Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [111]
‘Doesn’t that depend on the arse?’
‘Suppose.’
‘Besides, I know that’s bollocks. Do you remember when I worked in Marks and Spencer? I spent the whole time exchanging red nylon bra and suspender sets men had bought as gifts for comfortable briefs – although I always thought “briefs” was a funny old word for them. Nothing brief about them. Where do you stand on the issue, out of interest?’
‘I like skin, myself.’ Especially yours, he thought.
‘Good to know.’ Time for a subject change, she reasoned. ‘Then I thought I might drag you into London, and make you sit on the Circle Line for a complete journey.’
‘Oh, yeah. That sounds great.’
‘We could have talked. I was going to bring a tube picnic…’
‘Can’t we talk in the park? It’s a beautiful day.’
‘Can you think of a park-related word that starts with U?’
Tom hesitated. ‘Undergrowth!’
‘That’ll do.’
‘That’s a rubbish letter.’ Tom stood belligerently on the pavement, with his hands by his side.
Natalie tried to look stubborn, but with him looking exactly like he had more than twenty years ago, when she had stayed on his new skateboard longer than he had the first time he’d climbed on it, she guffawed instead. ‘You should see your face! Double urgh.’
‘You’re going to feel so bad when you work out my V.’
‘Bet you I don’t.’ She smacked his bum playfully, and started off down the pavement. ‘Don’t forget it was you who made me swap. And I’ll buy you an ice-cream.’
He followed her. ‘Okay. But I want your Flake as well as mine. Then we’ll call it quits.’
They lay on their backs after they’d eaten their ninety-nines. The sun felt gorgeous.
‘I’m going to quit my job.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve been thinking about it since J. You made me see it all in a new way. You were right. It’s a crap job and I’ve put up with it, and that tosspot, for too bloody long. Waiting for something to happen, in work, out of work. And it didn’t and I’m still there, and that’s cowardly.’
‘Wow. Why now?’
‘Combination of things. Dad, partly. His stroke gave me a memento mori moment. It’s not a rehearsal, is it? And I’ve been thinking – about you, I suppose. Not that you should get big-headed or anything. Well, maybe you should, a bit. You took a risk, didn’t you? Believed in yourself. Paid off for you.’
He raised himself up on one elbow. An image, fifteen years old, sprang into his brain, of them, in the pub garden, the first time he had kissed her. They had been lying exactly like this. ‘I believe in you, too, Nat.’
‘I know you do.’ She put her hand, briefly, to his cheek. He wasn’t sure what the touch meant. ‘And that helps. Don’t think Simon ever did, really.’
They were both quiet. Tom lay down again.
‘And Mike has just sunk to a new, exciting Sigourney-Weaver-in-Working Girl depth of office crapness.’
‘How?’
‘You know my book-club idea – the one I put to him ages ago, and the one he’s been palming me off with for months with his good-things-come-to-those-who-wait bollocks?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘He’s presented it as his. Started his own bloody book club. He’s bucking the trend, apparently, of book clubs being a female thing. He’s having a lads’ book club. He’s going to do sports autobiographies, and novels about the twenty-first century male. Apparently. The boss thinks he’s a genius.’
Tom thought it was quite a good idea. Not that he would dare say so, of course.
Natalie glanced at him. ‘I know it’s a good idea. But he could have said that it was mine in the first place. He could have given me a little bit of credit. But he’s too small for that, the pillock.’
‘You’re lovely when you’re angry.’
‘Bugger off.’
‘Seriously. I think it’s fantastic. Have you done your CV yet?’
‘No. But I’m going to.’ Tom chuckled. ‘I am.’
‘Good. Let me see it before you send it anywhere. I’ll check it for typos, gross implausible untruths, and sex it up a bit on the graphics front.’
‘I thought you believed in me?’
‘I believe in your utter brilliance. I believe you’d make an excellent radio – whatever, boss, presenter… Totally. I just think you’re a bit of a ditz on the detail.’
He was right, and she knew