at all, given that I m the one who left her room this morning and how she didn t sound super happy at that moment, but I think she probably will, because she won t want to let Carole down.
Clearly we just need to eat the lunch and drink a bit of champagne, while making polite conversation, take a cab to the station together, and then sit separately on the train (I hope).
Nadia turns up at one minute after one.
Once the waiter has her seated, he immediately pours us both a glass of champagne before telling us he ll be back in a few minutes to take our orders.
Nadia looks me right in the eye and says, What a lovely restaurant; what a lovely treat. The massage was great too. Carole s very kind.
Yes, she is, I agree, very carefully. I think Nadia s signalling that she will not under any circumstances be initiating a discussion about last night, but I don t want to assume that.
Nadia opens her menu and begins to read it very intently.
This looks lovely, she says after a few seconds.
I open my own menu. It does.
We make desultory conversation about the menu. Nadia is careful to bolster the incredibly mundane food chat whenever it starts to wane, and I do my best from my end too. We continue our dull conversation after the waiter has taken our orders (unbelievably annoyingly Carole has very kindly prepaid for us to have starters, mains and puddings; I d been planning on going for just a main).
Yes, the décor is lovely, I agree, dutifully looking around the room. This is such hard work.
Our starters! Nadia says, with the most genuine enthusiasm I ve seen her display all day.
We both direct our full attention to our plates.
Your scallops look lovely, I say.
So does your terrine.
And then we both start eating, both of us going really slowly – a full mouth is an excellent excuse for not talking much – and not saying anything other than how good the food is (actually it is good).
We time the end of our slow starter-eating very well, because our mains arrive within only two or three minutes of our plates being cleared.
We eat the mains slowly too.
We eat our puddings quite fast, both of us as though we re pulling a sprint finish out of the bag after an arduous long-distance run.
Can I get you a cup of coffee to finish? the waiter asks as he clears our plates.
No thank you, we say simultaneously.
I have to go very soon, Nadia says the second he s gone. I have things to do in London. I m going to call an Uber.
Great. I spy an early reprieve. I ll probably just relax here for a little longer. I m not in a rush.
Good idea, says Nadia extremely politely. I d love to relax here too. But I can t. Have a lovely afternoon. And she stands up, kind of nods at me, and walks off across the room.
I can t help watching her go and I can t help thinking that she s very beautiful and kind and cool, and marvelling at the fact that last night we… yep. We did all of that. Together.
I get my phone out and check train times.
I think she might just miss one and they aren t that frequent because it s Sunday. So I need to give the station a wide berth for several hours.
I decide to take myself to a pub for a few hours and go back to London this evening.
* * *
In the pub (a different one from the one we were in last night; I do not want to run into Carole or any of the other guests), I read the news on my phone. I watch some tennis and some golf on the pub TV. I try very hard not to think about Nadia. I fail. She likes watching tennis. I wonder whether she likes golf. I order a birthday present for my mum from John Lewis. I wonder whether Nadia would think my mum would like the top I ve chosen. I play Brawl Stars (which makes me think about Nadia).
It s ridiculous how much I m thinking about her but in fairness to myself we did have a lot of sex last night so it s probably natural.
Eventually I decide that it will be safe to go to the station and catch the next train back to London.
I m a little bit on edge walking onto the platform, but all good, there s no sign of her.
Once I m on the train that arrives within five minutes, I m still thinking about Nadia.
It s really annoying me. I just can t stop.
I m also thinking sporadically about Lola. Who I don t even have a photo of other than a grainy one from ten years ago.
I search through the pictures on my phone and look at the grainy old one. Lola is beautiful. Blonde, sleek, but with a naughty side-eye to her. And ten years younger of course.
Suddenly, I don t know why – maybe it s just the kind of thing you do when you re feeling sad and guilty (which is how I am feeling because I don t think I should have slept with Nadia and it s very sad that our friendship is effectively over) – I decide to rewatch our Happy Birthday video.
Yeah. It s a nice video. My grandmother loved it. Anyone would have.
We made a very convincing couple. It s actually horrifying. I don t know how I d describe how I m looking at Nadia in it. Fondness I think. Definitely strong friendship. Very strong friendship. Very fond. Very, very fond.
The way she s looking at me… well, yeah. Also very, very fond. There s no poker face there. She s wearing her feelings right there on her face.
I am an arse.
And suddenly I know what I have to do. I have to round off things with Lola one way or another. I have to message her. And I either have to say just to let you know that from my side it s over, or I have to ask one final time if she d like to meet. Or something.
I don t know what I m going to write until I begin.
And then I say:
Lola. Hey. It s Tom. Would you like to meet one final time?
And, to my utter astonishment, she immediately reads the message and then she begins to type. And she sends a reply.
Yes please. Can you do Wednesday?