Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [90]
Natalie went straight to her bedroom, and stripped off, letting her clothes fall to the floor unheeded. She was exhausted. But she was wondering. It would have been okay, being kissed under a streetlight in the dark in Paris on her birthday. She would have quite liked it, actually. So long as he didn’t think she was only letting him kiss her because of the watch. She wasn’t that kind of girl. But, then, he probably knew that. But it was okay that the kiss hadn’t happened, too. She felt a bit like a teenager. Once, on Valentine’s Day a thousand years ago, a boy she liked had sent her an anonymous card, but by the end of the day she had worked out it was from him, and after school they had sat together on the bus, and he had walked the long way round to his house, which meant going right past hers, and they had stood shifting from one foot to the other at the end of her drive, talking about whether or not to kiss each other for ages and ages (until Bridget and Susannah had come home, in fact, which broke the mood, such as it was). They hadn’t been brave enough, that day, but they had sort of laid the foundations for the next time. And the next time they had kissed and kissed. Paris had felt a bit like that Valentine’s afternoon, in the cold, on the driveway, when she was about twelve. And it was quite a nice feeling. She pulled her nightshirt over her head. She might have fallen into the unmade bed immediately if she hadn’t been thirsty. She yawned and headed for the kitchen. The red light on her telephone was flashing. Four new messages.
The first was her dad, saying he hoped his money had been well spent. She thought so. She could hear his benevolent smile when he said, ‘Don’t bother to call your old man back, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I love you.’
The second was Rose, an apparently hyperventilating Rose: ‘Call me, call me, call me.’
The third message was also Rose: ‘Whatever time you get in. I’ll still be up!’
Natalie smiled to herself, and pushed Rose’s button on the speed dial. If she was looking for gory details she was going to be disappointed.
She was looking for an audience. ‘Oh, Nat, I’m so glad you called! Pete’s asked me to marry him!’
For a split second, Natalie remembered January, when Pete had whisked Rose off on Eurostar, and how she had hoped (and hated herself for it) that Pete wouldn’t propose. She didn’t feel that way tonight. She was instantly, bubblingly happy for her best friend and burst into tears.
Rose sounded panicky. ‘Are you crying? Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine. Fine. Just… so… happy… for… you… both.’
‘Isn’t it ironic? You went to Paris, and I got engaged! Makes you smile, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m smiling because I’m happy for you, Rosie, not because that makes me smile.’
‘Well, don’t come here for sympathy. You could be, if you wanted to be, if you ask me.’
‘Which I won’t. Now, shut up about me and tell me all about it. While simultaneously reassuring me that I get to be Sexy Bridesmaid, not Taffeta Terror…’
It took Rose about half an hour to impart the most salient points of Pete’s proposal, and about another thirty minutes to discuss those aspects of the wedding she had decided on. Pretty impressive, Natalie thought, for someone who only got proposed to tonight.
It was almost one in the morning when she could stifle her yawns no longer, and she mumbled to Rose that she’d better get some sleep.
‘So,’ Rose finally remembered to ask, ‘how was Paris?’
‘Paris was… Paris was…’
‘Yes?’ Rose sounded excited all over again.
‘Paris was… perfect.’ Rose was silent at the end of the line. ‘And that’s all I’m going to tell you, you nosy old bag. Now, goodnight!’
She made a last mug of tea, stirred it and thought about Tom. She was plodding wearily back towards the stairs when she remembered there had been a fourth message. She almost ignored it – what couldn’t wait until tomorrow? – but then, impulsively, she pushed the button.
It was Bridget. ‘Nat? I don’t think you’re there. Was it today you were going to Paris with Tom?