Don't Marry Thomas Clark (30 page)

‘Have you
any
idea how much I've missed you?' I ask Rufus as I squeeze him tightly.

We're standing at the bar in Pearl's. I arrived in London in the early afternoon – just enough time to sort out the flat, pop to the bistro, grab a pizza and have a quick shower, and then I ran here, where I had a date with the others. In my absence Rufus has met a girl. Her name's Milly. Not very tall and a bit on the plump side, but a real character. I've never laughed so much before, and her good humour is infectious. They are really sweet together.

‘Be generous with the gin – the Countess is paying!' teases Kelly as she joins us. The bartender doesn't need to be told twice and tips the bottle into the glass, filling it right up to the brim. We take our drinks and walk back over to the table where Debby, Patricia, Nicolas and a couple of Nichola's friends are waiting for us.

After we've merrily toasted the upcoming opening of the bistro, a jazz band takes to the stage and the room is filled with syncopated music.

‘So? How's it going with Thomas?' Debby asks as she settles down next to me on the sofa.

‘Same as usual,; I say vaguely. ‘But it'll all be over in a month.'

‘I thought you two were
going out together
,' she says, stunned.

‘Yes,' I say, trying to keep my emotions under control and sticking my nose in my glass. ‘But it was just a silly little fling.'

‘Look who's here!' whispers Kelly, nudging Rufus.

‘Who?' Jennifer asks, looking around the room.

I'm curious too, so I look over my shoulder and my eyes fall on a familiar face, one that seems to reciprocate my curiosity.

‘Sandy…' exclaims Mike, looking both amazed and happy.

He looks so cool in his jeans, grey T-shirt and open plaid shirt. I thank God I chose this electric blue dress rather than the jumper. Nothing's ever going to ever happen between us, but I'd still rather be remembered like this rather than as Bridget Jones.

‘Mike…'

We embrace affectionately, like two old friends meeting up again. There's no tension or embarrassment about our last phone call, only the desire to share this moment.

‘When did you get back?' He has to move closer because of the loud music.

‘This morning,' I say, doing the same.

‘What?' he asks again, unable to hear.

‘I said this morning,' I repeat, louder.

‘Can we go outside for a moment?' he says, disturbed by the noise coming from the amplifiers. I nod, grab my jacket and follow him out.

We smile at the bouncer and settle in a sheltered corner, under a lamp post. He looks different to the way I remembered now that I can get a good look at him. His eyebrows are a bit messy, he has a few wrinkles around his eyes and there's a rather large mole on his chin. How did I manage to miss these details? And to think that I'd spend whole days fantasising about those eyes. I shake my head and smile, realizing that he is waiting for me to say something.

‘Well?' he asks.

‘Here I am!' I reply.

‘Yes, so I see!' he says, pursing his lips. ‘You look great.'

‘Thank you…' I answer with a blush, adding, ‘So do you.'

‘I never expected to see you at Pearl's. You've been missed,' he admits. ‘Have you sorted things out in Canterbury?'

‘Not yet. In fact I'm only here for a week, then I'll have to go back,' I tell him, as I push my hair behind my ears.

‘You're just passing through, then?'

‘Yes. But I'll definitely be back soon.'

‘When?'

‘In November. Mid November, to be precise.'

‘Not that long, then. Are you glad?' he asks.

‘Definitely,' I say, lying to both of us, continuing with a grimace, ‘I'm sick of all that green.' He laughs, pulling a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans.

‘Want a fag?'

And he hands me one.

I'd actually quit, but I can't stop myself and I snatch it out of his hand. At the first drag my head starts spinning, but by the second I've stopped feeling dizzy and am trying to look like a woman of the world. Ahhhh, nicotine… how I've missed you!

‘You know,' he resumes, ‘I was upset when you left.'

His confession takes me by surprise. ‘Really?'

