Chapter 20
20
TOM
I really want to message Nadia.
Obviously I can t do that, because she doesn t want to speak again and I have to respect that.
She s the main – only – person I want to speak to right now, though.
It would be the most selfish thing in the world to message her.
I want to tell her how nervous and full of anticipation I am to finally be seeing Lola. It s like Nadia s been on a lot of my Lola journey with me. And I d like to tell her about this part of it. And I ll want to fill her in on the end of it. Which will hopefully be the beginning of something else.
I miss Nadia.
Not seeing her is of course entirely my fault.
I look up at the station clock above and then over towards the other side of the concourse. And oh my God, I think it actually is her. Lola. After all this time.
As she draws closer, I kind of want to take a photo and send it to Nadia so that she gets to see the end of this story – like look, it s actually her .
It really is her. Ten years on.
She s beautiful. She s graceful. She s aged – well, not aged, she s matured – in the most perfect way. Exactly as I would have expected her to.
My heart s beating like the clappers (an expression I think Nadia would use).
Lola s here now, right in front of me.
Tom. Her voice is exactly as I remembered it. Confident, poised, the hint of a laugh in there.
Lola. And mine is, I have to admit, a little shaky. In my defence, this is a big moment.
I hold my arms out and she walks straight into them.
We hug for a long moment. It feels odd, if I m honest. I don t usually hug a woman, knowing that I m hoping to start a relationship with her, only a few days after having sex with another. All I can think is that she doesn t fit into my arms the way Nadia does, which is really not what I want to be thinking right now.
I ve missed you, she says.
Me too. I push away the thought that I ve particularly missed her since she got in touch with me five months ago and then she didn t turn up. I don t want to ruin this reunion by negativity. I m sure she had a very good reason for not coming. I mean, she s here now, isn t she?
She tilts her face back and smiles. God, that smile s bewitching. Slightly mocking. Enticing. Very flirty. It s the one I ve dreamed of for years on and off. Her lips are slightly parted and I get the strong impression that she wants me to kiss her.
I…
Yeah, it s weird.
It feels too soon after… Nadia.
This actually all feels as though it s happening to someone else. Lola is a very attractive woman who I… am not quite ready to kiss properly.
I kiss her cheek.
Very… gentlemanly, she says, one eyebrow raised.
Yep. I smile at her.
I can t actually believe that she s here.
It s really you, I say.
She laughs. It really is.
Given everything that s happened – or rather not happened – it s odd how very mundane this seems. Two people meeting again.
Maybe it s because we were meant to be. Maybe it s like we re just slotting into place together. Maybe that s why it seems so peculiarly unremarkable given the facts.
But I m just not as excited or as full of anticipation as you would expect at this point. I think I felt more excited and anticipatory before I saw her.
I booked dinner, I say. I chose a restaurant on the other side of Waterloo from the places I ve been with Nadia. Since I can t tell her about this evening, I don t really want to be reminded of her. And, also, it kind of feels slightly disloyal to go to the same place with both Nadia and Lola. As though I m betraying both of them. Similarly, I m really not loving being under the clock with Lola. Even though it was – originally – our place. It belongs to our group, the Waterloo Five, now.
Can t wait. She slips her hand into mine as we begin to walk. Our paces adjust easily to each other, and, yes, it s easy. Weirdly easy. But also weirdly… asexual, I suppose.
You have gorgeous hands, she purrs as we walk.
Ha. Thank you. You too. I nearly point out two pigeons scrapping over some bread and then remember that she is not Nadia and that she probably wouldn t find it that funny.
We don t chat that much on the way to the restaurant; it s like we re just enjoying being in each other s company again. We don t really need to talk that much.
Although, no, we do need to talk, I think, as we re seated. In fact, there s a lot to say. A lot to ask . And I really don t want to spend time ordering drinks. I just want to be able to ask all my questions immediately.
I admire Nadia for having dived straight in after… that night… and having immediately texted what she wanted to say. I should do the same with Lola. Really, the only question is which question I should ask first.
Why did she contact me again back in June?
Why did she not turn up?
Why didn t she reply to my message?
Why did she then reply immediately to this one?
How is she?
What s she been doing?
Does she love me?
I open my mouth to begin, just as Lola says, I was waiting for you to contact me again.
I close my mouth and stare at her, before asking, When?
Now, silly.
The silly is strangely… grating. No, it isn t. It s just that this is a weird situation. It s like Christmas Day when you re a kid. It takes such a long time to come that you can t really believe on the day that you re actually in it and it doesn t always live up to expectations. And there are loads of Christmas Days compared to this. One a year. And birthdays. So together that s two a year. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. And it s been ten years and five very anxious months coming. So it isn t surprising if things feel a little odd, and if we re both behaving a little differently from usual.
I ve been sitting just looking at Lola for ages. And she s looking at me, apparently waiting for me to speak.
So you were waiting for me to contact you again? I clarify. Now? After the last time we were in touch in June?
Yes.
