Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [36]
At the end of the evening she’d been hovering accidentally-on-purpose near the exit, when he left, and his eyes had laughed at her. He’d kissed several girls goodnight, but he’d put his thumb under her chin, lifted her face and the kiss had landed almost over her lips. When he’d pulled away, his eyes were regretful.
She hadn’t forgotten him. She wouldn’t have called it pining, and she made no brave attempts to see him again, but she daydreamed about him sometimes, for years afterwards. She was sure that in her head he was darker, more handsome, and that his eyes were more attentive, more sorry at the end. But that was okay. He was just a daydream, wasn’t he? He could be Prince bloody Charming in a daydream if she wanted him to be.
She had almost forgotten about him when she met him again. And she had loved the fateful randomness of it. Nothing to do with their respective friends and siblings at university – all of those chances – if they ever existed, had evaporated. A friend from work, Stella, had asked her to be godmother to her baby. Stella’s husband, Ross, had asked Simon to be godfather. How fabulous was that? As meeting stories went, Natalie thought it was a damn good one. It certainly sounded fantastic when she rehearsed telling it to their grandchildren. When she was alone, of course.
He had been late. The rest of the party had assembled at Stella and Ross’s house, then walked the short distance to the village church together. Simon arrived as they were singing hymn number 321. Stella hadn’t said much about the other godparents, except that one was to be her brother, and the other an old schoolfriend of Ross’s, whom she had described as ‘a bit up himself, actually’. The late arrival came slowly up the aisle behind Natalie, and took a place at the end of the pew directly in front. Ross handed an open hymn book to him, and rolled his eyes, as the broad shoulders shrugged an apology. It was the hairline, straight and definite, like a cartoon hero’s, and the colour of the hair, the black that was almost blue – L’Oréal called it Raven, but there was no doubt that this was natural. Natalie felt excited. Then, like those moments in pop videos and films, she had waited for him to turn and reveal a different face, the wrong face.
She walked behind him to the font, and as they arranged themselves round it, he saw her face. His eyes were pleased and surprised, and he raised an eyebrow at her. She was almost shocked that he remembered her. Like an Exocet missile, her gaze sought out his wedding finger. Bare. Did he see her looking? He was smiling now, and Natalie felt herself blush. As befitted a romantic heroine.
The baby, Hector, was vast, and bore an uncanny resemblance to Alexei Sayle. He wailed and wriggled in Simon’s arms, and on several occasions almost succeeded in freeing himself from his godfather’s untrained grasp. He seemed desperate to get into the font. His hands grasped angrily for the edge. Natalie giggled, and the dark eyes twinkled at her. The years evaporated.
Afterwards, when the regular worshippers were energetically singing ‘He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands’, he whispered, ‘Christ, I thought he was going for the full immersion, then, little brute.’
‘That’s our godson you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, our first child together.’
She didn’t know what to say.
‘In a manner of speaking, of course.’
Still stumped. She was usually better at it than this, but this was a full-on assault, and they weren’t even out of the church.
His mouth was even closer to her ear when he said, ‘One of ours would, of course, be far, far better looking.’
Now she curled her lip. ‘Could you be any cornier?’
He laughed. ‘Probably. Wait until I’ve had a glass or two of champagne.’
Stella was glaring at them, puzzled and slightly annoyed. Natalie held up the hymn book between them, and sang in her best schoolgirl voice.
Outside