He seems embarrassed. He scratches his head, smiling, then turns to look at me and continues softly. ‘I'd been wanting to ask you out for months. When I finally got up the nerve, you ran off. At first I thought it was an excuse. You always seemed so aloof. I thought it was your way of telling me to keep my distance. Then the girls told me that you were away on business, and…'

I'm in shock.

‘Are you kidding?' I blurt out. ‘I wasn't distant at all, I… I just thought you weren't interested,' I tell him, feeling dazed.

I don't believe this. It can't be happening. Tell me that this isn't happening.

‘Honestly,' he confirms. ‘And I can't pretend that I'm not really happy to see you again. Really,
really
happy…'

‘Oh…'

What the… Bloody hell, Sandy, is that all you can say? Sometimes I could just
strangle
myself.

‘…But I guess it's too late to ask you out again, right?' he says, smiling.

Actually yes, because I'm hypothetically taken by someone who can't wait to get rid of me. I'm coming out of a complicated situation. I need a bit of time to reflect. To sit down and have a long, hard think about my life.

‘No. It's not too late,' I say, demonstrating the total inconsistency with which I've navigated my life since birth. Anyway, Thomas made it clear how he felt: it was fun while it lasted, but now we both have to get on with our lives. It just so happens that
this
was my life before
he
turned it upside down, and I don't know if fate will ever give me another opportunity so it's only fair that I take advantage now.

‘Listen…' he says, less uncertainly than before. ‘A mate of mine is having a party tomorrow. Nothing pretentious. Drinks, rubbish music, dirty jokes. Stuff like that. Would you like to go with me?'

‘I'd really like to go with you.'

And from that moment on we spend the next five evenings together, each of us giving the other a second chance. We rent stupid films and watch them while eating an Indian takeaway on his sofa, or we go out for a walk and end up in some small local theatre watching ramshackle cabaret acts.

I haven't heard anything from Thomas, which convinces me that I did the right thing ending our relationship, whatever it might have been. At first I was checking my phone all the time, hoping to find at least one message, but after a while I gave up. I let it go and started enjoying my well-deserved week off.

‘What are you thinking?' Mike asks me, when we reach the front door of my house. We've been out to a really nice Italian restaurant, then had coffee and wandered aimlessly for a while, swapping memories of secondary school.

‘Nothing in particular,' I say cheerfully. But if I'm honest, I feel a strange heaviness inside of me, and I can't think what's causing it.

‘You've been looking a bit distant all evening. Is it that you'll be leaving soon?' he asks, sounding concerned.

‘Maybe,' I admit, playing with a button of my black coat.

‘Do you really have to go?'

‘I'm afraid so.' Suddenly I feel very blue, but for reasons I can't explain to him and that he would only misunderstand.

‘I'd rather you stayed here with me.'

He takes me in his arms and I don't resist. Besides, wasn't this what we both wanted? But a wave of panic washes over me as he leans his forehead against mine. We haven't actually kissed before tonight.

‘I'll be back to bother you before you know it,' I say.

Mike smiles at me, then bends downs and puts his mouth on mine.

He's perfect. But the kiss is
terrible
. Thomas's lips are soft and fleshy, but his are thin and hard and awkward. He pushes in, pulls back, then comes back again. I'm tempted to ask where he thinks he's going, but there are some things that you just can't say. I try to play along, and give him a clumsy hug. But that just makes him feel entitled to tickle my tonsils with his tongue, and at that point I can't take any more. I pull away, putting my hands on his chest.

‘I can't,' I say, hoping I never have to go through that again.

‘Wh… What?' he reacts with bewilderment.

‘This.'

‘Don't you want me to kiss you?‘

‘I'd really rather you didn't Mike. I'm sorry, but I'm in love with somebody else.'

‘What?! Then why have you been going out with me? Why've you been leading me on like this?' he asks.

He's right, and I feel awful. Like a horrible little worm squirming in the mud.

‘I didn't mean to, honestly. I really liked you. I liked you a lot. But things have changed. I wanted it to work. I hoped that acting as though the last few months had never happened would have been enough, but it wasn't. I'm sorry.'

I feel awful, and I sincerely hope he's able to understand.

