‘Yeah, but I was banking on Sal saying no.’
Laura laughed and stepped closer, putting her arm through mine as we walked. I glanced at her and saw she’d done something different with her hair. She saw me looking and smiled.
‘You look really nice,’ I said.
She squeezed my arm and her eyes wandered down from my face. ‘I wish you had let me iron your shirt.’
We arrived at the restaurant at exactly 8.30 p.m., the time of the reservation. There was no sign yet of Sal and Mathilde, and we allowed the waiter to lead us to the table, which was slap bang in the middle of the room. The tables around the edges were filled and a low hum of voices pulsed above the faint sound of inoffensive jazz.
‘Should we be facing or next to each other?’ Laura said, unsure.
‘Here,’ I said, pulling out two chairs on the same side. I helped take off her jacket.
I’d picked a newish restaurant in town that proclaimed itself ‘modern dining’, smallish and family run. It was probably the most sophisticated of all of Ashford’s culinary offerings, and I knew if I’d suggested a chain, Mathilde would only have rolled her eyes.
‘Should we order drinks?’ Laura said after a few minutes of waiting. She picked up the menu.
My reply was drowned out by the sound of Mathilde, who appeared in the doorway with Sal close behind, his hand in hers. He must have cracked a joke because Mathilde found whatever he’d said hilarious, which seemed uncharacteristic of her. The entire room stopped their conversations and turned to watch her flick her hair.
Mathilde shrugged off her leather jacket and dropped into the chair opposite. She was still laughing to herself and didn’t bother with much of a hello other than a quick flirt of the eyebrows. Sal leant down to kiss Laura on the cheek.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ he said, rubbing his lips and smiling. ‘We, uh, got held up.’
‘It’s warm in here, no?’ said Mathilde, fanning herself with a menu.
‘Really? I think it’s quite cool,’ I said, and turned to Laura. ‘What do you think? Warm or cool?’
Laura gave a sideways look. Stop it. ‘“You say potato and I say potahto.”’
‘You look different, Laura,’ said Mathilde, resting a hand beneath her chin and narrowing her eyes. ‘Your hair. It’s normally poker straight.’
Laura blushed and pulled at the wavy ends. ‘I’m not sure it suits me.’
‘You look great,’ I said, nudging her elbow with my own.
‘Not really,’ she said and moved her knife an inch. ‘I thought I’d try it out, but …’ She made a face.
I hoped the others would back me up, but Sal was too busy looking at Mathilde, who was too busy being noticed by Sal.
We ordered drinks and engaged in the usual chit-chat. Sal’s job would soon be extinct, he said. Nobody wanted to go out and rent films any more when they could download them instead. He was probably going to have to get out, but what else he’d do, he didn’t know. He spent most of the time talking about Mathilde and her role at MTV. Apparently some big shot thought she had potential as a presenter and they were going to test her on a new show. Mathilde sat back and let Sal talk. There was no embarrassment as he gushed and no attempt to play down the compliments he paid her. She knew her worth.
‘Any plans this weekend?’ said Laura, filling the first silence.
Sal and Mathilde exchanged glances.
‘We’ve been roped into seeing Tilly’s friend’s new baby. Guess what they’ve named her,’ said Sal, leaning in for dramatic effect. ‘Moon.’
Laura put a hand to her mouth. ‘For goodness’ sake.’
‘What do you think?’ I asked Mathilde.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s certainly memorable.’
‘I read once that a New Zealand court blocked someone from naming their twins “Benson and Hedges”.’
‘Oui!’ said Mathilde, clapping her hands. ‘I saw that. And another tried to name their daughter “Talula does the hula in Hawaii.”’
I shook my head. ‘No, you’re making that up.’
‘It’s true!’ She slapped the table and laughed. ‘I refused to believe it too.’
For a second, we smiled at each other and Laura squeezed my knee. I could see Sal out the corner of my eye, looking between us with a strange, joyful look on his face. He was begging for scraps. It was within my power to give him a banquet.
‘Tilly,’ I said, passing her the drinks menu, ‘this may be extremely stereotypical on my part, but can you recommend us a bottle of wine?’
