by Orla Bailey
Am I really going to tell him? There will be no going back. It will change everything. A tear rolls down my cheek.
Please God, don’t let him reject me. Not after the eternal knot and stopping the traffic on the bridge. Not on his birthday.
His birthday.
I remember the stupid plan I have to carry out for his party. I can’t tell him something as momentous as this and then abandon him, can I?
But I can tell him later. My path becomes clear. This will be my gift to him. The most personal, most private and most sensitive giving of my complete self to Jack to do with what he may. I can do it for this man because I love him with all my soul.
Because I love him.
“I have something to tell you,” I repeat, blinking back the tears.
“Yes. I believe you do.” His face is serious. I feel the almost imperceptible tension in his muscles as he holds me in his arms.
Does he suspect – dread – what I’m about to say? Because he doesn’t want to hear it; deal with it? I’ve never been as scared of anything in my life. I’m not brave. Not one bit. I’m a complete coward. If I was brave I would have told him long ago and I would have kept on telling him at every opportunity since. No matter what.
I would have told him at the Buddhist temple. I would have told him when the flag unfurled and when the bridge opened and the traffic stopped. I would have shouted it to the entire world. Yet I can’t even whisper those three little words to Jack. That is the hardest telling of all.
But it’s his birthday and he’s my love. He has the right to know how I feel. My love for him is his as well as my own. Then the choice about what he does with my gift will be his to make. I will tell him…
… Later.
“Tonight. Can you wait for me to tell you tonight?” After your party when we’ve left Claridge’s hotel and we’re back at Belvedere together. Lying in your bed. Lying in each other’s arms. Making real love.
“Yes.” He doesn’t push and I love him even more for that. He knows that whatever I have to say to him is difficult for me. He gives me that space. “For you, Tabitha, I can wait as long as you need me to.”
“Thank you, Jack.”
We both turn our superficial attention back to the river with all its running tides, blind curves, loops, twists and turns. But I expect we’re both thinking more about those of life and the forces that have brought us to this exact place in it.
* * *
The Thames Flood Barrier is a truly impressive sight.
Sailing beneath it makes me think of that scene in The Lord of the Rings movie when the fellowship sail past those huge ghostly, silver-grey statues of Aragorn’s ancestors. The hairs on the back of my neck lift as I crane right back to see, when Jack steers us between two of the ten steel flood gates.
His face appears over mine blocking my view. “They’re as high as a five storey building,” he says, laughing at my fascination.
“I’ve never seen them from this angle before,” I counter.
“Did you know it costs twenty thousand pounds each time they’re closed?”
“That’s some amount of money.”
“Not if you compare it to the tens of billions it would cost in damages if central London was to flood.”
“When you put it like that. Are they closed often?”
“Thinking about your taxes?”
“Too right.”
“Don’t even speculate if I’m going to pay the authorities to close them to amuse you.” He smirks at me.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Well I’d only done so for about a second.
“They test them monthly. I think the last time they closed to prevent a flood was at the end of 2012. And two years before that. We’ll turn here and head back upstream to Greenwich. Do you want to turn her?”
“Can I?” I love that he trusts me with his precious cruiser.
“Of course. Keep a steady turn on the wheel as you go. No jerky movements. You’ll be fine.”
I don’t manage my 180-degree turn in two boat lengths like the skipper but I succeed with his occasional helping hand on the wheel, over mine.
“Well done, kitten. You did brilliantly.”
His praise makes me feel so good anyone would think I’d got another first at university not made an assisted turn on a wide and empty stretch of river.
“I expected it to lean more but it doesn’t.”
“I felt you bracing yourself for impact,” he laughs. “Good design and the right materials. Light-weight Kevlar and carbon-fibre in the fly-bridge. The real weight’s deep in the hull.” He pauses and I sense the mockery coming. “The pointy nose helps too.”
I stick my tongue out at him for mocking my accurate but very un-nautical description of his boat. He guides us back through the barrier again. Before long he’s nosing it into a huge marina on the south bank of the river. There must be two hundred boats or moorings for them at least.
He puts in to one, cuts the engines and flashes down to tie her up. It feels strange now the engines are off but even stranger when he holds out a hand to help me onto the pier. To his amusement, I stagger.
“Your body has been compensating for the rolling motion of the water. It takes a minute or two to adjust.”
My body’s been compensating for quite a few feelings actually but I’m not telling him that.
He keeps hold of me until I seem less drunken. “Hungry, kitten?”
“Starving.” It’s gone noon already and we only had coffee for breakfast nearly five hours ago. We stroll in the warmth of the sun as he leads me to his Pagani, parked in the car park. “How did that get here?”
“Allow me to have some secrets of my own,” he tells me, mischievously.
Instantly I feel guiltier about mine. He must have spent quite some time organising today’s trip for us. First the engraving of the pendant, then the bridge opening, the moorings here and now the car. Anyone would think it was my birthday and I didn’t even remember it was his until Amanda showed up and reminded me. In my defence, I suppose I’ve spent quite a few years training my mind to forget all things Jack Keogh.
