The image of you, p.31
The Image of You, page 31
There would be no confrontation tonight. He’d got away with it.
The conversation did not exactly flow but it chugged along pleasantly enough, only interrupted by Anna’s regular and anxious scouring of her phone for news from Zoe. Rachel was on her best behaviour, employing a tone of polite interest most of the time; the tone he suspected she used when kids in her class told her about their Pokémon Go adventures or similar. For her part, Anna was being the most ingratiating he had ever seen her; a clear eleven out of ten in terms of asking interested questions about Rachel’s job, home, friends and even cat. Nick didn’t contribute much. He just drank.
Then sank.
He couldn’t find the energy to join in. What was the point in talking about the wedding? Would, could, should it take place? Unexpectedly, the cheerful family Christmases he’d only just imagined, seemed dreadful and claustrophobic. Sod the day school and the Parents’ Association, the shiny children would be smug and annoying. Undoubtedly, it was a relief that Zoe hadn’t turned up tonight; he’d have hated a row in such a public place, where the waiters were polished and discreet, the food above par, the decor stunning, his fiancée beautiful.
But he missed her.
He could taste his food for a second time.
He swallowed it back; he was not the sort of man to throw up on white linen tablecloths. Yet, the swift clarity of understanding was distressing, because he suddenly understood. She’d made the choice. Her choice. She’d gone. Left him. Left the UK. The thing she’d said to Anna wasn’t a convenient way to get Anna off their backs; it was for real. He thought back to the conversation they’d had about him being unable to make a choice. He’d asked her to do it.
And she had.
His innards became loose and useless. Something in his chest hurt. A raw pain, like he’d been winded. He could see it so clearly. She was standing in a queue in check-in. She was in the lounge. She was boarding the plane. She had taken off. She’d moved on. She wasn’t coming tonight but it wasn’t a stay of execution; it was goodbye. People fall for her. Fall in love with her but she doesn’t return the sentiment. Not ever. He looked across at Anna. She was talking to Rachel but drumming her fingers on the table at the same time. He felt for her. It was all his fault. Her sister wasn’t coming to her wedding; her sister was leaving the country. She must miss her. He understood. Him more than anyone. They had that in common and yet they could never talk about it.
‘Hey, you’ve had your nails done,’ he said, suddenly, to Anna. His comment came out a little loudly and unexpectedly. He really needed to drink some water.
The people on the next table glanced at him in the way Londoners did when they wanted to convey disapproval. Anna smiled and waved her manicured fingers at Nick.
‘You’ve had a colour put on,’ he observed. Or rather, slurred.
‘Just for a change,’ smiled Anna. She told Rachel, ‘My usual preference is a clear varnish.’
Rachel nodded, appreciatively. ‘Oh, I like the blue. It’s very modern, summery.’
Anna beamed, happy to receive the compliment. ‘It was Zoe’s idea. She gets hers done all the time. She persuaded me.’
‘Subliminal “something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue”?’ suggested Rachel.
‘Maybe.’
Rachel’s casual and positive reference to the wedding made Anna beam. The waiter reappeared and suggested they might all like dessert, or a digestif, maybe a coffee.
Anna glanced at her phone again. ‘Oh my goodness. I’d better go. It’s nearly twenty to ten.’
‘Go? Go where?’ Nick asked, confused.
‘To check on Zoe, of course.’
‘What are you? Her babysitter?’ laughed Rachel.
Anna smiled pleasantly. ‘I know it probably seems crazy to you but I’m the older twin by five minutes. As the big sister I need to take care of Zoe, even when she doesn’t want to be taken care of. Nick, you must get that.’
‘Him take care of me? No chance,’ laughed Rachel. ‘One day, when you have more time, I’ll tell you about how he once nearly drowned me in a swimming pool when we were on holiday in Malta.’
‘It was an accident!’
‘So he says. Or how often he’s left me stuck up trees that he’s encouraged me to climb.’
‘It was character-building.’
Anna smiled politely. ‘Those sound like great stories.’
