Slide to Answer
Marnie would be gone by four thirty, which would give him an hour to get ready. That morning, while she was showering, he had walked a little further up the hill to find the internet, searching for best restaurant richmond yorkshire, peering at tiny photographs of leaking steaks and gargantuan roasts and glossy curries, wondering, What would go best with regret, with analysis and reflection? He settled on an Italian place that seemed intimate without being needy and checked the menu to ensure it served something other than pizza – all that sawing and folding, all that hot cheese unspooling. Nat would order the Caprese salad and the bream, but beyond that, he really had no idea what to expect.
He was making the reservation when the phone rang in his hand. Natasha’s number. He’d not heard her voice for four months and for a moment he was unsure how a phone worked. Slide to answer apparently. ‘Hey,’ he said, turning his back on the valley as if the valley might listen in.
‘Hiya! How are you?’ Her voice, the light north-east accent.
‘I’m good, I’m good. I was about to text you.’
‘Okay. Where are you now?’
‘Swaledale, just looking at the valley. Lovely.’
‘And the weather?’
‘Okay. Bit overcast.’ They were talking about the weather. ‘So.’
‘And how is it, the walk?’
‘Lovely.’ Why was everything lovely? ‘Tiring.’
‘Still okay for tonight?’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’
‘Cleo said you were walking with a friend, and I didn’t want to—’
‘Oh, what? No, Marnie, she left days ago, two days ago.’
‘So … it’s not a problem? Tonight?’
‘No. I’m looking forward to it.’
They made plans. He would text her the hotel address. Nothing could happen because she was seeing a guy (early days), was still proceeding with the divorce (also early days) and pressing on with the sale of the house (no takers yet, easy enough to pull out). Yes, she’d been the one to instigate this meeting, but it was probably just a sense of obligation, like a hospital visit. Even so, he upgraded to a better hotel, a double room, because nothing was going to happen.
Through Reeth and Grinton, Marrick and Marske, these thoughts preoccupied him and the day saw long stretches of awkward silence, though Marnie didn’t seem to mind. ‘Look at what we did together,’ she said, measuring the distance travelled on the map with the span of her hand, but the coast was still some way off, four days at least. Soon they were walking through municipal woods, past joggers and walkers and benches dedicated to the deceased who had loved it here, and soon Richmond was in view, housing estates and churches, the Swale making its return in the valley below. What looked like a cathedral tower was in fact a castle keep high above the town. ‘Richmond, from riche-mont,’ he said, ‘meaning “strong hill”,’ and she pushed him from the path. ‘I think you’ll miss it.’
‘I won’t miss anything,’ she said, and he felt a small panic at the prospect of her absence.
Richmond left them wide-eyed. Traffic lights! Shops and timbered pubs and fine Georgian houses, and soon the marketplace, a grand egg-shaped arena, picturesque even when crammed with cars. They walked around its edge to the hotel and now it was time to say goodbye.
‘So,’ she said.
‘So. Here we are! The end of the road!’