“I’ve got a change of clothes in my bag, happy to share,” Tom said.
Nia laughed but couldn’t settle. She suggested Tom stay in the pub and she would find a shop to buy some fresh clothes. The speed of Nia’s departure worried Tom, he wondered whether she’d return. He was suddenly very aware of his surroundings. He didn’t really know what had happened, he’d had almost no time to process or reflect or plan. It had been a whirlwind of excitement and emotions. He checked his watch and wondering how long it would be before he would know whether she was returning, or not. The thought filled him with dread. He went up to the bar, chatted with the barman, a young Canadian. Tom liked Canadians, good soldiers. He had served with a tough bunch in Afghanistan. The bartender poured Tom a pint and a white wine for Nia. Tom returned to the table and had taken a gulp of his beer when Nia returned clutching a red and white striped thin plastic carrier bag.
Nia’s shopping expedition had been quick. She had simply popped into one of the area’s ubiquitous souvenir shops. She bought a T-shirt emblazoned with a red classic Mini with a union jack on its roof, white socks with Big Ben on them, a large sweatshirt bearing an Oxford University coat of arms, and a pair of novelty knickers, a thong with the slogan ‘Welcome to England’ written across the front. Classy, she thought, and grinned to herself, should really be ‘Croeso I Gymru’, Welcome to Wales.
Nia sat at the small pub table and sipped her wine. She was happy. She always liked feeling desired and enjoyed the confidence that had come with age and experience. Tom made her feel more than desired. He was a considerate lover. Gentle when he needed to be, firm and commanding when required.
“Okay,” she told Tom. “A change of clothes,” and held up the bag and then added as an afterthought, “and a toothbrush.”
“Nice bag,” Tom said. “Vuitton?”
Nia responded with her deep throaty laugh. They drank simultaneously and then held each other’s eyes.
“Hotel and then some dinner?” she asked but it wasn’t really a question.
“Sounds like a fine plan,” Tom agreed.
Tom hailed a cab and Nia suggested a small European chain hotel. Tom guessed that she wasn’t comfortable enough to suggest her house and he was fine with that. He was simply enjoying being with her.
Tom checked in to the hotel as Nia waited in the small lobby, overly interested in a vending machine stocked with things tourists may need but had forgotten to pack. She tried to look natural while evading a possibility of being recognised. A small lift took them up to the second floor and a room that was about the size of a college dorm room.
“Whoops,” Nia said as they opened the door and stepped into the tiny room.
“Hey, I’m used to this,” Tom said. “I live on a narrowboat.”
Nia collapsed on the bed and took off her coat and shoes. She rubbed her feet, sore from a long walk, in boots designed for show rather than walking. Tom made a move as if to massage her feet. Nia pulled her legs up.
“Oh no, I’m sure they’re stinky,” she said. “I think I’ll have a long, hot shower, and change into my latest outfit.”
She moved to the bathroom door and turned to Tom, “Coming?” she asked, and she bit her bottom lip ever so slightly. Tom smiled and joined her as requested.
After, they lay in bed. Nia rested her head on Tom’s chest and absent-mindedly ran her fingers through his chest hair. She then ran her finger over the tattoo on his left shoulder. “Tell me about this?” she asked.
“Soldier thing,” Tom answered rather curtly. Nia read the signal and didn’t follow up, yet. There were parts of this Tom that were still closed off and that made him interesting but alarmed her a little. Tom wanted to lighten the mood.
“Getting hungry?” he asked.
“I could eat,” Nia replied. “If I remember rightly, there’s a good chippy not too far away.” Tom nodded his approval.
“But, before we head out, I need another shower,” Nia said with a smile and got out of bed.
Tom watched her as she moved to the bathroom, appreciating her nakedness. He found her confidence incredibly sexy. Tom dressed in his change of clothes from his go bag: Chelsea boots, jeans, shirt, and sweater.
Nia came from the bathroom looking fresh and radiant.
“Nice sweatshirt,” Tom said. “Had you down as a Cambridge girl.”
Nia laughed.
“University of hard knocks me,” she said.
