Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [19]
‘You knew! I remember seeing you that week – and you were different. You had relaxed. Exhaled. You had found “the one”. You know you had.’
‘Okay – I’ll admit he was different. But that was me – you’re you. Not everyone falls in love the same way. You should give yourself a chance, Nat. Simon’s really done a number on you. Remember how sure you were of him, and look what happened. Your instincts couldn’t have been more wrong, could they? So that’s where all this “the one” and “just knowing” nonsense got you. Broken-hearted and alone. Hardly a glowing recommendation.’
Natalie’s face was unconvinced.
‘And look if it isn’t to be, fair enough. But I’m with Tom. Do it, play this game. For whatever reasons. Just have some fun. What possible harm can it do?’
They smiled at each other.
‘And promise you’ll come and see me when I’m stuck in the bunker up to my elbows in shit and milk and impossibly tiny clothing, and tell me all about it!’
*
Later, at home, Natalie took a deep breath and looked around. This place definitely needed to be de-Simoned. It wasn’t so much that it was full of his stuff. It actually wasn’t. Just that lots of things reminded her of him. Those pot plants – she’d dragged him out of bed at five thirty a.m. to go to the flower market and buy them. That checked blanket, on the arm of the sofa – she’d pulled that over him so many times over the years, when he’d fallen asleep in front of the television after a long shift. The candles in the fireplace – they used to light them on Sunday evenings, drink a heavy red on the floor in front of them, listening to music and then, usually, make love and fall asleep there, to wake up a couple of hours later, cold and stiff. Everything had a picture of him imprinted on it.
She wandered into the kitchen. This wasn’t a place that reminded her of him too much. He’d barely ever gone into it. She smiled a little. Lazy bastard. He always said that if you learnt how to make good tea, or eggs Benedict, you’d be stuck with making it for time immemorial. But on the back of the kitchen door there was one of those plastic photo-montage things, with about fifty pictures of the two of them. Faces together, smiling. In black tie. In swimsuits. Against snowy backdrops. Among Christmas decorations. Simon in drag, Natalie as sexy nurse… She took it down and put it behind the sofa, not letting herself look at it.
January
A for Abseiling
Natalie heard Tom’s car horn at seven p.m. on the dot. He was never late. But Simon always had been. Not for patients, just for her. She was still on Simon time.
At seven ten he hooted again.
‘All right, you bugger,’ Natalie shouted, to the empty room behind her, as she slammed the flat door.
At least she had something to pack an overnight bag for, even if it was only Tom. Natalie liked packing overnight bags. She hoarded those little bottles you could buy at Superdrug, and sachets that came in magazines, and kept them in an Anya Hindmarch bag Susannah had been given once when she was upgraded on a British Airways flight. Ever ready. It made her feel glamorous – the thought that she could head off at a moment’s notice to Babington House or Gleneagles. Now it was in her holdall (fake Mulberry, M & S), nestled alongside a travel hairdryer and two sets of matching underwear. Underwear always matched in an overnight bag.
If he’d booked one room he could think again. She wanted six feet of Frette linen all to herself, thank you very much. Thank goodness he had a bit of money. He might want to dress up the cheering-her-up process as this stupid alphabet game, but she knew they were both in it for a laugh. She was looking forward to a bit of pampering. Maybe there’d even be a spa…
Tom had opened the boot and was leaning against the passenger door. ‘Come on.’
‘Da-dah!’ Natalie spread her arms and gave a little twirl. ‘I’m ready for A. Or should I say, I’m Available for A, I’m Able to A, I’m Amenable—’
‘You’re L for late.’
She ignored him. ‘Come on, then.