A smile teased across her features as she took it. ‘We must choose our food first. Salmon for me. Laura?’
‘The chicken pasta,’ she said, having decided as soon as we’d sat down.
Mathilde waved to the waiter and ordered a bottle of the Pinot Noir, which she said would pair well with our chicken and fish. I raised an eyebrow at Sal, who’d picked steak, and he shook his head and said he preferred a beer anyway.
Mathilde stood and swung her leather jacket around her shoulders. ‘I’m going for a smoke.’
‘I’ll join you,’ I said.
I held the door open and we went outside into a quiet Saturday night. Bright light spilled out from a kebab shop across the street, and there was the distant pulse of cars on the ring road. Mathilde sat on a low windowsill to roll her cigarette. I turned away to shield my flame from the wind and saw Sal and Laura talking intently through the glass.
‘It’s cold tonight,’ I said, rolling back my shoulders.
Mathilde licked and pressed the paper, then put the tip between her teeth as she rooted around in her bag for a lighter. Having mine still in my hand, I reached out and flicked it into life. She stared at it for a moment, then leant in to kiss the flame. Her blouse fell open slightly to reveal an inch of black lace. I quickly looked away.
‘So how does it feel?’ she said, sitting up and leaning back against the window.
I blinked. ‘What?’
She paused to take a drag. ‘This making an effort. Isn’t that what you called it?’
I gave a wry smile. Of course he’d tell her.
‘Salvatore and I don’t have secrets.’
‘Clearly.’
She cocked her head to one side and glanced up at me. I wasn’t looking but I could feel her eyes on my face, then my shoulders, before she travelled down my body to my feet and back again. It was a full body scan. I wondered what she’d found.
‘You don’t like me, do you, Nicolas?’
I kicked lightly at a loose cobble, then gave a slow exhale and looked at her through the smoke. ‘Would you care if I didn’t?’
She looked impressed. ‘Of course not.’
‘It’s not part of my plan to hate on my brother’s girlfriend.’
‘Ah, so you do have some kind of plan.’ She crossed her legs. ‘I was beginning to wonder.’
‘Wonder?’
‘It seems you let life just happen to you.’
I shifted my weight to the other foot. ‘Does it.’
She gave a light shrug. ‘It’s just my opinion, Nicolas. Don’t get mad. Although Salvatore does agree with me. He says you’ve always been like that.’
I was quiet for a moment, focusing on the feeling of my smoke on the back of my throat. ‘I’m pleased to amuse you both.’
Mathilde frowned. ‘I wouldn’t call wasting your life amusing.’
‘Wasting my li— Is this because you think I don’t like you?’
She gave me a long stare, continuing to take little puffs throughout, and then looked away with a small smile. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. Pardon. I’ll be quiet now.’ She locked her lips and threw away the key.
We spent a minute or two in silence, and I watched as a man in the kebab shop carved strips of congealed meat into a polystyrene tray. A woman leant on the counter, waiting, her eyelids hanging heavy in a drunken state.
‘I don’t dislike you,’ I said finally. ‘Sometimes I struggle with how you treat Sal
, but that’s just being an older brother. You get used to putting others first.’
She hugged an arm across her waist and rested the point of her other elbow on her wrist. This made it easier to ferry the cigarette to her lips. ‘Salvatore knows how I feel about him,’ she said. ‘I don’t care about making sure you know it too. What’s the point in putting on a show?’
Mathilde’s dad left when she was five years old, Sal told me once. He walked out of their Parisian apartment one morning and never went back, moving instead to Cannes to live with his teenage assistant. Mathilde and her dad had been close, going for ice creams in the park while her mother spent long lunches with friends, and at first he rang every week to ask how she was doing at school. But gradually, as he built more of a life on the Med, the calls became sporadic and out of the blue, until it became just another Christmas and birthday tradition.
When in her company, I have tried to remember this.
‘I’m glad he knows,’ I said. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Does Laura know?’
‘Excuse me?’
She looked at me. ‘Does Laura know how you feel about her?’