‘Oh, for Christ's sake, give me a break!' he says, leaving me standing there as he stalks off towards his motorbike.

Nope, he definitely wasn't able to understand.

‘Mike…' I whisper, but it's useless. He gives me a last resentful look, then pulls on his helmet, kickstarts his bike and roars away.

I stand there, contemplating the asphalt and wondering what the future holds for me.

I shouldn't have done it. I should have given him a chance. Maybe it was just a matter of time, but I let my instinct guide me and now I find myself with a lifestyle I can't afford and a past life that I don't want any more.

I get back home feeling more miserable than I would have thought was possible and jump into bed without even getting undressed, hoping to sleep.

I hardly recognize the smell of my sheets, I find it hard to get used to the shape of my pillow again, and everything in the room seems strange. I open my eyes one last time and look vaguely at the photos hanging on the walls, the posters, the books and the curtains on the balcony. Face down under the covers, I try to find some calm and drive away the uneasiness I feel, but I fail miserably. I tell myself everything will be fine, but it's useless – I can't sleep.

I decide to watch a film, but even before I manage to get out of bed, the phone starts ringing and I rush to answer it. It might be Mike: he deserves an explanation. Or it might be my parents – maybe something has happened.

‘Hello?' I say without looking at the screen.

‘What if I get in the car and come and get you?'

It's Thomas.

‘Do you know what time it is?'

My voice sounds angry, but I could scream with joy.

‘Were you sleeping?'

No, and I probably won't now, thanks to you.

‘Yes,' I murmur after waiting for a few silent seconds.

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.'

‘Don't worry. Goodnight.'

‘Don't hang up,' he says.

‘Why?' I ask him, but he doesn't answer.

‘I thought you wanted to end it,' I remind him, and can't hold back a tear, which I wipe away with the back of my hand.

‘I lied,' he replies, with disarming sincerity.

‘I'd say that it's a bit late now for us to be having this conversation. We'll talk when I get back.' I try to maintain a detached tone.

‘When do you think you'll be back?'

‘Tomorrow evening. I've finished here,' I say as another tear slides down my cheek.

‘OK, then see you tomorrow. Good night, baby,' he says.

My hands are trembling as I lay down on the bed.

I find myself staring at the ceiling, repeating to myself that I did the right thing. I must not show my weaknesses. This time I won't be hurt. No. This time will be different.

Then I get up, put on my jeans, a T-shirt and a cream cardigan, run downstairs and grab my car keys. I don't even take a change of clothes. I just want to go back to Garden House and be in his arms again.

When I see the avenue of the estate, my heart leaps. I wouldn't have imagined that I could have missed it so much.

I cross the cobbles and enter the garden, driving over to the garage with my headlights off. I'm definitely making a racket, but if I can, I'd like to try and surprise him. I turn off the engine, grab my bag and sneak over towards the cellar door, deciding to enter the house from there.

Once I'm inside, I quickly climb the stairs and find myself in the dark hallway, thinking about how the evening when the lights went out seems almost to belong to another life – one of which I have very few memories.

Sighing, I head for Thomas's bedroom, but I find it empty.

‘Where can he be?'

The second room I enter is his study, but that too is empty, so I go to my bedroom and find him sitting on the mattress with a large, hairy Persian cat in his arms.

‘Damn!' he exclaims. ‘We've been discovered,' he says to the cat.

‘And where did
that
come from?' The words haven't even left my mouth when Rudy emerges from under the bed and comes over, his nose wet and eyes sleepy, to snuggle up to me.

‘It never occurred to me that there was a pyjama party going on. If I'd known, I'd have worn something more appropriate,' I joke.

I'd had it all planned out until then, but now I don't know what to do, and I'm pretty awful at ad-libbing. Thomas has never had these problems. He gets up calmly and puts the cat down on the carpet, stroking its tail. The cat replies with a posh ‘meow', then settles into a chair and starts scratching its claws on the pillow.

‘I didn't think you were coming back until tomorrow.'