Epilogue
EPILOGUE
NADIA
It s the longest day of the year and I m under the clock at Waterloo. Carole s here too, and we re waiting for Bea, Ruth and Tom.
It s exactly three years since we first met and we re going back to the tapas place as we do every year on this date.
Tom moved into my flat last year – we took things slowly for a while, until I suddenly realised that of course he really does long-term love me and we were just both missing out on a lot of very nice intimacy, basically, and we started dating properly.
We didn t come here together today, though. He s been watching cricket with his cousins while I had lunch with Marisa (who immediately entirely forgave me for the fake dating when I owned up after I started real-dating Tom) and then met a new client whose fiftieth I m going to sing at (I m now really enjoying working two days a week as a singer – weddings and other events – and three days in my accounting job).
I see Bea and Ruth. Carole s pointing and we stand together and watch them walking towards us holding hands. They re seventy-nine now, but are still both in very good health, thank goodness, and are planning a joint eightieth extravaganza for later in the year.
When they reach us – we stay where we are rather than going over to meet them halfway, because we have this tacit agreement that it s actually under the clock that we have to reconvene – we all share hugs.
It s so nice now between us – it s only been three years but it feels as though we re very old friends – but, even though it s only seven or eight hours since I last saw him, I really want Tom to be here to complete us. To complete me .
Oh, there s Tom. Bea points and we all turn to watch him hurry towards us.
Hey. He hugs the other three and then plants a quick kiss on my lips and gives me a very squeezy hug, not entirely letting go of me when we pull apart, which I love. How is everyone?
Amidst the chat that follows, I catch Tom looking slightly oddly at me and then at the others.
You okay? I mouth at him.
He shakes his head, as though he s clearing it, and says, Yes, yes, definitely, which makes me frown a little, because if you re completely okay aren t you actually just a bit surprised if someone seems concerned about you?
He s a bit quiet on the walk to the restaurant but finally seems back to his usual self by the time we go inside. Maybe the cricket was disappointing or something. I hope it isn t worse than that; it s very unusual for him to be like this. I hope he hasn t had bad news of any kind that he doesn t want to tell me about in front of the others.
Oddly, as soon as we re through the restaurant door, he first has a secretive word with a couple of the waiters, and then, on his way to the loo, stops for a little word with the guitar player on his platform. If it weren t for the fact that he seems kind of odd – a bit distant, like his thoughts are elsewhere – I d think he had an anniversary surprise like a cake or something planned for us all.
As soon as he s back from the loo, Carole taps the table with her cutlery and says, I have news. I ve met someone.
Tom is as effusive and interested as the rest of us; whatever had him on edge (I m guessing it must have been something like organising a cake) must be sorted now.
Well, Carole says in response to our chorus of questions, I went on a tennis holiday with my kids – I ve always wanted to play and never had time so I had beginner s lessons – and I met him there. His name s Patrick. I ve kept it quiet because I didn t want to jinx it or rush it after the Roger shit. But it s been nine months now and he seems very nice and I m finally ready to believe that it s going to work out. So, yes, I m just quietly happy.
She gives a big cackle of laughter as we all laugh at the idea of Carole doing anything quietly, and then we all laugh more.
It s a lovely dinner.
Bea and Ruth fill us in on what they ve been up to. (I really want to be like them when they re seventy-nine; I know the word inspiration is overused, and can be patronising, but they are an inspiration. As is Carole.)
I love you all so much, I tell them as we finish the champagne that Carole insisted on ordering to toast us all. Happy Waterloo Five meeting anniversary to all of us.
I think our taxi s here, Ruth says eventually, and we all stand up.
Weirdly, no anniversary cake has materialised. Maybe it was something to do with Bea s dairy intolerance, which interferes a lot with her pudding choices; perhaps that s why Tom seemed a little odd, maybe disappointed.
Carole s going back with Bea and Ruth to stay over at theirs for the night, as has become tradition, and Tom and I are going back to Waterloo together, as has also become tradition. Not least because we do live together now.
Want to go for a walk by the river before we get the train? Tom asks.
Yes, cool. It s a beautiful evening, not at all like the first time we met, weatherwise.
When we get down to the South Bank, Tom draws me towards him and kisses me, before moving back and holding me a little away from him and saying, I love you so very much.
I love you too.
I… He looks round and a clearly drunk man bumps into us. Yeah, let s walk. Maybe over the bridge?
I like the bridge, the drunk man says, looking worryingly like he s planning to accompany us on our walk.
Tom gathers my hand in his and says, Have a good evening, to the man, and hurries me away towards the station.
When we get there, I begin to move across the concourse to where I ll be able to see the departures board without squinting, but Tom tugs me left.
And suddenly we re underneath the station clock and he s let go of my hand and, oh my goodness, he s on one knee in front of me.
My hands go to my face, before he reaches his up, and I put mine in his, in a kind of trance-like, autopilot way, because I m basically shocked .
And then he says, Nadia, will you do me the very great honour of marrying me?
All I can think again is oh my goodness .
I m just so… so… well, there are no words.
I m just…
Nadia? Tom s screwed his face up, as though he s really worried that I might say no.
No, no, I say quickly, to stop his worry.
No? He s gone completely rigid.
Not no! I mean yes! I meant no, I won t say no!
So, to clarify? he asks, sounding out each word carefully.
My answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes please. There is nothing I would like more than to marry you.
Oh, thank God. He stands up and draws me into the circle of his arms, and we remain there, just looking at each other, before, very gently, he rests his forehead against mine, and then moves his hands to cup my face, before kissing me with great care, as though I m very, very precious.
Were you planning this all evening? I ask.
Yep. I was going to do it when we met, with the others, and then I suddenly thought what an idiot I was. Like, what if you didn t want to say yes. Plus, maybe it should be more of a private moment. So then I had to cancel the celebratory song I d arranged at the restaurant. And then I thought maybe I d propose on the bridge but I think that man was going to follow us. So that was when I decided to do it under the clock.
The clock was the perfect place, I say. It s our place.
Very true. Tom kisses me again on the lips, very tenderly, and I wind my arms round his neck and pull him closer, and he deepens the kiss, and then we kiss and kiss and kiss under the clock. Our place.
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