I knew she was baiting me, and I threw my fag end on the ground and pushed both hands in my pockets. ‘Our food’s probably ready.’
Mathilde didn’t move. ‘Sometimes, Nicolas, I think you and I are quite alike.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘And how do you figure that?’
She stood on her spiked heels and smoothed down her skirt. ‘I’ve seen you watching Salvatore with me, and I recognise the look in your eyes.’ She dropped the end of her cigarette. ‘You and I both have thunder in our hearts. The difference is, I listen to mine. I don’t try to squash it like a bug.’
She turned and walked back through the door. I followed. Laura poured me a glass of water from the carafe. Her mouth formed a sentence, but the words were drowned out by the noise in my head.
In all my previous conversations with Mathilde, I’d assumed I was the one doing the studying, but she had lasered through my bullshit and got straight to the heart. It was difficult now to simply dislike her, or dismiss her as empty, because everything she’d said was true.
When our food arrived, the conversation dwelt on lighter things: a new film at the cinema, Sal’s team’s performance in the local league, an upcoming holiday they were taking. I contributed the odd comment, but mainly I let them talk. Everyone murmured positively about the food, including Mathilde, who – according to her – was hard to please, but mine was dry and tasteless on my tongue, as if my senses had lost their colour. The wine, I could tell, was excellent.
Mathilde left the table after we’d finished, and I watched Laura follow her through to the back.
‘Tell me,’ I said, leaning forward in my chair. ‘Isn’t there some kind of brotherly code for not telling our girlfriends everything?’
Sal tore off a chunk of bread and frowned. ‘Translation?’
‘You told Mathilde this whole night was for me to make an effort to like her.’
He looked confused. ‘But that is the reason?’
I sighed. ‘Am I the only one who knows a civilised society cannot run on people saying what they think all the time? There’d be chaos. Ever heard of tact?’
Sal looked at me, amused. ‘How’s that working out for you?’
‘Try it sometime.’
He chewed mouthfuls of bread, watching me with an easy smile on his face. The way he sat, slouched with an arm extended over the back of Mathilde’s chair, oozed with the lazy confidence I’d always wished for myself.
‘And how are you and Laura, by the way?’
‘I’m not sure Laura and I are the ones that need examining.’
Sal shrugged. ‘It’s hard to tell, that’s all. There never seem to be any ups and downs. Always an even plateau.’
I paused. ‘I thought you liked Laura?’
‘I do. I’m just wondering if you like Laura. But maybe still waters run deep.’
I rubbed my chin. ‘Am I meant to perform a song and dance to convince you that I care for my girlfriend? Be something I’m not?’ As I finished the sentence, I heard Mathilde’s voice in my head: What’s the point in putting on a show?
Sal finished his beer and gestured to the waiter for another.
‘So,’ I said, leaning back in my chair, ‘tell me about this surprise party I’m not supposed to know about.’
He shook his head. ‘Nope. I’m not one for pissing off your girlfriend. Although I’m curious as to why thirty-two requires a party.’
‘I think she’s trying to make up for the fact you never threw one two years ago. You know how I love surprises.’
‘I did try telling her, but she seems to think she knows you better.’ He smiled. ‘I look forward to finding out.’
‘What I like about Laura,’ I said, staring into my wine glass, ‘in case you’re wondering, is that she’s always looking to improve the little things. It’s not about fireworks or grand gestures, or moving mountains. It’s about creating an easy life that doesn’t …’ I paused to find the right word.
‘Rock your boat?’
I was quiet for a moment, Mathilde’s words still in my head. ‘She makes me feel calm,’ I said. ‘No drama. That’s something, right?’
Sal began to reply, but a bell tinkled on the front door and I looked up to see his ex, Tess, walk in. She stopped when she saw us, her mouth dropping open, then turned to a man behind and whispered in his ear. Sal was still talking, his back to her. The waiter indicated to them to follow him to the room at the back, and as they passed, Tess smiled at me and paused by the table. It was then I saw her stomach between her coat, large and round, as if she’d stuffed a basketball up her top.
