by Paige Toon
A waiter comes over to hand me a menu as I take a seat outside. This little place is fascinating. Most of the other tables are full. Several backpackers, a few elderly people, a young couple…The table bases are made of old-fashioned Singer Sewing Machine treadles and the chairs look as if they were stolen from a primary school fifty years ago. Large white, red and blue umbrellas hang overhead to protect the diners from Sydney’s showers. There’s no need for that today, though. It’s a lovely morning and the sunlight appears dappled through the lime-green trees.
I turn my attention to the menu and decide on a special: French Toast and maple syrup with crispy bacon. I can’t bring myself to order an omelette.
The waiter takes my order and returns soon afterwards with a pot of tea in an old silver teapot. I thank him.
‘Are you alright, love? You look a bit glum sitting here on your own.’
‘No, I’m okay, thank you,’ I quickly reply, trying to hold back the inevitable waterworks.
‘Alright, I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then,’ he tells me kindly, and moves off.
My phone starts to buzz and I grab my bag and hurriedly rummage around until I locate it.
‘Hello?’
‘Lucy!’
It’s Molly.
‘Hi!’ I practically yelp. ‘Where are you?’
‘At the airport. I just wanted to call and wish you a really good flight home. And to say thank you. Thank you so much for coming over and being here for us. I’m going to miss you!’
‘I’m going to miss you too! The wedding was flawless. Have a fantastic honeymoon. Call me when you get back.’
‘I will. And good luck with James. I know everything’s going to be okay. He’s the guy for you. Hang on, Sam wants a word.’
I wait a second until Sam’s voice comes on the line.
‘Hey.’
‘Hi.’
‘Thanks again. Stay in touch, won’t you? We’re going to miss you.’
‘Same here.’
‘Don’t cry, Luce, you’ll set me off.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I sniff. It’s all too much.
‘Will you be okay getting to the airport?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’ I just wish your bloody brother was here with me!
‘Well, we’d better go. Lots of love.’
‘Lots of love.’
I rummage for a tissue and wipe my tears away as the waiter comes back over with my food. I don’t know why I ordered anything; I can’t eat it. I pick up a piece of bacon in my fingers and bite it, crunching for a few seconds. I try to eat some French Toast but don’t get very far. The waiter knows better than to ask why I’ve lost my appetite.
After breakfast I collect my bag from the hotel reception and hail a taxi which takes me on the very same route that I was on exactly two weeks ago. I feel like I’ve been hit with a stun gun, but that’s no bad thing. At least I’m not crying. The airport isn’t at all busy, so I’m able to walk straight to the desk and check in. I pull my phone out of my bag for the umpteenth time and scrutinise it. It’s switched on and functional. Battery still fine. No text messages. No missed calls. Even if I could bring myself to call Nathan I don’t have his number. I still hold out a glimmer of hope that he might call me.
I have to go through Immigration and I can delay it no longer. I’ve been scouring the airport, in case Nathan turns up at the last minute, but it seems he really has gone to the beach party with his friends. And with Amy. I stand on the concourse, looking back towards the airport terminal entrance, and then step into the Immigration queue. Finally I’m at the front and I hand over my passport. Then I’m through. I glance back one last time and don’t see him. He hasn’t turned up to try and stop me from leaving. That really does only happen in the movies.
Half an hour later, when I’m stepping onto the plane and finding my seat next to a ginger-haired businessman, I take my phone out of my bag and look at it. Just as before, it’s switched on and functional. Battery still fine. No text messages. No missed calls. I press down on the little red button and the light on my phone dims, just as the light does in my heart.
Sydney to London
Sunday: Depart Sydney at 1655
Monday: Arrive London Heathrow at 0525
Duration: 23 hrs 30 mins
The flight isn’t even half full, so the ginger guy next to me turns and says with a heavy German accent that he’ll make the most of the empty row of seats across the aisle. Wishing me a good flight, he picks up his belongings. I look out of the window at the sunny Sydney afternoon; Nathan will be enjoying his party. And Amy will be enjoying having Nathan to herself.
