by Lucy Coleman
When the taxi pulls up outside I’m surprised to see that Nic isn’t driving it. I throw on my coat and walk up to meet the driver.
‘Taxi for Langland Brasserie?’
‘I guess so, thank you.’
He opens the rear door and I slide inside.
I don’t make conversation, puzzling over the fact that Nic hadn’t mentioned he was arranging for someone else to pick me up. It’s only a short distance in the car anyway, but as soon as we pull up in the car park just behind the restaurant, he’s there waiting for us.
The driver does a mock salute to him as we come to a halt. Nic opens my door with a smile, stooping down a little to throw in a “thanks” to the driver, as he helps me to my feet.
‘Wow. Just wow.’ He looks me up and down as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
After such a long break from wearing heels it feels a little strange, but you can’t wear a slinky, olive green wrap-around number with flat shoes. I’ve put my hair up in a fancy clip and with a little make-up, I feel content. It’s the old me, the one who attended posh functions on behalf of the magazine and was happy to stand around chatting with a canapé in one hand and a flute of champagne in the other. It’s all about working the room, as Clarissa once enlightened me. Make eye contact with the influential, don’t just stand around talking with your peers – engage with the people who can do something for you if you have the nerve to grab their attention. That sort of social interaction takes away the fear of being the centre of attention because you get used to selling yourself. The dress isn’t wearing me, I’m wearing the dress and I know it.
It’s rather strange holding Nic’s hand as we walk down towards the rear entrance to the Brasserie. It feels like we’re a couple and he keeps turning his head to stare at me.
‘Wow.’ He says it again and I laugh. If I was hoping for a reaction, then my goal has been achieved, and some.
‘You’re looking very handsome tonight.’ I have to admit that he’s certainly made an effort and if I thought he looked good before, I had no idea he could look so… well-groomed. His chin is clean shaven for a change and his hair is styled. He isn’t wearing Issey Miyake, tonight, and I don’t recognise this one. It’s citrusy, with notes of musk and sandalwood. Very masculine and very sexy indeed, as the overall effect is reminiscent of that freshly showered, overtly clean smell.
‘Are you getting high on my aftershave?’
I pause mid-inhale and stop trying to sniff the air around him.
‘You smell too good, what can I say?’
It raises a smile and he tugs at my hand, drawing my arm against his to give it a squeeze.
You know the moment when an attractive couple enters a restaurant and you see that look on the head waiter’s face? He escorts them to the most prominent table in the house, with a flourish. He knows that it sets the tone to attract passers-by and people stepping inside who haven’t booked, but are checking it out and then decide to stay. Well, tonight we are that couple.
Nic helps me slip off my coat and as the waiter takes it from him he asks what we would like to drink.
‘White?’ Nic turns to ask me and I nod.
As we are left to peruse the menu, the tables seem to fill quite quickly. The ambience is a cross between a wine bar brasserie and a glitzy, contemporary bistro that could easily be tucked away in a side street in London. With the raised terrace outside bounded by sheer glass panels, the structure itself looks like a row of very smart, oversized and rather glamorous, beach huts. With jaunty little pitched roofs, it’s almost entirely glass-fronted. There is an unobstructed view out over the bay and we have the best table.
‘This is amazing,’ I whisper and Nic looks up, eyes twinkling.
‘It’s great at night, isn’t it? I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to bring you here ever since you arrived. I can’t remember the last time I took a good-looking woman out on a date. I’d forgotten how obliging waiters can be.’
I chuckle and, as if on cue, the wine waiter appears with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket.
‘Madam?’ He pours a small amount into my glass and I hold it up to my nose, taking a moment to breathe in the aroma, before taking a small sip.
‘Perfect, thank you.’
He pours an inch of wine into each glass and then places the bottle back into the ice bucket. With a polite nod, he takes his leave.
‘You do know we are setting the tone here tonight, don’t you?’ He raises his glass and I do the same, letting them touch very lightly. ‘To new beginnings and sweet times.’
