Chapter Nineteen #2
‘Nothing happens now,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘You go back to your life, I go back to mine. We both go back to working together, and nobody needs to know what happened here.’
‘OK,’ said Nate, rubbing has hand across his face. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up.’
Lucy swallowed hard, wanting to tell him that last night had felt special; that Nate was the first man she’d actually woken up next to in over a decade, that he’d made her feel something beyond desire for the first time pretty much ever.
But the implications of those feelings were too foreign and terrifying to think about, let alone say out loud. This was how it had to be.
‘It’s been an amazing escapist mountain encounter,’ she said, trying to sound casual even though the words felt like sand in her mouth. ‘But nothing more than that.’
‘Right,’ said Nate. ‘You can chalk me up as one of your – what do you call them? Booty calls? Fuck buddies?’
There was an unmistakeable edge to his voice, and Lucy immediately bridled. ‘That’s how I do things,’ she said. ‘You always knew that, and I’m not going to apologise to you or anyone else.’
Nate’s shoulders slumped, his sails all out of wind. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not judging you,’ he said quietly. ‘It just seems a waste, that’s all.’
Lucy shook her head, wondering how the energy between them could have shifted so quickly. ‘With respect, how is it any of your business?’
‘It’s not,’ said Nate quickly. ‘Obviously I’m not pitching to be your boyfriend or anything.’
Obviously, thought Lucy. You’ve already filled that role with someone else. If there were any more elephants in this room it would be a circus. But she also rationalised that they’d been through a lot together over the past two days, and she probably owed it to him to at least try to explain.
‘Look, I’m honestly happier on my own,’ she said. ‘I don’t need someone to validate me, or, or . . . to make me feel good about myself. Invariably men just leave in the end, anyway.’
‘Or die.’
Lucy gave him a sharp look. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing,’ said Nate with a shrug.
‘No, you can’t say nothing. What does that mean?’
Nate sighed and backed away a little, holding the palms of his hands up. ‘Look, I just assumed that this is actually all about your brother.’
Lucy said nothing, her mouth hanging open as she stared at Nate and tried to make sense of what he had just said. ‘Leo? You think the situation between you and me is about Leo?’
‘No, not just you and me. I mean . . . your unwillingness to commit to a relationship. Or let anyone get close, or give up any kind of control, or whatever.’ His voice tailed off, and he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ said Lucy, a sick feeling rising in her throat.
Nate blew out his cheeks and put his hands on his hips. ‘I’m just saying that Leo was the most significant partnership of your life, and then he died. So maybe now . . . you subconsciously can’t form meaningful relationships.’
He tried to make the words sound casual and throwaway, but they hit Lucy like a punch in the gut, leaving her feeling like she’d been winded.
‘It’s just a thought,’ he added when Lucy didn’t reply. ‘I guess it seemed pretty obvious to me.’
‘Fucking hell, Nate,’ said Lucy, once she’d got her breath back. ‘Who made you Poundland’s answer to Sigmund Freud?’
Nate backed away a little further, like he was worried Lucy was going to hit him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. It’s just an observation.’
‘Yeah, well, if I’m in the market for some unsolicited therapy, I’ll ask for it.’ She looked away, feeling confused and exposed and nauseous. Like Nate had peeled open her chest and found a malignant growth that she’d never even known was there, and definitely didn’t want to dissect further.
‘But if you asked for it, it wouldn’t be unsolicited,’ said Nate with a helpless smile, trying to take the heat out of the conversation. ‘Aren’t you the copywriter?’
‘Fuck off, Nate,’ snapped Lucy, folding her arms tightly around her body. ‘I really don’t appreciate this conversation. We barely know each other.’
‘You didn’t say that last night,’ said Nate, clearly knowing he was beaten and playing the only card he had left. ‘Or this morning.’
Lucy shook her head, the angry, metallic taste in her mouth turning bitter. ‘Don’t you dare throw that at me. You knew the score, we both did.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Nate, hanging his head. ‘That was a low blow.’
Lucy was about to answer, but was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs and a gentle knock on the door. Willem’s head appeared, his face pink and animated. ‘The rescue people are nearly here,’ he said excitedly. ‘We can hear the tractor thing. It’s really close.’
‘OK,’ said Lucy. ‘We’ll be down in a minute.’ Willem took in the scene, clearly reluctant to leave without getting the gossip for Alex, then left again.
‘I’m really sorry,’ repeated Nate, after Willem’s footsteps had retreated down the stairs. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. Please, can we not leave things like this?’
‘Fine,’ said Lucy, taking a deep breath and forcing a weak smile even though she felt like she might be sick.
‘But at some point in the next few days we’ll both be back at work, and I think it’s reasonable to assume that neither of us wants people gossiping about us.
’ She tilted her head and gave him a significant look, hoping he would join the dots without her having to actually say what she knew about Sasha.
His brow furrowed for a few seconds, then softened into realisation as the penny dropped.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Right.’
‘So let’s put this down to an incredible and extraordinary experience,’ she continued, ‘and leave it there.’
‘OK, I accept that,’ said Nate earnestly. ‘But that doesn’t mean I want to forget.’
Neither do I, thought Lucy, but telling Nate that wouldn’t be helpful, and the alternative was too terrifying.
She looked down at her hand, which was still clutching the black marker pen.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you a reminder that will last a few days, before you go cold turkey.
’ She took his wrist and turned it over, then carefully wrote WAHZ in a swirly calligraphy script just below the crook of his elbow.
‘There,’ she said with a smile. ‘We’ll Always Have Zermatt.’
Nate laughed, and for a moment Lucy wobbled, wondering what would happen if she leaned in to kiss him.
Even when she was angry and upset, there was this strange connection that drew her to him.
She thought about last night, and what it might be like if their bodies came together in a haze of fumbling zips for a sweaty, urgent coupling against the cardboard boxes in the corner, all finished in a passionate few minutes before Ulrich’s bus arrived.
The look in Nate’s eyes suggested he was thinking the same thing, but it was way too complicated for a hundred different reasons.
‘So that’s it, for me and you,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes,’ said Lucy, keeping her voice strong and confident so Nate couldn’t hear her lack of resolve. ‘There is no me and you, there can’t be. We both know that.’
‘Yeah,’ he said, swallowing hard. ‘So just work friends, then?’
Lucy forced a smile and nodded emphatically, determined not to let him see her wavering.
It felt like her heart was already starting to unravel at the edges, like Nate had tugged on its strings and set something in motion that she couldn’t stop.
Clearly the sooner she got off this mountain and back to the safety and familiarity of her flat in Bristol, the better.
And yet somehow, the thought of that made her feel more lost and stranded than ever.