Chapter 14
Lost cause
This was a big mistake. The biggest of big mistakes. The time I asked the Chair of Governors at a job interview when her baby was due, only to find out she wasn’t pregnant? This is bigger.
I sit at the round table in the centre of The Nightingale looking down at my lap and regretting all of my choices from the last two hours.
Mistake number one: I shouldn’t have let Violet do my hair and make-up – I must look ridiculous, drawing unwanted attention to myself.
Mistake number two: I should not have worn this damn dress. The beautiful fabric is stretched across my tummy, so I’ve had to order a salad in case I bloat from eating anything else. I’m quite sure the dress would split at the seams if I did.
Mistake number three: I shouldn’t have finished my glass of vinegar-wine at Vi’s.
Or the two she poured for me after that.
I thought it would loosen me up and help me to relax during what I knew was going to be a stressful evening, but all it’s done so far is make walking in the heels I’ve borrowed from Violet near impossible.
So, like a responsible adult, I told myself I should stick to soft drinks for a while. Then I ordered a large rosé anyway.
Mistake number four: I simply shouldn’t have come out in the first place.
My social battery is already running on fumes after a full day in school and two hours at Violet’s house.
I feel uncomfortable in my own skin and even more uncomfortable in my outfit, so I’ve ended up sitting wallowing in my own self-pity, which I’m worried is bringing everyone else down.
Everyone would be having a better time if I weren’t here.
So I’m picking at my salad, feeling impossibly lonely in a room full of people. Feeling unworthy of their time and kindness. Feeling my self-hatred overwhelm all other emotions, one thought at a time.
“Excuse me!” Violet’s shrill, slurred voice catches my attention from my left. She clicks her fingers at a waiter. “Excuse me!”
The middle-aged man in a white shirt and black tie strolls over to us. “Yes, Miss?”
“My friend here,” she says, pointing at me – what is she doing? – “she said her salad is the best she’s ever tasted. She even said it was like an ‘orgasm in her mouth’. Would you mind letting them know in the kitchen?”
The waiter stares at her in disbelief. “You want me to tell them the salad was like an orgasm in your friend’s mouth?” He whispers the last bit.
I, beyond mortified, sink lower into my chair.
“Well, if you’re not comfortable with that, you could always ask someone from the kitchen to come to us, and we’ll tell them ourselves?”
Ah, now I see what she’s doing.
“Vi…”
Ignoring me, Violet continues. “The sous-chef, perhaps?”
Relieved, the waiter nods and scurries off towards the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at her.
“Making you smile!” She grins innocently at me and starts fluffing up my curled hair. “Sit up straight and pull the dress down a bit.”
“I’m not going to do that,” I whisper-shout, embarrassed.
“Fine, I will!” She reaches out, and it’s all I can do to stop her revealing my entire chest to the other diners. “Act natural, he’s coming!”
Violet turns away and pretends she’s deep in conversation with Seren on her other side, leaving me to face the man striding towards our table.
He’s wearing a black chef’s coat which is snug on his upper arms, and his hair is untidy in a sexy way, as if he’s been running his hands through it.
I wonder how it would feel if I were to run my hands through it.
I push my nearly empty glass away from me – I’ve clearly had enough.
His chocolate brown eyes land on mine and crinkle at the sides as he smiles, recognising me.
He smiles down at me. “Good evening, Miss.” His eyes hold mine for a second before slowly drifting over the rest of me.
Oh, shit. I’m so self-conscious, but there’s nowhere to hide in this dress.
I can’t tuck myself further under the table because it would be rude, so instead, I slide my cloth napkin from next to my plate and drape it over my knee.
It doesn’t cover much, but it hides my thighs, and I use my arms to cover my stomach.
I try to smile back. “Hey, Chef.”
“I’m told one of you wanted to speak to me about a salad?” He eyes the plate in front of me, noticing most of the food is still there, while everyone else has finished. “Didn’t you like it? Let me make you something else.”
“No, no, it was great. I’m just not very hungry.”
“Matilda, who’s your friend?” Tim calls from across the table. He’s looking at Connor like he’s an option on the dessert menu, and something that feels like jealousy, but I’m sure it’s just friendly protectiveness, grows in my chest.
I wave my hand towards the man standing over me, so close I can smell him even over the delicious odours coming from the food. “This is my friend Connor. Connor, these are my colleagues.”