As we turn back to the menus I simply can’t decide and Nic breaks my concentration.
‘The steak is good, but if you like fish then this is the place to eat it.’
‘I’m in your hands; I’ll have whatever you’re having.’
Nic immediately turns his head in the direction of the waiter, who strides over to us.
‘The lady and I would like to start with the mussels and then we’ll have the seafood scialatielli.’
‘Good choice. Thank you, sir and madam.’
I’m impressed; the service is as good as the ambience and I know I’m going to love the food.
‘So, while we’re waiting it’s the perfect opportunity to learn a little bit more about you. All I know so far is that you are a successful feature writer and what was it you said? A bit sensitive at the moment because you’re worried some guy back at the office is trying to steal your desk.’
He settles back into his chair, one arm outstretched and his left hand toying with the fork in front of him. He’s trying to look relaxed, but his body language is saying something else.
I stare into my wine glass, giving it a little swirl. OK, Nic told me his story but I know it wasn’t the whole thing. It isn’t easy starting from scratch with someone who knows nothing about you and everyone wants to make a good first impression. But we said no lies.
‘Well, yes, I’ve been away from the office for about five weeks now, so by the time I arrive back at my desk it will be the best part of three months. That’s a long time and no one is indispensable.’ I stop talking, nervously glancing around to avoid direct eye contact.
‘Oh, come on, you can’t stop there. That tells me nothing.’
I push my head back, raising my eyes to meet his.
‘I have an apartment in the up and coming area of Collier’s Wood, south west London, with a rather hefty mortgage. No pets, because I don’t have time to look after them. My mother died recently and it’s been rough, hence the time off work. My brother and I have just begun speaking again after a break of about four years, due to a family row between him and my mum. Aside from that I’m a bit of a loner, really. It’s not easy letting people in. Coming here has definitely helped me to get my motivation back and the work is going well.’
‘You didn’t mention romantic relationships.’
‘Well, there’s not a lot to say. You meet a guy, you go on a few dates and you split up. Repeat that sentence a few times and there you have it.’
I watch as he slips off his jacket and places it on the back of his chair. When he turns back to face me I can see he’s been mulling over my words.
‘Being around you, I can’t understand why someone hasn’t literally swept you off your feet.’
Two waiters carry across the steaming hot mussels and finger bowls. One returns with a basket of artisan bread.
‘Mussels with thyme, garlic, white wine and a touch of cream. Enjoy.’
The aroma is amazing and that first bite is heaven.
‘Delicious, great choice, Nic.’
He nods, but his eyes are on me and I know he wants me to continue.
‘I’m flattered. The truth is that I get bored easily. Well, that’s the excuse I use. If I’m being honest, I haven’t met anyone who really understands me, yet.’
‘That could be because you don’t tell them very much about yourself.’ He raises an eyebrow, as if it’s some sort of reprimand.
&
nbsp; ‘I wish there was something to tell. There was one guy, and he was around for a while but it fizzled out between us. He sort of moved into my apartment, uninvited. You know, turning up on a date with a few spare clothes and gradually taking over a bit of space here and a drawer there. The minute we began to spend serious time together he seemed to stop bothering. I mean, it could have been anyone sitting there on the sofa next to me each evening, watching TV and whiling away the hours until bedtime. He blamed his work, but I worked equally as hard and I was trying to make an effort. I don’t want to settle for anything, I want the full thing.’
Nic looks wary, so I jump straight in.
‘Hey, I’m not the clingy type. We’ve already agreed the ground rules and that suits me just fine.’
He shakes his head, eating the last of his mussels and wiping his chin with the napkin.
‘It isn’t that. I have issues.’
The way he says that word sounds ominous.
‘Issues?’
I place my fork alongside the dish in front of me, giving my fingers a quick swish in the finger bowl and drying them.
‘With women.’