The tiny TV screen in front of me is playing a cheesy film about Australia. I watch as green wineries appear on screen, followed by images of wild horses running through a field. Tall mountains and waterfalls give way to clear blue oceans and white beaches. Then I see a surfer, crouching and slicing through the water, up and under the curl of the wave before he finally stands fully upright on his board and slowly sinks back down, into the ocean. Just like Nathan did, the first time I saw him surf. Oh, God.
Will he ever tell Amy he’s not interested? Is he interested? Sam and Molly might convince him he is. They could get married and have children. My heart feels like it could collapse at the thought. And I’m going back to James. I don’t want to see him. My mind is too consumed with Nathan and I don’t want to give up any of that head-space to James. I’m not ready to let go of Nathan yet.
I pull out the cassette tape that he made me and look down at his scratchy handwriting. Rolling Stones’ ‘Gimme Shelter’, Radiohead’s ‘Talk Show Host’…I hold the tape tight to my chest. I’ll have to buy a cassette player in Singapore so I can listen to it. I wonder if they even make them any more. James will think I’ve gone mad. He’s a technology junkie.
The plane zooms down the runway, forcing me back into my seat and then we’re off the ground and climbing. I look below at the sunlit streets and spot the city’s tall towers. The Opera House and the Harbour Bridge look tiny. I see the greenness of the Botanic Gardens and close my eyes, remembering for a moment how Nathan almost kissed me. He did almost kiss me. I imagine him taking my face in his hands and roughly bruising my lips with his. I feel light-headed, then weighed down with sadness.
He’s gone. It’s over. What could have been never was and I’m going home.
In a parallel universe Nathan is sitting on his bed and playing his guitar, lazily looking over at me. I reach across and touch his leg and he puts his guitar on the floor and draws me to him, onto his lap. He’s undressing me, pulling my damp T-shirt over my head and unclasping my bikini top. I lean back as he lifts his own faded brown T-shirt over his head and pulls my naked upper half back to him, pressing my body into his. He’s kissing me. Kissing my lips, kissing my jaw, kissing my neck. He takes me in his arms and manoeuvres me so I’m underneath him. He hovers above me, hand on my thigh, sliding up my skirt, blue-grey eyes looking intently into mine.
I love him. I love him.
I could leave James, go back. But I don’t even know how Nathan feels. Does he feel anything for me? Have I got it completely wrong? I dismiss those doubts and go back to my daydream. And it’s these images that carry me through the next twenty-four hours until, finally, I’m home again.
London
Chapter 10
It’s a clear, dark night as we fly towards Heathrow. Below me little towns group together in the darkness, their lights resembling clusters of bright stars in the Milky Way. I’ve almost bled the second lot of batteries from my newly-purchased cassette player dry, listening to Nathan’s tape incessantly since Singapore. I’ve barely slept.
I look out of the window again trying to spot the saucepan. I’ve been searching for it sporadically for the last few hours but now I give up. It must be on the other side of the plane.
We land at around half past five on Monday morning. James might’ve already left for work by the time I get home.
An hou
r and a quarter later I’m struggling to haul my suitcase onto the Heathrow Express to Paddington and no one is offering to help. It makes me remember Sam, heaving my bag up onto his truck to lie amongst his plants when I arrived in Sydney. It seems so long ago, but it’s only been two weeks.
He and Molly will be on their honeymoon now. It’s nearly six o’clock in the evening in Sydney. I wonder what Nathan’s doing. I still haven’t changed my watch back to UK time and I’m not sure when I will.
At Paddington Station I drag my suitcase out of the carriage and wheel it back along the platform, lagging behind all the other travellers. The air looks brown because the glass in the domed ceiling above is so dirty but, through a broken pane, a shaft of light floods in. It’s a beautiful winter day. Actually, I realise, we’re well into March now and it’s technically spring.
I lie my suitcase down on the platform for a moment and unzip it, pulling out my black, knee-length woollen winter coat. Then I head away from the hum of engines and the shrieking blow of conductors’ whistles in the direction of the taxi rank. We live only a five-minute drive from here and all I want right now is to get home and have a nice cup of tea.