Tom usually hated such expressions but guessed that in Nia’s situation it was partly true.
***
The early evening was Dickensian dark as they walked through a park square and through a few half-heartedly lit side streets to the fish and chip shop. Nia had remembered to point out a couple of interesting blue plaques along the way. The fish bar was small, about the size of a terraced house’s front room. It had two tiny bar tables each with two chairs hard against the glass front. Tom and Nia both ordered fish suppers from the Greek Cypriot owner who also owned an amazing moustache. They asked for cans of Diet Coke and sat at one of the tables. The window was greasy to the touch.
“Feels like a teenager’s date,” Tom said. “Most of mine were disastrous.”
“Oh, I can’t believe that, Tom. Smart, funny, and dashingly handsome.”
He blushed.
Nia smiled reassuringly.
“I thought soldiers were all gruff and tough. You’re an odd one Major Price.”
“Ah,” Tom said. “I’m not Major Price any more, you see. Just plain old Tom Price. Much less gruff and shouty.” He changed the subject quickly, “What about your teenage dates?”
“Um,” Nia said and looked through the window at their distorted reflections on the greasy film there. “Quite a few. Bad boys mostly. Guys with motorbikes, leather jackets, tattoos before they were cool, dead end jobs. Lads with no ambition only caring about beer, sex and rugby.”
“Skilful though, all three at the same time.”
“Especially in the back of a Ford Sierra,” Nia laughed.
Their food was ready.
“On my God,” Tom exclaimed after his first fork full. “This is incredible. How can anyone make fish and chips this good?”
“It’s all in the moustache,” Nia whispered.
***
They stopped off in a small pub on their way back to the hotel. It had an authentic bar, little changed from Victorian times. Lots of polished wood and brass and a small fireplace. It also had a lounge bar little changed from the mid-1990s, replete with a tiny karaoke stage with its own sound system. There were three other couples in the lounge, all in their fifties and sixties. A grumpy bar tender turned the system on and retreated behind the bar. Nia and Tom stepped back into the Victorian bar where they ordered pints of cider.
Karaoke music played from the lounge. One of the patrons began singing ‘How Deep is your Love’ in the style of the Bee Gees.
“Bloody Hell,” Nia exclaimed. “He’s good. C’mon, this may be fun.”
They grabbed their drinks and went into the lounge and sat at a table with one of the couples who introduced themselves as Glyn and Jayne. Jayne spelled out her name emphasising the “Y”. Jayne stared at Nia. Conversation between the four couples was surprisingly easy especially after songs were shared, rounds were bought and drunk. Nia watched Tom chatting with one of the men, a former old soldier, and she overheard some shared conversation about the army. She witnessed their immediate connection, their shared experience. There was so much to this kind, sweet man that she had yet to discover. Then she realised that she also shared an immediate connection to Tom, but she was troubled, was this just a mad, fun weekend type of fling or would she invest the time to push the connection deeper? She wasn’t sure.
Each patron in the small lounge bar took turns on the stage. A few more joined them from the bar. They ran through the classic American song book, then Beatles, Motown, and seventies pop. Nia sang ‘Don’t Cry for Me Argentina’ and the entire place went quiet in awe. She was
an actor, she was Welsh, of course she could sing. Nia forced Tom onto the pub’s small karaoke stage where he surprised her, and the other patrons, with a decent voice and an ability to entertain as he worked his way through a Smiths classic. Remember, he told her, that he had found many ways to engage with the soldiers under his command. He should have been an actor, she joked.
Jayne, who had earlier recognised Nia, turned to her,
“You got a nice one there Nia. Kind eyes,” she whispered. “Never thought your man, oh what’s his name the big actor, good-looking bloke. Never thought he had kind eyes.”
***
Nia stared into Tom’s eyes as they lay on the small and hard hotel bed. Yup, she thought, kind eyes but still with a hint of sadness there. They both closed their eyes as they kissed deeply. They kissed until their collective desire demanded more. Nia removed Tom’s sweater and shirt and then she pulled off her sweatshirt. Tom realised that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her hard nipples were obvious through her T-shirt of the Mini with the union jack. She knelt on the bed and unzipped his jeans and felt him harden in her hand. She pulled off his jeans and pants. She intimately massaged him for a moment and then stood on the bed and, wobbling a little, pulled off her own jeans.