OK, do not panic.
‘You’re going to have to explain that one, Nic. Pretty quickly.’
It could be a lot worse; we’re in a public place and not in the bedroom back at Beach View Cottage.
‘As a boy, I idolised my mother, mainly because my father was never around and they led more or less separate lives. Then, as a teenager I began to rebel. When I came to appreciate how controlling she could be I saw that it was either her way, or no way at all. That’s how I ended up in a job I didn’t enjoy, making lots of money and regretting having given in to an overly-manipulative woman with no heart.’
I don’t quite know what to say to that. But I don’t have to say anything, as Nic continues.
‘I met someone she didn’t approve of and my mother turned her back on me. It was liberating for a while, until reality set in and it was obvious the relationship wasn’t going to work. Then my father reappeared and the divorce proceedings began. I didn’t care much about it when I heard, but it stirred up one unholy mess. I was dragged into it at a time when I was making some big mistakes. I had no real sense of direction going forward, but events finally overtook any indecision I had, anyway. It became irrelevant as I haven’t had any dealings with my mother for several years now.’
He stops, a look of shock washing over his face.
‘Sorry, Tia, I didn’t mean to drop that on you like some rather bizarre confession.’
I reach for his hand across the table, but the waiters arrive with our main course and I only briefly touch his fingertips.
As soon as they are out of earshot I lean into the table and extend my hand once more.
‘It’s OK, Nic. I’m glad you told me. It means something to me that you’ve shared what has to be a very painful memory.’
He’s toying with his food, even though the linguine-style pasta with a fish sauce is amazing. I take one or two bites, but my appetite is gone.
‘I’ve spoilt our evening and I’m sorry. Well, my parents’ sad story has spoilt our evening. How about we ask them to box this up and we take it away?’
I smile, gently taking his hand in mine and giving it a squeeze. Our eye contact confirms this is about more than having our appetites stolen by a few sad memories. The tension between us is building and food is the last thing on our minds.
‘Great idea.’
He catches the waiter’s eye and explains that we have to leave immediately because of an emergency. I stop myself from bursting out laughing, as the waiter nods seriously and hurries away with our plates.
Nic has his phone to his ear.
‘Hey, mate, change of plan. Can you swing by and pick us up, now? Thanks. Appreciated.’
‘OK, let me grab your coat. Our car is on the way.’
The waiter is very helpful, returning with a carrier bag containing our cartons of food. He insists on finding a stopper for the wine we’ve barely touched, so that he can slip the bottle into the bag, too.
Strangely enough, I don’t feel at all disappointed. What I feel is a little overwhelmed that Nic, whom Olwen referred to as the man of few words, has really opened up to me. I know that wasn’t his intention, but now I know I can trust him. The dilemma for me is that if I can’t talk about the overdose, then I’m going to feel that I’m not being honest or fair.
The terms of our non-relationship are crystal clear: no lies, no pretence, no guilt and no regrets.
*
Lying in bed with Nic’s arm folded around me, I feel safe. Safe; it’s a word that has never really been in my vocabulary. I’m not saying that I felt unsafe in general, but I was often lonely, even when surrounded by people. And then when Mum died I was… cast adrift, as if a thread that was a lifeline had been cut and I’d lost my only constant in life.
‘Hey.’ Nic lays his cheek against mine. ‘Don’t dwell on things. Just relax.’
Having told him the full story of the state Will found me in that day, he seemed to understand. He simply said that sometimes we do something and it all goes badly wrong, but the intention was never for that to happen. Without intent, it’s simply a mistake and a wake-up call. We need to learn from it, in order to grow.
The remnants of our meal remain on the table downstairs still, untouched. Once our lips brushed there was no way to stop that growing need to lose ourselves in one another. A rapport had been established and it wasn’t just about the psychological and physiological effects of that… need to be wanted, to be loved. As the brain releases its pleasure chemical, dopamine, the biological reaction blots out everything else. The all-too-familiar anxiety and pain from life’s disappointments simply melt away. It’s like a rebirth and nothing matters except each little thrill coursing through your body. Skin on skin: mouths urgently exploring each other and being able to let go, as a sense of total abandonment takes over.