Soon we’re parking again about a mile and a half away in Greenwich. We stroll down to the Victorian tea clipper – the Cutty Sark – moored there.
“Now that would be a sailing experience second to none,” he muses staring up into the rigging.
“I’m not sure I’d let you take me out on any old thing.”
“And here’s me thinking my girl’d follow me anywhere.” His Irish brogue appears out of nowhere.
Jack thinks I’m staring at him because of that. I’m not. It’s because he’s so close to the truth. I’d follow him to the ends of the earth, if he’d let me.
He shrugs. “Something my father used to say to my mother when she got irritated with him.”
I link my arm through his. I like to think of Jack surrounded by a warm loving family. I never really knew one except Harry after my parents died. I have no brothers and sisters.
“Are you close to them?”
“I am. They still live in Dublin where I was born and I like to go home and see them when I can.” He looks at me. “I’ll take you to meet them some day.”
“I’d like to meet the family that raised Jack Keogh.”
“Good.”
It’s given me my strongest hint yet that maybe he might get over Amanda one day and see some distant possible future with me. I’m more convinced than ever that telling him tonight that I love him, is the right thing to do.
The day is warm and I remove my sweatshirt as we walk. I tie the sleeves round my hips. Jack stares down at the slash of naked belly on show between my short neon t-shirt and my hip-huggers.
“I see,” he murmurs mysteriously as if he’s been pondering for a while how he got at my skin so easily. He leans in to me and whispers. “You look very sexy, dressed like that. I feel like taking you straight back to the boat.”
“Can’t you feed me first?” I plead.
“I suppose I could. If I have to.”
“You definitely have to.”
“In that case, let’s not waste any more time. Lunch.”
He knows exactly where he’s going as he meanders with me past the National Maritime museum and the Old Royal Naval College buildings to the Old Brewery. Once inside I feel the sudden chill from being out of the sun but a waitress in a black apron leads us through the main hall where people are already dining beneath huge copper brewing vats and a sea of hanging bottles, to the outside walled courtyard and back into the sunlight. We have a table reserved under a huge parasol.
Jack holds my chair as I sit.
“You’ve been here before.” It isn’t a question.
“A time or two.” He looks thoughtful like he’s sifting through more old memories.
“With Harry?”
He laughs. “A time or two too many.”
“I like that you’re sharing something you did with Harry, with me.”
“Now I’m not saying I’m sharing what Harry and I did here.”
I’m shocked. I sincerely hope he only means getting drunk. Harry certainly had an eye for the ladies but I’m not even going there. “So who led who astray?”
“I think it’s fair to say we were both as bad as each other when we had a mind to go there.”
“You liked Harry, didn’t you?”
“I did. And you still miss him too.”
“Every single day.”
“Well it’s a happy man who’s missed by a lovely woman every single day.”
Then you’ve been a very happy man, Jack Keogh, I think. The waitress returns with menus.
“Now you know you’ll be expected to sample the beer,” Jack tells me.
“Is it a working brewery?” I ask.
“They brew more beers here than any other brewery in the country. But they also import the finest from all over the world.”
“Are you planning on getting me drunk?”
“A little drunk wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing,” he quips. “As long as I’m here to look after you.”
Oh yes it would. Somehow I’ve got to get myself to Claridge’s with an evening dress and Jack’s black tie smuggled out in a bag.
“It would if you want sex,” I state baldly when the waitress departs.
“Better only try a few sips then. I can almost feel Harry eyes on me. He’d kick my rear end if I got you all squiffy.”
“Squiffy?” I repeat. “Not a chance. You’re not getting squiffy either, if you want to sail me back up river in a straight line.” No-one said I’d have to keep Jack from getting blootered before his surprise party. This thing is getting way more complicated by the minute.
“Fair play. Just a pint, a well-chosen one then. Will you share a dozen Irish Carlingford Oysters with me, darlin’ girl?”
“I will, Jack.” The pair of us are either sounding more Irish or more pirate by the minute. I’m not quite sure. It’s either all that river air or the rich smells in the brewery affecting my brain.
The waitress returns and takes our order. “London Stout goes well with oysters,” she informs us.
“Then we’ll have a pint of that to share, to be sure.”
I nod my agreement.
“I’ve already pre-ordered lobster. I needed to order in advance to get some sent in fresh.”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Will that be with lemon butter sauce or the anchovy and tarragon butter?” the waitress enquires.
“My delightful companion will decide.”
The waitress looks at me. I feel like playing that joke where I look around me to try and find the delightful companion Jack’s referring to, but decide I’ve been silly enough for one day. “Lemon butter sauce sounds fabulous. Is that okay?” I still naturally want to defer to Jack.
He nods. “Delicious. Lemon butter sauce it is.”
“I recommend the Blanche de Bruxelles with your choice.” The waitress makes a note on her pad when Jack agrees.
“And we’ll try a fun beer while we’re waiting.” He looks at me in query. “Raspberry, strawberry or chocolate?”
“Chocolate beer?” I’ve never heard anything like it. Both Jack and the waitress smile at my naivety.
“Chocolate, it is then,” Jack orders. “And a pitcher of iced water with lemon.”