Even through his drunken haze Nick recognized that she wasn’t as interested as he might have expected. She was forever pumping his parents for stories of his childhood; now, she wanted to get away. He wondered whether she’d drawn the same conclusion as he had. Did she, too, fear that Zoe had already gone?
‘It’s just that a no-show, with absolutely no word, usually spells trouble. Who doesn’t turn up for their own leaving do?’ Anna grabbed her handbag and began rooting around for her purse. It was a bit of a show of politeness for Rachel, really; Anna knew Nick would happily foot the bill as he usually did. She just didn’t want to give the impression that she was taking him for granted.
‘Just go and put your mind at rest. I’ll sort this out.’ He didn’t dare suggest accompanying her, in case she took him up on the offer. ‘Text me, right.’
‘OK, I will.’ She hugged Rachel and leaned towards him.
He thought she was going to squeeze his hand or give him a peck on the cheek. She didn’t, she kissed his lips. In front of Rachel. Unabashed. Out of character. Did he imagine it? He must have, he thought he’d felt the warm wetness of her tongue. Just for a moment, finding its way into his mouth. Fast, discreet. Anna smelt sticky, musky. The heat had overpowered her usual floral fragrance. He liked it but it was disconcerting. Confusing.
Breaking away, she turned to Rachel. ‘I hope I haven’t given too bad an impression of Zoe, tonight. She really can be very lovely, when she puts her mind to it. Can’t she, Nick? What am I saying? You’ve only met her once. You don’t really know. Do you?’
‘Oh yes, I’m sure she’s lovely,’ said Rachel tactfully.
Nick didn’t know what to say.
‘I firmly believe all she needs is a bit of understanding.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s just that I might go to her hotel and simply have to clean up vomit or—’ She broke off. ‘I always expect the worst, you see. It’s difficult. I’ve always lived with the feeling that my twin is hurtling towards disaster and I can’t help but hold the belief that it is my responsibility to stop that disaster from happening.’ She shrugged, somewhat helplessly. ‘Goodbye.’
And before Nick could say anything more, Anna had dashed out of the restaurant.
Forty
Nick
Nick and Rachel watched Anna run out of the restaurant. For a moment there was silence. Nick broke it the only way he knew how. ‘Are you having dessert?’
‘I need a glass of something strong after that,’ Rachel replied.
Nick chose to ignore the inference behind her comment but ordered a couple of whiskys from the hovering waiter.
‘Since when have you drunk whisky?’ asked Rachel.
‘It’s a relatively recent thing,’ he said with a sigh.
They stayed in their own heads until Rachel said, ‘Look, Nick, I don’t want us to fall out over what I’m about to say.’
‘If you think we might, then don’t say it.’
Rachel looked surprised that he’d cut her off so abruptly, but he was serious, he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. He didn’t need any more aggro. He had more than enough going on in his head.
However, Rachel was not easily silenced. She knew her own mind too well and she loved her brother too dearly. ‘I have to.’
They stared at one another. It was uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring slightly. It was funny the things you noticed about a person over time, when you were up close and personal. Rachel’s nostrils always flared when she was tense.
‘Are you sure about this wedding? About marrying Anna?’
‘Rachel!’
She rushed on, refusing to be deterred. ‘I know Mum and Dad love her and think she’s basically Florence Nightingale and Mother Teresa rolled into one cute little package, but I can’t help thinking she’s batshit crazy.’
Nick laughed despite himself. His sister always said it as she saw it.
‘I mean I can’t even imagine what her sister is going to be like if Anna is the sane one.’
Nick sighed but didn’t know what to say.
‘You can’t see it, can you?’
‘No.’
‘She’s so ensconced in the fairy tale I keep expecting to see little singing mice and birds appear to make her clothes.’
‘Lots of women get carried away with wedding prep. It does not make them crazy.’
‘And why does she put up with that crap from her sister?’ Rachel waited for him to respond.
He didn’t. Couldn’t.
In an effort to placate him, or understand him, or something, she added carefully, ‘I can see she’s a beauty.’
‘She’s a lovely person,’ he clarified.