“Colleagues? We’re her friends!” Violet scoffs. She reaches across me to shake Connor’s hand. “Violet. I’m actually Tilly’s work bestie. We tell each other everything.” She winks at him, then turns back to Seren.
Connor smirks and looks down at his shoes, a slight flush on his cheeks. “You didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight,” he says, turning back to me.
I shrug and reach for my wine again, just to have something to do with my hands. “I figured you see me all the time at home, you wouldn’t want to see me at work too.”
“That’s ridiculous, what would make you think that?”
When I avoid looking at him, he crouches down, one arm on the back of my chair and one on the table in front of me. He speaks so low I’m the only one who can hear him, despite Tim leaning towards us, trying to listen.
“I will never get fed up of seeing you. There isn’t a reason on earth that I wouldn’t want to see you, whether I’m at home, at work or anywhere else. Please don’t ever think otherwise. Okay?”
Between the wine and his words, I don’t trust myself to speak, so I just nod.
“Good. Also,” he says, leaning closer to my ear, “you don’t need to hide behind a napkin. You look sexy as hell.”
He whips the napkin off my knee and stands up abruptly, stuffing it into his pocket. My cheeks burn and I wish I had something to cover them. A napkin would be handy.
Connor smiles at the rest of the table. “Enjoy your night. Tilly, give me a call when you want me to take you home.”
“Does that offer apply to all of us?” Tim calls after him, making everyone laugh raucously.
We finish our meals soon after, and I ready myself to make an excuse to go home rather than hit the bars with the younger crowd. A cup of tea and a lie down sounds heavenly right now.
“Right, who’s coming into town with me and Tilly?” Vi asks the group. Seren and Tim’s hands shoot into the air instantly.
“Actually, Violet, I think I might go home. With everything that’s going on, I don’t think I can afford to eat here and go out drinking.”
Vi, Seren and Tim scowl at me, clearly seeing through my excuse. Before they can scold me, though, the middle-aged waiter from earlier comes over to speak to us.
“The bill has been settled, with our compliments. Please enjoy the rest of your night.”
All three of them stare at me with raised eyebrows and amused faces.
“Well, I wonder who arranged that?” Seren smirks playfully.
Tim pretends to tap his chin in thought. “Could it be the gorgeous chef who clearly wants to get into Tilly’s pants?”
“Either way,” Vi says, “it’s saved you some cash, so now you have no excuse. You’re coming with us!”
Seren, Tim and Vi drag me to a karaoke bar on the edge of town.
Apparently, it’s the place to be if you want cheap drinks and off-key music.
I sit on a sticky wooden chair at a sticky wooden table, sipping my vodka and Diet Coke from a plastic cup while the other three flick through the songbook, making their selections.
I’m even more on edge now that I’m out in such a crowded place, and my anxiety peaks when I feel myself starting to spiral with dark thoughts.
“What are you going to sing, Til?” Seren calls across the man belting out ‘Mr Brightside’. Badly.
“Oh God, I’m not singing!”
The thought of me going up onto a stage is ludicrous.
All those eyes on me? I would probably pass out.
Put me in front of an assembly of two hundred and fifty children?
No problem. I’m Mrs Simmons then, a completely different person.
Mrs Simmons is confident, take-no-prisoners, not afraid to make a fool of herself if necessary.
But outside of school, I’m just Matilda. Lonely, sad, worthless Matilda.
“You sing all the time in school,” Tim points out.
“I don’t think the people here want to listen to me sing ‘He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands’” I joke humourlessly.
The others continue the search for the perfect song while I sit and people-watch. Around me are dozens of beautiful, confident people, all having a good time without a care in the world. Some dance, some sing along to the music, others flirt with each other.
You don’t belong here. You stick out like a sore thumb.
There’s a group of girls standing near the bar, all thin and tanned and primped within an inch of their lives. They’re laughing at something the blonde one has said.
They’re laughing at you.
I look around again and see a couple sitting at a table not far from ours.
The woman is gorgeous, her black hair cut just above her shoulder and super-straight.
Her dress fits her perfectly, showing off an hourglass figure I can only dream of having.
The man wears a short-sleeved grey shirt with the top couple of buttons undone.
They’re deep in conversation, the girl looking away coyly while he looks at her with such intensity I fear he’ll burn holes in her flawless skin.
He reaches out and strokes her arm with his finger gently.
You’ll never have that. No one will ever look at you that way.
I look away from the couple with tears in my eyes.