The waitress departs. Somehow we’ve ended up ordering three pints of ale between us and I suspect they’re all strong ones. I’ll just have to keep a firm eye on both myself and Jack. I wouldn’t want to go blurting out either of my secrets before I’m ready, simply because I can’t keep my wits about me. Although Jack’s tolerance to alcohol has probably been honed over many a boozy weekend with Harry, who always enjoyed a good pint of beer, I’m not in that league.
Jack might disagree.
It’s funny how Harry never suggested we come to the Old Brewery to eat together. Perhaps he was worried I’d accidently run into Jack. I think Harry knew fine well how I felt about him, even if we never talked about it. I suspect he’d be happy if he could see us here together.
The chocolate beer arrives first and Jack offers me a sip. He watches my reaction with interest. “It’s malty,” I suggest, “and I can taste a hint of vanilla in the chocolate.” I take another small sip and slide the glass across to him. “It’s not what I think when I think beer, put it that way.”
“What about when you think chocolate?” He lifts it and takes a good glug. I wrinkle my nose as he puts the glass back on the table looking thoughtful. “You have a good sense of taste. That’s actually a near perfect description. Next.”
I laugh when he dismisses it as not quite his thing either. “It’s an interesting flavour and I’m glad I tried it but I think I’ll stick to the conventional.”
“I always knew you were the perfect girl for me,” he laughs.
Our eyes fly to each other’s and then at anything but the person across the table. I get the feeling he never meant to say that out loud and I don’t know what to make of it. The words were fine. The fact he wouldn’t look me in the eye afterwards, not so much.
I hold my pendent for courage.
I’m frightened once more to reveal my true feelings but one thing’s for sure I’m not going back on the decision now I’ve made it. I have to get this out in the open. The secrecy is killing me. I swear I’ll never keep another secret from Jack as long as I live.
Perhaps I’ll never get a chance to. But that’s the risk I have to take.
The oysters arrive just in time.
We chat over food until I’m more and more convinced that the old Jack, my Jack, has been here all along. I notice he’s suggested food we have to get down and dirty eating. We even talk using the lobsters as ventriloquists’ dummies which he starts and I join in. His one sounds like an Irish pirate. I almost wonder if the Boss is just a façade. A mask he adopts to get what he wants out of people. No wonder he’s so successful.
Despite having three pints of beer at our disposal neither of us drinks more than a few sips of each. I’m mindful of the fact I have to get myself away from Jack without raising his suspicions and, I suppose, he’s conscious of the fact he has a boat to sail back and a car to drive. I’ve no idea how he’s planning on getting the latter home. The same way it got here I suppose. I don’t ask.
We drink lots of iced water as it’s a warm day even though we’re sitting in the shade. I wish I’d brought shorts to change into. Afterwards we stroll through Greenwich Park and stand astride the meridian like all the other tourists.
I try to keep my eye on the time as I have to leave Belvedere by six thirty at the latest. He notices me glancing at my phone for the umpteenth time.
“Expecting a message?”
“No.”
“Got somewhere else you need to be?” He’s far too perceptive. And direct. He gets straight to the heart of the matter.
“Bad habit. I’ve been a clock watcher since High School.” And I tell little whit
e lies.
“Always some commitment, huh?
“I suppose.”
“Well we have nowhere we need to be this weekend, except together.” He wraps an arm over my shoulder and tucks me into his side as we ramble. I feel content when I’m with him, like it’s the only place I’m meant to be.
He’s really planned to spend his whole birthday weekend with me. And that has nothing to do with handling the media. It gives me hope. No wonder Amanda decided to make some party plans of her own. I’m sure she didn’t like it when she heard he wouldn’t be available to her. More and more I wish I’d told her to get lost but she kind of put me on the spot appearing out of the blue late Friday afternoon. She didn’t give me time to think and I’m certain now that was deliberate.
If I don’t play ball, I’ll look like the one who’s trying to keep Jack from his friends. Either way, I can’t win. I’ll just have to go through with it.
I console myself that tonight when the party is over and we’re alone I’ll make my feelings for Jack clear. I’ll tell him everything that is in my heart; get it all out in the open. Then I’ll discover, once and for all, if I have any hope with him at all. This is a scary time for me. I’ve kept these feelings secret for so long, tonight really is make or break.
Yet I’m starting to believe Jack might be developing deeper feelings for me too. My heart bounds hopefully even as my stomach flips with fear. He may have started out wanting to punish the upstart who dared invade his boardroom shouting her demands, but I think that spending time with me might have changed his mind a little. His early intentions may have been to compensate for guilt at ending his contract with Harry’s company but my whole intuition tells me it’s grown into something deeper. If I can trust my instincts around Jack.
Lenuta said it. He followed you to Paris. Even if it was to Brittany.
Perhaps he remembered the past and the closeness that once grew between us and I wasn’t deluded. Maybe we weren’t totally intimate then but there was always something there. Something so deeply engraved on my soul can’t possibly be only in my imagination. Can it?
Perhaps it’s just the sex though. My mind twists back and forth between hope and despair.