Sal looked up and saw her. He stayed exactly where he was, sprawled open in the chair, but his face cracked a large smile. ‘Tess, hey.’
Tess looked between us both, her cheeks red and her voice stumbling. ‘You look well.’ She put an instinctive hand on her bump.
Sal twigged. ‘Congratulations,’ he said warmly.
‘When are you due?’ I asked, noticing her gaze drink in Sal. It must have been five years since they’d broken up, but it was clear he was no distant memory.
‘Oh … a couple of months,’ she said, glancing awkwardly at the man behind. ‘On the home stretch.’
I murmured another congratulatory statement as Sal looked about for a sign of his beer. ‘That’s really great, Tess,’ I said, hoping to make up for his lack of interest.
‘Well, enjoy your meal,’ she said, taking hold of the man’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’
‘Best of luck,’ I said, kicking Sal under the table.
He frowned at me, then realised. ‘Oh, bye. Good luck.’
As she moved slowly away behind Sal, I saw Mathilde and Laura coming through from the back. Mathilde had obviously seen her at the table, and as they passed, she looked down at Tess’s stomach and gave her a thunderous look.
Sal gave a brief nod behind him. ‘That was my safe option,’ he said. ‘Dodged a bullet there.’
When Mathilde pulled the chair out a little too forcefully, he turned with an adoring smile. The sight of his ex seemed to have evaporated from his consciousness, but evidently not from Mathilde’s.
‘Hey,’ said Laura, kissing me. I could smell the wine on her breath and her eyes had that soft look that comes at that sweet spot of tipsy. She leant into my ear. ‘I love you, you know.’
I took her hand and pressed it against my lips. We smiled at each other.
Across the table, Sal was leaning towards Mathilde. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, and I could tell he was trying to be quiet. ‘What have I done?’
Mathilde drained her wine glass and folded her arms.
‘Shall we get dessert?’ said Laura, taking the menu that had been left.
‘Not for me,’ said Mathilde, and she gave a forced smile. ‘But don’t let that stop you.’
‘Okay,’ sa
id Laura, a little unsure. She was wising up to the vibe from across the table. ‘Sal?’ But he wasn’t paying attention.
‘I’ll have a look,’ I said, leaning in. ‘What do you fancy? Shall we share something?’
‘Tills, please,’ said Sal in her ear, but she brushed him away.
‘Maybe we should just get the bill,’ Laura said, looking at me. We tried to communicate without words or facial expressions. We were doing a shit job.
‘No, no,’ said Mathilde, reaching across and taking the menu. ‘You want dessert so you must have dessert. Let’s see.’ She pursed her lips as she scanned the menu. ‘The cheesecake. A little sickly after pasta, maybe. Or bread and butter pudding? Such a strange concept, that one. Why have bread with butter to start and then sprinkle it with sugar for dessert? You British are very bizarre with your choices. I’ve never understood it. But then there’s no – how do you say – accounting for taste?’
Sal watched her with a hand over his mouth. He looked still and composed, except for the frequent swallowing action he made in his throat. I remembered it from when we were kids, this reflex, how he’d almost be swallowing deep breaths of air to suffocate the emotion boiling up inside.
‘No dessert for me,’ I said to Laura. ‘I’ve had enough this evening.’
She nodded and folded her hands in her lap.
I signalled for the bill and we endured a silence as we waited. Mathilde sat with her arms crossed, but then she stood and without a word, took her jacket and went out through the front door. Sal sat still for a moment, lost in thought, before jumping up and following her. They stood on the other side of the window, arguing with wild gestures of their arms.
When the waiter arrived, I gave a quick scan of the bill and handed him my card. Laura looked at me and I shrugged and said, ‘Well, it was my idea.’
Outside in the cold night, they were going at full pelt.
‘I saw how you were looking at her,’ Mathilde hissed, jabbing a finger into his chest.
Laura and I stood to one side, our hands in pockets or folded against our chests like parents at Sunday football. We looked from one to the other.
‘How I looked at her?’ said Sal, his hands on his head. ‘Are you kidding? Tills, I had my back to you for a start.’
Another Life Page 19