The afterglow is akin to gently coming down from an altered state. The nearness of another person is all the reminder you need that life, when it’s good, is a wondrous thing. The fact that Nic understands and recognises, only too well, the turmoil I’m trying to escape is comforting to the soul.
19
The Morning After
I’m in the shower when I hear the doorbell ring, my hair covered in a cascade of soapy bubbles. There’s little point in rushing, as Nic is in the kitchen, anyway.
When I do make my way downstairs there’s a large box on the worktop and I suck in a deep breath. I totally forgot Olwen told me that Rhys would be popping in some shopping today. Nic is watching and when I look across at him he shrugs his shoulders. He’s bare foot, has nothing on his top and is wearing only a nicely cut pair of trousers.
‘Sorry, I forgot.’ I chew my lip as I berate myself for forgetting. ‘Was it awkward?’
Nic screws up his face and clearly, he too feels a sense of unease.
‘Rhys will mention it to Olwen. She’s discreet, but that’s two people who will know that we’re… um… acquainted.’
I burst out laughing.
‘Well, nice to make your acquaintance. I hope we meet up again at some time in the near future.’
He leans back against the counter top, folding his arms over his chest and those taut abs. I try not to drool as his arms flex and a flashback from last night is catapulted into my mind.
‘You can bet on it. Actually, it was quite a bonus being able to dive into a wardrobe and grab some clean clothes. I will take my dirty washing with me, though.’ He reaches out and pulls me into him, nestling my head against his neck.
‘Cheeky!’
‘Anyway, good morning, Tia.’ It’s a half-whisper and his breath tickles as I sink into him.
We stand, holding onto each other and I can’t ever remember feeling this comfortable with anyone, the morning after the first night before. Not that there has been a whole string of them, just a few over the years. Most o
f which I regretted shortly afterwards, because sex is often just about fulfilling a need. But that satisfaction seems to dissipate very quickly when it’s over and then things are back to where they were before. The actual act of having sex doesn’t touch that little bubble of inner loneliness that won’t go away. Like the heat from a fire only briefly warming the skin, when the chill permeates through to the core.
‘That’s a serious face.’ Nic’s eyes search mine.
‘That was a serious night.’
‘No regrets?’
‘No lies, no pretence, no guilt and no regrets – I think we covered all bases last night. Now I’m looking forward to the fun bit.’
‘You’re a bit of a surprise, Tia, that’s for sure. I will admit that I’m a little out of practice when it comes to having fun.’
‘Well, that will make it even more enjoyable. And now I think we’re both running late.’
We glance in tandem at the clock.
‘Ooh, I can see that you’re a bad influence on me already. I’d better head off as my shift starts at nine and I have the hill to climb. Guess impressing you with a chauffeured car wasn’t the brightest idea.’
‘On the contrary, it went down well. Although it does rather show that I was a forgone conclusion.’
The look on his face as he stoops to kiss me on the lips is priceless.
‘Stop flirting with me, I have to go and you have people to interview.’
‘Will you come back after work?’
‘Try stopping me.’
*
I force myself to settle down to work as my brain and body are buzzing. A call from Clarissa soon focuses my attention on the job in hand.
‘Great first draft, Tia. Couple number one are photogenic, too. Who are you pairing them with for the first part of the feature?’
‘Couple number four. I’ve done the interviews and I’m writing it up now. They’re mid-forties, so it’s a ten-year age difference and they have four kids. That’s obviously higher than the national average for the size of a family in the UK. But it’s a perfect example of how everything changes once you make that decision. Keeping the love alive in a relationship with a lot of family pressures to contend with has a rather dramatic impact. It’s opened my eyes to a few things.’