Tom looked up from his prone position and laughed when he saw her thong. She twirled around as if on the catwalk. Tom leant up and grabbed one of the thong’s thin straps with his teeth. Nia put her hands through his hair as he lowered her thong using only his teeth. She wobbled and collapsed on top of him laughing.
Chapter Seven
London, Next Day
Nia woke with no idea of the time. She had been driven from sleep by a crushing anxiety. She felt as if she had woken from a nightmare, struggling to catch her breath. As her eyes became accustomed to the dark, she looked over to Tom and watched him sleeping beside her. She had fallen deeply and quickly for him. Perhaps too quickly she thought. He was too nice for her, perhaps too needy, too… her thoughts continued as she began to self-sabotage. She was trying to rationalize; she didn’t have time for a relationship, for any emotional attachment that persisted for more than a few sweaty nights of lust and desire. Everything she loved at some time; family, Goldenboy, the baby, she had lost. She didn’t do meaningful connection. Any more.
The morning broke as grey as Nia’s mood. They checked out and found a diner for breakfast. They talked over a couple of cups of coffee. Tom didn’t want their time together to end but couldn’t ignore Nia’s distraction. She was a little more formal, cooling, perhaps, he thought, it was because they had to part. Nia walked Tom to the nearest Tube station when it was time for him to leave. Their conversation began to feel forced and Tom noticed that Nia walked with her head down as if concentrating only on her feet.
“I would like to see you again,” Tom said trying to avoid sounding needy but knowing that he probably did.
Nia wanted to say, “Yes”, but she held back and, instead, kissed Tom gently on the lips.
Tom responded to the kiss but was troubled by Nia’s deflection. Conversation began to whittle away. Tom was already feeling the ache of leaving Nia. Nia was trying to swallow the anxiety that was bubbling in her gut. She used her Oyster card to accompany Tom down onto the platform.
Tom tried again, “I could travel down next Friday if you’re free?”
Nia panicked.
“I’ve got a busy week,” she said automatically. “There’s the audio book to finish, I’m preparing for an audition, and then there’s a location shoot I need to prepare for.”
“Okay, when would you be free?”
“I’m not sure when I’ll be free again,” Nia replied somewhat disingenuously. “So, let’s play it cool, for a week or two yeah?”
Tom nodded but felt the ground beneath his feet fall away.
“I’m not sure what cool means, Nia,” he said genuinely surprised.
Nia felt like she’d throw up.
The Tube train pulled in. She kissed him gently on the lips.
“Please, just go Tom,” she said “I’ll text you later.”
He boarded the train and turned to face her as the carriage’s doors closed with their pneumatic hiss. Tom thought she looked lonely yet lovely as she slipped away and out of his vision. Nia stayed on the platform as the train disappeared into the dark tunnel of the underground. She sighed, shook her head slightly, turned and headed for home. She felt an icy wave of nausea grip her.
As Nia passed a crowd on the platform, someone shouted, “Oi Nia, give us a kiss then darlin’.”
Nia put her collar up, her head down, and walked away.
***
Shrewsbury, Later the Same Day
Tired from the weekend, the drive from London, and the emotional bombshell on the Tube’s platform, Tom sat silently, lost, at his sister’s kitchen table, mug of tea in hand. He was despondent, troubled by the change in Nia. He had tried to think of what went wrong, and when. He knew he was romantically clumsy, out of practice. He hadn’t had a proper relationship for years. Rachel had orchestrated a few dates after he had come out of the army, none were successful. There had been a few relationships since then, but most ran their course after a few days and few nights. None had any of the connection that he had experienced with Nia. He was at a loss.
Rachel’s husband, Owain, came in from the evening milking and joined him at the large, well-worn oak table.
“Thanks for looking after Jack,” Tom said.