‘Yeah, she seems it.’ Rachel’s tone was flat and unconvincing.
‘She really is,’ he insisted.
‘Nick, I don’t think anyone is that lovely. She’s like Mary Poppins on happy pills! There was something off tonight. Something forced. Don’t pretend you weren’t aware of it. You were super tense. Not yourself at all.’
Nick felt guilt flood through his body. Sloshing and slipping about, weighing him down. Anna was not to blame for the strange atmosphere tonight. He was. It was entirely his fault that things had seemed weird and strained at times because he was betraying her in the worst possible way, by screwing her sister. This was not something he could tell Rachel. They were close, she had a realistic view of him and a reasonably thorough understanding of how he lived his life, but she’d be disgusted if she knew what he’d been up to these past few months. Who wouldn’t be? He felt awful that Rachel was blaming Anna for the tension. That she couldn’t see how great Anna truly was because he had muddied the waters.
Deceit piled upon deceit.
He felt sick with shame.
Or it could have been the alcohol.
This would not do. He must be resolute. Zoe had probably gone and that was a good thing. She’d made a choice, the right choice, and she’d done it for him and Anna. He could not have continued to live the way he was. Ultimately, it wasn’t him. He’d put things right with Anna. He had to. It wouldn’t be easy. But he’d work at it. Kind, clever, decent, beautiful Anna was the woman for him. Any man would be lucky to call her his wife. Once more, he brought to mind the imagined cute-looking kids. He put them inside images of wholesome holidays: lazy, barmy days in the garden; informative, inspiring museum visits; splashing about in rock pools and building sandcastles. All that could only happen with Anna. That was not Zoe’s scene at all. What was he thinking? That he could hang out in nightclubs with Zoe until they were drawing their pensions? That she’d bend over her Zimmer frame and he’d take her from behind? Stupid! Stupid!
‘Rachel, please don’t say anything else. I don’t want to hear it,’ he said firmly. ‘Anna is a really lovely person. Wonderful, in fact. The truth is, I don’t deserve her.’
Rachel looked suspicious. ‘Since when has it ever bothered you that you got more than you deserve? You’re the guy who once licked all around his birthday cake to discourage others from having a slice.’
‘I was eight, Rachel, let it go.’
‘You were eleven and I think secretly you’re still a selfish bastard. A nice-looking, rather persuasive one, but one all the same. I don’t believe the only thing that’s worrying you about this marriage is that you’re punching above your weight.’ Rachel fell silent; she was clearly hoping he’d confide in her.
He couldn’t, just couldn’t.
Especially when she added, ‘You know I love you, bruv. Right? Everyone does. I don’t want to see you making a mistake.’
Too late. He’d made an awful mistake. He’d ruined the purity, innocence and honesty that he and Anna had shared. The heady, swift romance had been blemished by his despicable behaviour and he doubted he’d ever be able to retrieve that original feeling, that sense of certainty, but he knew he had to go ahead with the wedding. It was the nearest thing he had to honourable. Dumping Anna at this late stage, breaking her heart, well, that would be unforgivable. Zoe had loved her enough to give him up; he had to be equally decent.
‘I’m marrying Anna. I hope you can respect my decision. I really appreciate that you made an effort with her tonight. I think if you make an effort for long enough it will stop being an effort.’ He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—himself, or his sister—still, he was glad that he sounded more sober than he felt.
‘Well,’ Rachel shrugged. ‘If you’re sure, and if you’re happy.’
He looked at the table.
‘Are you, Nick?’
‘What?’
‘Happy?’
‘Of course I am. I’ll get the bill. We’re going to need to get a move on if you’re to catch the ten-fifteen train.’ He looked about for the waiter.
Accepting that he wasn’t going to discuss the matter further, but not feeling quite ready to leave him, Rachel said, ‘If I promise not to say another word about Anna, am I allowed pudding? I can get the later train.’
Nick grinned. ‘You’ll be OK catching the very last one? You won’t be in Bath until after one in the morning.’