That sense of anticipation is short-lived. There’s a long queue of people waiting in line for the black cabs, a disadvantage of arriving in rush hour. Maybe I could walk it? A blue sign up ahead tells me Marylebone is three-quarters of a mile away. Easy. I head past the Hilton with its lanky doorman in top hat and tails, and into a square full of tall trees. My suitcase clunks noisily on the uneven pavement.
The sun up ahead pierces my eyes as it comes into view and I’m practically blinded. I cross the road and a scooter zooms around the corner, just missing me and giving me a fright. It’s ironic how I need my sunglasses more here at this time of year than I even did in Sydney last week.
By now my hands are practically purple and I wish I’d packed some gloves. The cold air is painful in my nostrils so I breathe in and out of my mouth instead, producing cloudy puffs of carbon dioxide. I’m starting to think this walk wasn’t such a good idea. I look around for a taxi but can’t see one. A plane flies above a red-brick building, climbing up into the sky. I suddenly feel desperate.
I wonder if James will be home. It all depends on whether he’s got an early meeting at work. In some ways I hope he will have already left to give me time to gather my thoughts. I’m not sure I’m ready to see him yet. Or speak to him. I should have called to let him know I’ve landed; as it is, I haven’t even switched my phone back on.
It briefly occurs to me that Nathan might have left me a message. I halt on the pavement and take a minute to check, tapping my foot impatiently while the operator tells me I have one voicemail. But it’s just James asking me to hurry home so he can see me before he leaves. I put my phone away, feeling dejected.
Finally I’m on Marylebone Road. I wait at the pedestrian crossing until the traffic comes to a standstill, then I cross over and head around the back past old Marylebone Station towards Dorset Square. The square always looks pretty, even in winter, with its naked tree trunks, while in summer it’s heavenly: full of leafy trees and hedges, the greenest grass and a few welcome park benches. Unfortunately it’s a private square and we don’t have a key. A memory comes back to me of last summer and James bringing me here.
We’d just bought our flat and, both of us having rented for years, were so excited to finally own our own home. Even if James’s parents helped quite a lot financially and Terry and Mum gave me my deposit, it still felt like it was ours alone. It was only a small, one-bedroom place in a bit of a state when we moved in, but we dreamt about turning it into something special. We completed the sale on a Wednesday and although we weren’t properly moving in until the weekend, we decided to take our sleeping bags and stay overnight together. It was damned uncomfortable on the floor as we had no mattress, but we giggled our way through the night, aided by several glasses of red wine.
The weather was perfect that weekend. A clear, sunny Saturday in July with a cool breeze. The flat was full of boxes and we were exhausted from lugging them up three flights of stairs. I suggested to James that he nip down and grab a few things from the local supermarket. He was gone for ages and just as I was starting to feel a bit miffed that he was shirking the work, he called me from his mobile and asked me to come downstairs. He sounded very pleased with himself and I assumed he must’ve bumped into some friends, but when I got outside and looked around, I couldn’t see him. My phone rang again and he told me to come over to the square. There he was, standing inside the black railings with a mischievous grin on his face.
‘James! You can’t go in there; it’s private!’
‘It’s okay–they let me in,’ and he pointed down to the other end of the square where a young family were playing with their baby.
Over on the grass James had set up a picnic. He’d even bought a rug, along with a bottle of sparkling wine.
I look over at the little square now, tiny white snowdrops pushing through the soil, and smile at the memory of James being so romantic. But melancholy seeps back through me like poison and my smile fades.
I don’t want to be here. I want to be in the warm heart of Sydney. In the warmth of Nathan’s arms. I try to ignore the dull ache in my chest as I cross over the road and into our street.
My hands are now frozen to the bone and I’m exhausted. By the time I reach our flat, I can’t bear the thought of trying to drag my suitcase up all those stairs. Then the front door opens.
‘Lucy!’ James rushes out of the door. ‘How lucky is that? I was just leaving.’ He engulfs me in a warm hug. ‘I didn’t know what time you’d be back. Did you not get my message?’
‘Yeah…I got here as quickly as I could.’
‘You’re freezing,’ he says, rubbing my arms. ‘Here, let me take this upstairs for you.’