“No problem, she’s a good dog. I like having her around. She’s a good ratter.”
Tom looked down at Jack circled up in front of the Aga. This sweet, friendly, dog was still hard-wired to be a hunter-killer.
Rachel brought a fresh pot of tea for the table and joined the men.
“So, how was the trip?”
“It was good,” Tom said trying to hide his hurt.
Tom looked down at his tea. It had been good, so what happened?
Rachel misread Tom’s reticence.
“Oh my God,” Rachel said. “You shagged her, didn’t you? You shagged Nia Williams.”
Tom blushed.
Later, Rachel drove Tom and Jack back to the boat. She felt Tom’s melancholy.
“I don’t know what happened,” Tom told her. “It had been brilliant and then it just changed, she just changed.”
“Oh Tom,” Rachel said with genuine sympathy. “I’m so sorry.”
Rachel wanted Tom to open up and to embrace life again. She’d seen glimpses of the old Tom since he had returned from Canada and knew it was because of Nia, but why did it have to be her, she thought, why couldn’t it have been someone ordinary woman he met in a canal-side pub?
***
London, Same Day
Later that evening Nia curled up in her favourite chair, warmed by the study’s Adam fireplace and her cup of cocoa. She was reading a script. Her potential role was of a 1960s’ hospital matron hiding her homosexuality as other nurses and young doctors discovered the freedom the sexual revolution brought for straight people. It was a good, supporting role, but the matron was another dowdy, repressed middle-aged woman and Nia was thinking she was getting typecast. She was distracted and couldn’t concentrate. She put the script down. She thought of Tom. Tom who did not think her dowdy. Tom who had taken her breath away. Why did she feel it so necessary to send him away and to do it so cruelly?
Nia knew she had so carefully crafted a life where she was insulated, protected, and safe. She had accepted that the price to pay to avoid the emotional pain that had once ripped at her insides was to avoid the connection, the attachment to anyone who could hurt her. It also meant that she denied herself opportunities for deep emotional relationships. It was a simple, bitter calculus. And, there was that dark voice in her head, that sometimes sounded like her father, telling her, punishing her, that she didn’t deserve happiness. She liked Tom, felt that there was something, something special, but she wasn’t ready for the investment that could result in any more heartache. They had
a fun, evanescent weekend but best for Tom if he wasn’t pulled any deeper into her world. Best for her, she thought.
Nia tossed and turned throughout the night in her cold house. At four a.m. she decided that she’d text Tom and let him know that she wasn’t ready for a relationship. She worked on the scene in her mind and played it out like the good actor she was. She’d simply tell Tom that she wasn’t too serious about relationships, that her career was her major motivation, and she had a lot of work coming up. Too busy for a romance. She hated it; it was all true but it was also a lie. She typed the scene into the text box but didn’t send it. Something stilled her finger as it hovered over the send key.
***
November 28th
Nia went through her day with the text still loaded on her phone. She ran on a treadmill at her gym until her lungs ached. She cardio-kickboxed until she almost vomited. She leaned into the gym shower’s hot stream of water until another patron asked if she was okay. Nia had had lots of affairs so why, she wondered, was this one so different? She knew the answer, and it scared her. She changed at the gym; Dr Martens, yellow leggings, heavy blue dress, black bomber jacket, scarf, hat and gloves. She even applied some subtle make-up. She went to meet Jane for coffee and sympathy.
The bohemian cafe was all but empty when Jane breezed in, late as usual. Nia was sitting with a coffee that had already grown cold. Jane looked her perfectly coiffured self. Her glasses were orange to match the orange and blue silk scarf that brought a flash of colour to her understated grey wool suit. Jane sat down, and Nia looked up from stirring her coffee. Jane could tell something was wrong.
“I think I need some time away,” Nia began.
Jane peered over the rim of her glasses, “Aw fuck, Nia dear, you just returned from Canada. What on earth is wrong?”
Nia just simply told her that she had broken up with a new guy, Tom. It was news to Jane that Nia considered anyone a ‘new guy’, but she wondered about Nia’s earlier interest in some background information on Tom Price.
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