‘I’m a big girl and I fancy the baked Alaska. I bet that’s quite a show here.’
Nick signalled for the waiter and ordered the baked Alaska, two spoons and another whisky.
‘Get your own Alaska,’ said Rachel. ‘I do not want you licking mine.’
* * *
Much later, when the waiter came with the bill, Nick handed over his card, without checking the total. ‘My treat,’ he told Rachel.
She didn’t argue. A school teacher’s salary versus a banker’s salary, there was no argument.
‘OK. Cab or tube?’ he asked.
‘The tube will be quicker.’
‘I’ll walk you to the station.’
The weather had changed and the night was abruptly cooler than it had been for weeks. Litter whipped along the road; the sky was a deep, dramatic, sombre blue. The fresh, chilly air did not make him feel sober, just more aware of how drunk he was. He’d drunk far too much. It had been an emotional roller coaster of an evening. It had started full of trepidation, then relief and finally something akin to—what?—a bitter-sweet acceptance, not quite a celebration. Of course he’d drunk too much. It wasn’t a way to live. Far from sensible. Things had to change.
‘A storm’s coming,’ said Rachel in a funny pretending-to-be-in-a-horror-movie-type voice.
Nick nodded and was about to fling his arm around her to keep her warm, to show his brotherly affection, when his phone buzzed. He was expecting an update from Anna, letting him know if she was at her flat or his. He doubted she’d have caught up with Zoe; in his mind she was halfway across the Atlantic by now. He hoped Anna had gone home to her flat. He’d join her there. It was a bit further out, but it was one of the few places that he felt remained untarnished. After the wedding he would put his flat on the market. He couldn’t walk into the bathroom now without thinking of Zoe: naked, brazen, beautiful. And he shouldn’t be thinking about Zoe at all. He allowed himself a moment to imagine slipping between Anna’s clean sheets, which always smelt of fabric conditioner. Then he checked the message.
It was a text from ‘Joe’: It’s all over. You’d better come.
What did that mean? Deep and profound panic pricked the base of his neck, then seeped through his body. Had she confessed? Did Anna now know all? Was he being called to account, to arbitrate, to confess, to choose? Or did the message mean something else entirely?
It was all over between him and Zoe.
She wanted him at the hotel because there was some problem with the bill and she wished to check out.
Both scenarios were possible. The panic was shoved out, as frustration slammed into his body. Zoe was being as annoyingly cryptic as ever. He felt as though he’d been thrown down a snake in a game of Snakes and Ladders. Back to square one. It would probably have been better if she’d been on a plane.
Yet, he would go to her. He quickly leaned in and hugged his sister. ‘Hug the parents for me. I’ve got to dash now.’ Unceremoniously, he left her at the tube station, staring after him.
‘Well, I guess I’ll see you at the wedding?’ she called.
Her words were picked up only by the wind and buffeted in many directions.
Forty-One
Nick
Nick started running towards the hotel. That’s where she must be, right? At the hotel he was paying for. Or was she somewhere else? He couldn’t get the image of her at an airport out of his head. He’d conjured it up so often that evening, he now believed it wholeheartedly. But after all, it was only conjecture. It was maddening that he wasn’t absolutely sure where he was being summoned to, let alone why. Situation normal with Zoe. He stopped running and stood under the canopy of a late-night convenience store. He called Zoe but it went straight to voicemail. He called Anna; it rang and rang and rang until, on the seventh ring, it went through to voicemail. Zoe often didn’t take calls and switched her phone off at her own convenience, but Anna tended to keep hers on in case anyone from the centre felt the need to contact her. Anna was deeply considerate, she never let her phone ring through unless she was totally indisposed. She knew that if someone actually wanted to talk, in this day and age—which was an unusual enough occurrence—then it demanded attention. It had to be a bad sign that she hadn’t answered his call. She must know. It was a sickening thought. Listening to her chirpy tones asking him to leave a message reminded him of that time, several weeks back, when he first met Zoe and had called Anna from the loos, confused, overwhelmed. Unlike that time, he did not leave a message. What was the point?