I look at Lola s perfectly symmetrical features. I can t help wondering whether she s had lip fillers. I don t think her mouth looked exactly like that ten years ago.
Then I think about Nadia s lips and kissing them, and feel terrible, before pushing that thought away.
I look down at the menu and consider beginning to read it.
And then I look up again. We aren t going to get anywhere if we can t mention things. Really obvious, big things.
I can t put it off by thinking about Lola s face or reading the menu.
Why didn t you reply to me in June? I ask. Or contact me yourself?
I needed to test you, she says, like it s obvious.
Because? I ask; it is not obvious to me.
Because I ve been let down by men in the past and I needed to know that you wouldn t let me down? She says it like it s a question, like it s a completely duh how - do - you - not - know - that answer.
She must have been let down very badly, I decide, feeling guilty for the flash of irritation I felt before she explained.
Instead of feeling irritated, I should be trying to understand exactly what she means, so that I can reassure her.
Are you ready to order? a waiter asks.
I d like a Caesar salad, please. Lola flashes her smile at the waiter.
He blinks and smiles back, before saying, We don t serve Caesar salads.
I realise that Lola hasn t opened her menu at all. Fair enough; we ve had weightier things on our minds.
Really? She frowns a tiny bit. Would it be possible to make me one, though?
Oh. Well, I think so. Maybe. I ll check with the chef.
Thank you. She throws another smile at him before saying to me, Where were we?
Well I… I was going to order but the waiter s gone. But no problem; he will obviously come back and I ll order then.
The weirdness of the situation really is getting to me.
So, I say firmly. You got in touch in June to see if I wanted to meet but then you didn t make it. Which I completely understand; things do just happen sometimes. I d love to know what happened. I was a little worried about you, though, because from your messages it sounded as though something bad might have happened to you. And then when I— yep, I m just going to say it, or where will we ever be able to go from here —told you I loved you, you didn t reply. And so I suppose I thought that my feelings weren t reciprocated.
Lola takes my hands across the table and smiles at me. Silly. Of course they re reciprocated.
I let my hands stay holding hers, but out of nowhere I think, I miss Nadia . It feels odd being here with Lola; it s like I m almost homesick for Nadia s presence. She s the one I go to restaurants at Waterloo with. Weird. I really don t know why I m thinking that right now.
I focus and take a deep breath. What was it that stopped you from coming in June?
She shakes her head, and says, Details. What matters is now . I love you, Tom.
She s smiling in her mocking, intimate way again, and looking into my eyes. And I m… confused. This is all I ve wanted for a very long time. But…
Excuse me; we can do a Caesar salad for you, the waiter interrupts.
Thank you so much. Lola doesn t move her gaze from mine. Make that two. And a bottle of champagne, I think. She points at the wine menu. To celebrate.
I don t particularly want a Caesar salad and I… Yep, fine whatever. Not the most important thing right now. I mean, I m reminded of when Nadia ordered Italian food for me and she asked if it was okay for her to do that; she didn t just assume. But, really, whatever. What we eat this evening is not important.
I smile at the waiter and thank him, before looking back at Lola.
Her smile grows and then she very deliberately moistens her lips, and then bites her down on her lower lip with her perfectly even teeth.
It should be a very sexy move – it s definitely, I think, intended to promise exciting things for later – but I m too confused still to appreciate it. All I can think about is Nadia s mouth.
I withdraw my hands from Lola s on the pretext of looking at the wine menu.
Lola pouts at me. Champagne, surely, all evening?
She s right. I should make an effort. I don t know what s wrong with me. This is a huge evening for us. Of course we should be drinking champagne. Although not too much; I don t want to ruin the evening by being remotely drunk.
Maybe things between us will feel more normal, for want of a better word, if we just chat rather than plunging straight into the deep stuff.
My mind is actually quite blank, though. Nadia would be astonished if she could see me now; when I m with her – well, with most people actually, including Lola the first time we met – I m not usually at a loss for words or conversation topics. Well, apart from with Nadia when we d just had sex, but that was different. And even then we could have talked, it was more just that we didn t , because we couldn t talk about what we should have been talking about.
So you like a Caesar salad, I say after much searching for words.
I do. She elongates the do so that it s almost two syllables, which makes me laugh, and that feels better.
Do you cook a lot?
Tom, she admonishes. We aren t here to talk about cooking.
Right. What are we here to talk about?
Us. Obviously.
I nod because that s fair enough. Although we can t talk about us forever. But, no, obviously she just means now .
I wait, because I feel like I ve said some stuff about us and Lola hasn t, so I d like to hear now what she has to say.
We should have got together ten years ago, she says. Then and there.
We couldn t, though?
Because you were moving to New York.
And also, I point out, because you were in a relationship and pregnant.
Relationships end, she says.
I kind of ignore her words because I ve realised that I haven t yet asked about her child (children perhaps), which feels terrible. I ve been too overwhelmed by seeing her again.
The baby you were expecting, I say. I m so sorry. I didn t ask. What did you have?
A boy. He s ten now.
What s his name?
