A tiny hesitation. ‘Yep. They’re wel . You stil liking Jay’s?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. ‘Went back to the flat the other day to get some stuff, saw you’d been back too.’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Oli said. ‘Needed a few more things. I guess we should . . .’
‘Yes, I guess we should,’ I said, not knowing quite what the next stage is with this. Instruct the divorce lawyer, say I’m going through with it?
Proof of adultery, like in a creaky old thirties farce?
‘Anyway,’ Oli said. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘I’m OK,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
It was as if we final y had something in common we could talk about. The breakdown of our marriage and how we’re both dealing with it.
‘OK too,’ Oli said. ‘Up and down, you know. I miss . . .’ He trailed off. ‘I don’t know what I miss. I miss you, Natasha. I do miss us, being at our flat. I miss . . .’ He scratched his head. ‘Ugh. It’s – yeah, it’s weird. Weird to think I failed. We failed.’
I loved this Oli, the eager, kind person I fel in love with. I smiled at him. ‘I know. I think that’s what I miss. What I wanted it to be.’
He nodded, and our eyes met, as though we understood each other. He took my hand.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose there’s no point in bul shitting any more, you guessed it. That’s Chloe in there. It’s her friend’s birthday drinks.’
He was looking into my eyes, with such sincerity that it took me a moment to reconcile what he was saying with how he was saying it. And when I did I stepped back, gave a short laugh.
‘Oh, wow,’ I said. ‘Right then.’
‘It’s going real y wel again,’ Oli said. ‘That’s why – hey, that’s why I feel I have to be straight with you.’
There was a roar of noise as the door opened and Cathy appeared next to us on the pavement. ‘So . . . ?’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘We off then?’
‘Yes,’ I said. I turned to Oli. ‘I’l be in touch about the loan. I owe you—’
‘Hey, Natasha, I mean it. Don’t worry about that for the moment,’ he said, nodding. ‘After everything, it’s fine, it real y is. I owe you, not the other way round. Plus, I know you need some time to get on your feet again.’
I thought of the new orders I’ve had lately, of me skipping up Brick Lane to drop the latest consignments off at various shops, of the meeting with the woman from Liberty . . . I smiled at him.
‘Not any more. Honestly.’ I held out my hand. ‘Thanks,’ I said, looking into his deep blue eyes one more time. ‘Thanks, Oli. Have a—’
I wanted to say have a nice life. But it sounds bitchy, sarcastic, and in that moment, I real y meant it. I did want him to have a nice life.
‘Have a great evening,’ I said instead, and Cathy and I went off down the street together, and the rest of the night was thankful y without incident. But I didn’t sleep when I got back, not a wink. I wouldn’t have asked for either of those encounters, you know. But that’s life.
7:29, and there’s a sudden commotion, as the last people are flooding onto the train. I rub my eyes, trying to put last night out of my mind, and what happens next. This is what happens next, I tel myself, as the doors open again, one last time, and there’s Guy. He doesn’t look ruffled, like someone who’s run to catch the train. He looks as if he’s been casual y waiting til the last minute, to avoid having to spend any extra time with us, I think to myself.
‘Guy!’ Louisa squeaks. ‘Thank God! We’d nearly given up on you! Miranda’s going to miss it, I’m afraid!’
‘I’m sure she won’t,’ he says, putting his battered leather holdal next to my overnight bag. ‘Hel o, Natasha.’
‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Hel o – hi, Frank,’ he says. ‘Good to see you, Guy,’ Frank says, not real y looking up from the
Guy kisses Louisa. ‘Hel o, old girl,’ he says. ‘You look wonderful. Thanks for booking these. Sorry I’m late. I was being rather stupid.’
‘You’re here now,’ says Louisa, practical y weeping with relief. The train moves off, so slowly at first that I’m not sure whether it’s moving or the platform is. ‘Oh, dear,’ she exclaims. ‘Miranda – she is awful—’
The doors burst open, and Mum rushes through. ‘My God!’ she cries. ‘My God. These damned – this stupid Tube! I left Hammersmith over an hour ago! Would you believe it!’
She pul s strands of hair, which have glued themselves to her lip gloss, away from her face. She smiles brightly at al of us. Her pupils are dilated, her skin lightly tanned and perfectly clear. She could be my sister, not Cecily’s. I stare at her, transfixed al over again by her. ‘Hel o! Wel , here we are. Off for a lovely day back at the old homestead,’ she says, sliding into the seat next to Guy, so she and I are sitting beside each other, only the passageway in between us.
‘Hi, Guy,’ she says brightly.
He doesn’t even look at her. Even in the midst of al this, alarm bel s ring yet again; there’s something there. Something else she’s not tel ing us. What did she do to him to make him like this? ‘Yes,’ he says.
The train draws out of the station, and the early-morning sun hits my eyes. I squint. ‘Hi, Mum,’ I say, and I’m annoyed to hear my voice shaking.
She turns away from Guy and puts her hand on my leg, across the divide. ‘It’s going to be OK,’ my mother says. ‘Promise.’
