Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [22]
‘Now, there’s a difference, Nat. Don’t want to – that’s fine. I didn’t make you go off the diving-board, and I’m not going to make you go over this viaduct. But don’t tell me you aren’t capable of it. That’s not true.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you. And I know you’re capable of a lot of things that you don’t think you are.’
Clive indicated that he was ready and Tom practically vaulted over the railing, then leant back confidently until he was almost sitting in his harness. He made it look irritatingly easy. He smiled cheekily at her. ‘Piece of cake.’
Natalie stuck her tongue out at him. She didn’t want to smile. She was so afraid that she rather thought she might cry.
‘So, Nat, do it and I’ll meet you at the bottom and you’ll feel bloody fantastic, I guarantee it. Or don’t do it and I’ll meet you back up here, and I’ll never, ever mention it again. Up to you. I’m off.’ With that he released his tight grip on the rope, which fed itself at alarming speed through his hands, and shot him down.
Natalie rushed to the edge, and watched the top of his helmet. Bloody hell. She didn’t breathe again until she saw the guy at the bottom catch him. Tom circled, arms exultantly above his head, whooping.
Clive looked questioningly at Natalie.
‘I’ll show him…’
Twenty minutes later, Natalie was hanging by her arse, a hundred feet up in the air, swearing at Tom like a navvy. He was a dot on the grass below, but he could hear her. He knew her eyes would be closed. She never looked when she was frightened.
‘Open your eyes!’ he shouted up at her. ‘It’s beautiful.’ She opened them. It certainly wasn’t. She snapped them shut again. She didn’t seem to be any nearer the ground. She realised she was muttering to herself. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Help. Please. Shit, shit shit.’ A mantra of terror. She could feel the rope burning her hand. It was never going to end.
Natalie opened her eyes once more, hoping desperately she would see Tom’s face, up close. She was nearer, but not much.
It was quite a good view, though. She made herself keep them wide, not looking at the rope, or at the ground, but straight ahead at the tops of the trees.
Tom was still talking: ‘Well done, Natalie. Well done. Nearly here.’
By focusing on the horizon, and on Tom’s voice, she managed the next ten, twenty, thirty feet, and then he had her, first by her boot, then her leg, and finally the instructor was unhooking her harness from the rope and Tom was hugging her. ‘You did it!’
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Nat looked up to where she had come from. Already it seemed unreal.
‘I did, didn’t I?’ she repeated, a beam breaking across her face. ‘How cool am I?’ She was as high as a kite. What a feeling!
Tom’s eyes sparkled. ‘Told you you could.’
Nicholas
‘Would you like another cup, love?’
Nicholas gazed blankly at the waitress.
‘Another cup of tea?’
He glanced at his watch. Eleven forty-five. He’d been in here for an hour already. ‘Yes, please. That would be lovely.’
She smiled at him, and took away the cup.
He wondered briefly what they thought of him. He came in often, these days, with a copy of The Times, which he would read from cover to cover, eking out two cups of tea over a couple of hours.
He knew he looked all right – there was no danger they would think he was a vagrant, seeking sanctuary from the foul weather. He always paid with a note, not a warm fistful of change. And he tipped better than most. But he knew they found him a curiosity. He saw them sometimes, glancing at him, commenting to each other.
Well, he liked it here. That was why he came back most days. He liked the music they played, compilations of soft, folksy songs. The tea was okay, and the tables were big enough to spread out the paper. The café was in the front of the shop, not the rear, which meant he could see out on to the high street and watch the comings and goings. And it was always crowded, mostly with women in pairs – friends or mothers and daughters. They chattered away, and he enjoyed the rhythm of it. Sometimes he listened, but more often than not he let it