Tom. She smiles at me as though she s conferring the most enormous compliment on me. He s looking forward to meeting the person he was named after.
I know it s a bad reaction but all I can do is stare at her. I want to be flattered but… I m a man she met and had an amazing evening with ten years ago while she was with the baby s father… and she named him after me? I am not flattered. I m disturbed.
I wonder what Nadia would be thinking if she were a fly on the wall right now. I think she d be aghast but would also struggle not to laugh a bit at the utter ridiculousness of my situation.
And why is my situation so ridiculous?
Well. I suddenly realise everything.
My situation is ridiculous because I don t want to be here at all. I want to be with Nadia. I want to tell her all about this. I want to tell her everything. Always. I don t care about any of the stupid things I had in my head about us not having that much in common, or her man detox. I just want to be with her.
Oh fuck.
I ve been such an idiot.
Tom? Lola s eyes are narrowed. What were you thinking about?
I ignore her question and ask, Why did you contact me again this year? And was it because of your son that you couldn t make it to Waterloo on the twenty-first of June? I realise that whatever her answers are I won t even care; I will just want to tell Nadia so that she knows the end of this pathetic little story, because I owe her that given how involved she s been all the way through.
Because we always said we d meet after ten years and you just popped into my head. And, no, I had Tom sorted; he was staying with my parents for the night. No; my bloody husband came home. He was supposed to be on a golf weekend but because of rain he came home early. And when I said I was going into town to meet a friend, he said he d catch the train in with me and go and see his brother. So I told him my friend had cancelled. It was soooo annoying.
Wow. I cannot believe I was so worried about her. I thought she d had an accident or something terrible.
Are you still married? I ask.
Yes, but we have a very open relationship.
Although not so open that you were willing to tell him that you were meeting me that Saturday?
Are you a lawyer? The edge to her voice is not that attractive.
Nope. I signal to the waiter, who comes over. Could we get the bill now?
I hope you re not expecting me to go halves? Lola tells me.
* * *
Once I ve paid the entire bill, wishing that Lola could at least have bloody ordered the house champagne, not one of the most expensive ones on the menu, I say, Well, goodbye then, and stand up.
Fuck off, Lola says.
I m pretty sure I m lucky not to have had her glass of champagne upended over me.
I feel… free, I think is the word… as I weave through the tables in the restaurant and out onto the street.
I also feel very, very stupid.
I ve been chasing after a youthful dream. In my defence, we did have an amazing evening, when we met, and a bruising divorce does (in my experience) make you hanker after better times.
I turn into the station and look over towards the clock. There s no time I m passing through Waterloo that seeing it doesn t make me think of Nadia.
And that s where I ve been really stupid. I love her. I want to tell her everything. We can talk about anything and it becomes fun or interesting or deep and meaningful. She s a very kind and thoughtful person. And I fancy the pants off her. I am in love with her and I have been for many weeks. And I was too infatuated with an idea from the past to realise it.
I need to tell her.
The departures boards tell me that there s a train right there for me. (When I m not, for example, waiting for one that stops at Wimbledon for Nadia, they re very regular – most trains leaving from Waterloo stop at Clapham Junction – and there I go again, actually, thinking about Nadia.) I speed up and manage to get on it just before the whistle goes.
As it pulls out, I reflect for a moment that it feels good to have physical distance between me and Lola. I m glad I don t know where she lives. Or anything else about her. Other than, of course, that her son is called Tom and she s married to a man I feel very sorry for. Thank God she didn t come in June; I would hate to be involved unsuspectingly in a married person s affair. More importantly, though, I wouldn t have met Nadia.
I have so much I want to say to her, starting with a huge, gigantic, enormous Sorry .
The thing is, though, I think, as I stare at my phone screen with my finger hovering over the keys, I m not sure how to say it.
It feels really wrong to say it the evening I ve seen Lola, even though Nadia doesn t know that.
That could make it seem as though I was choosing between them. I wasn t. But it did – to my great shame – take seeing Lola and just wanting to tell Nadia all about it to make me realise how very much Nadia means to me.
I don t think I can message her now.
* * *
I wait two days, during which I think a lot about Nadia and how much I would never want to hurt her and how much I would like to be with her, before, sitting on a bench on Clapham Common in the late afternoon sun, I find the words.
Hi Nadia. I ve really missed you. I wondered if you d like to meet up this weekend. Or any other time. Tom x
A little reflection told me that you don t leave the room without saying anything after you ve slept with someone for the first time and then tell them by text that you re sorry and you love them; you tell them in person. So if Nadia agrees to meet me I ll tell her then that I love her.
Nadia s reading the message.
She s typing.
And the message is here.
Hi Tom. I m really sorry but I can t see you. Hope you re well. Nadia
I stare at two squirrels playing in front of me. I wouldn t mind having a life as simple as that. I can t just tell Nadia I love her in a message. But also, apparently, I m not going to be able to see her in person, because she understandably doesn t want to see me.
Not a good situation, and I ve brought it entirely on myself.