‘I just walked here from Paddington!’ I wail, suddenly much in need of sympathy.
‘Oh, baby, you must be knackered.’ He carries my suitcase in through the communal door and over all the junk mail partially covering the grubby grey carpet. I climb the stairs behind him, looking up at him in his suit and feeling utterly detached.
James unlocks the door and pushes it open with his right shoulder, steps through and holds it for me while I pass, both of us out of breath. Then he takes me in his arms, holding me tightly for several seconds, pulling my body into his, while our breathing starts to slow to a regular pace. It feels oddly like I’m being unfaithful.
James pulls back and surveys me, eyes looking searchingly into mine. He looks smart in his tailored black suit, pristine white shirt and a dark-blue and turquoise striped tie.
‘You look different,’ I say.
‘Haircut.’ He flashes me a cheeky grin.
‘Oh, yes.’ His sandy hair is a bit shorter, I realise. Not quite as floppy.
‘Poor thing, you look exhausted,’ he says. ‘Did you get much sleep on the plane?’
I shake my head, surreptitiously remembering that I’d stayed awake during most of the flight from Singapore, listening to Nathan’s tape.
‘Come and have a look through here…’
I follow him through to the living room. It’s the same; all black and white.
‘Well?’ he asks eagerly. I glance from left to right, past the black leather couch he’d insisted on buying, past the cool white acrylic coffee table and matching magazine rack, until my gaze falls on the television. We seem to have acquired a brand-new flatscreen.
‘Oh!’
‘Do you like it? It’s got the best sound. I thought it would be ideal for all the DVDs you have to watch for work.’
‘Oh, right,’ I say.
He looks crestfallen. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘No, no, I do! It’s amazing. I’m just really tired, that’s all. I can’t really take it in. It’s been a long flight.’
That seems to placate him.
‘You can show it to me properly tonight, okay?’
> He’s already picked up the remote control and is pointing it in the direction of the telly, but then he freezes and looks at his watch. ‘Yeah, actually, I’d better go.’ He plonks the remote control back on the coffee table and kisses me on the lips. ‘But I wish I could stay. Shame I’ve got this bloody meeting or I’d go in late…’ he adds sexily, and kisses me again, slower this time.
His lips feel wrong. I pull away.
‘What’s up?’
‘I haven’t cleaned my teeth yet.’
‘Ah, okay.’ He leans down and gives me a kiss on the cheek then draws me in for another hug. I force myself to relax because all I feel is tense. His body is warm and I breathe in his aftershave. He starts to feel a little more familiar.
‘Okay, gorgeous, better go,’ he says, pulling away. He gives me one last peck. ‘It’s great to have you back.’
After he’s gone I go over to the window and peep through the venetian blinds down to the street. When he’s turned the corner and is out of sight, I go into the bedroom. Pulling back the duvet in its white Egyptian cotton cover, I study the sheet underneath. I can’t see anything suspicious. I lean down and smell it. Recently washed? Or does it always smell like this after two weeks? I examine the pillowcases for rogue strands of female hair, and then feel underneath the mattress for underwear or anything that a lover might’ve left. Nothing. Lucy, you’re being ridiculous.
In the kitchen I put the kettle on and tip a little milk into the bottom of a white mug. Then I drop the teabag on top and pour in freshly boiled water, stirring my teaspoon until the milky water turns tea-coloured. I think of Nathan the whole time. From now on I will always make tea his way.
After a minute I fish out the teabag and then blow on the liquid before taking a tentative sip. I’ve over-brewed it and it’s too strong. All of a sudden I feel depressed.
I’ve spent so much time crying in the last thirty-six hours that I don’t know how I have any tears left, but my eyes still well up. Back in the bedroom, I climb into bed, pulling my carry-on bag with me. I get out the cassette player and lie there, listening to Nathan’s tape. I don’t want to be here. This feels wrong. So wrong. It should be raining outside. It should be cold, grey and miserable like it usually is when you come back from holiday, not bright and icy and sunny. And I should be on cloud nine at the prospect of seeing my boyfriend-of-three-years tonight, but instead the thought fills me with dread.