by KE Payne
Chapter Sixteen
“Okay, next!” A deep male voice broke our gaze. We reeled away from one another. We were now at the front of the queue, something that neither of us had realized as we’d been so deep in conversation. The door to our capsule was opened and ready for us.
We showed our tickets and stepped inside, me going to one side, Eden to the other. In the brief moment while the people behind us discussed a problem with their tickets with the uniformed guy outside, Eden and I were alone inside the capsule. I leant against the railing by my window and looked across at Eden, who was staring back at me, smiling. Neither of us spoke—instead, we looked around the capsule, occasionally glancing back to one another and smiling, before glancing away again.
The few seconds it took for the tourists behind us to sort out their tickets felt like hours. I could feel tension beginning to rise the longer the silence went on, and then it got worse, little by little. I busied myself by looking everywhere I could—around the capsule, to the floor, the ceiling, out of the window—anywhere but over to Eden, because I sensed she’d be looking at me, and I didn’t know if I could cope with that after what she’d just said to me.
Or the way she’d said it.
I totally get you.
What did she mean? Had I imagined the look on her face when she said it? Of course I had. Just because I liked Eden didn’t mean she liked me like that, did it? So she got me. Good. She liked me as a friend and that was fine with me. What was it she’d called me? A breath of fresh air. She’d grown apart from Gabby and Beth and was looking for another friend. That friend was me, and I was stoked about that.
The other tourists finally hopped inside with us. Eden pushed herself away from the railing opposite and joined me as the capsule quickly filled up with other people, eager to get inside and get going.
“Got your camera ready?” Eden casually draped her arm around my shoulder and pointed to a landmark in the distance. I immediately tensed, patted my pocket, and nodded my reply. I didn’t want to speak in case my voice reverted to its usual strangled squeak, which it seemed to do whenever Eden was close to me. Her arm around me didn’t help one little bit. It felt nice there although I was sure it meant nothing to her. But her proximity was making my heart thump so much, I was sure she’d be able to see the pulse beating in my neck.
“Apparently on a clear day you can see right down the Thames towards Berkshire,” Eden said, lifting her hand from my shoulder again and pointing lazily at some point in the distance, before letting it drop back where it had been. “Don’t know if you can see Eton College or anything like that, though.”
I looked down at her hand, slung around me, and realized I was still standing stiffly. I so wanted to reach up and touch her hand but knew that I couldn’t.
Finally Eden moved her hand so that she could retrieve her phone from her bag. Our capsule gradually began to climb higher. London was spread out below us, a vast patchwork of water, streets, and buildings. People either meandered along the banks of the Thames or scurried like ants up and down the streets, and in and out of Tube stations. Red London buses snaked their ways up congested roads, black taxi cabs weaved expertly in and out of traffic, and high up above us, visible through the clear ceiling of our capsule, an aeroplane flew over, its fuselage glinting in the sunshine as it made its way across towards Heathrow.
It was the perfect day.
“So, tell me about Amy,” Eden’s voice sounded softly beside me. She had come closer again, and now stood right next to me, facing the same way as I was.
“What do you want to know?” I asked, slightly flustered by her request.
“The usual.” Eden rested a shoulder against the glass of the capsule. “What’s she’s like, how you met.”
“Well,” I began, “she’s lovely. Very kind, very funny.”
“Do you miss her?” she asked.
I didn’t miss a beat. “I do,” I said. “When you’ve known someone for such a long time, and hung out with them every day, you’re bound to miss them when they’re not around.”
Was that the right answer?
Apparently so.
“That’s nice,” Eden said. “I wish someone would miss me.”
“No one special in your life, then?” I asked slowly. I wanted to tell her I knew she was seeing this William guy that Libby had told me about ages ago, but how could I? I didn’t want her to think I’d been talking about her, that’s for sure.
“Nah.” Eden pulled a face. “Not for a while now, if I’m honest.” She turned and looked at me. “How sad is that?”
“The right person will come along when you least expect it,” I said, pleased that she was single again. “Isn’t that what they always say?”
“I was seeing a guy not so long ago,” Eden said.
“Oh?”
“William. He was cute.”
“But not any more?”
“Nope,” Eden said, emphasising the p with a pop.
“Sorry,” I said, unsure what else to say.
“Nah, don’t be.” Eden traced a pattern on the handrail with her finger. “He was nice, but it just kinda fizzled out. You know how it is.”
“No one else on the horizon?” I asked, knowing exactly what I wanted her answer to be.
“There’s this guy, Marcus, in our French group that Beth and Gabby want to set me up with.” Eden wrinkled her nose. “But I’m not so sure.” She looked at me. “Apparently he fancies me. And Beth and Gabby being the troublemakers—sorry, matchmakers—that they are, they’re trying to get us to hook up.”
“Do you fancy him?” I asked. I sensed my voice catch a little.
“Dunno. Maybe.”
I felt a stab of jealousy right in the centre of my chest at the thought of Eden fancying some guy from her French group. I was being unfair, I knew. But I just couldn’t shift the feelings of gut-clawing envy and resentment—both at Eden for admitting she might like this guy, too, and at Beth and Gabby for trying to set her up.
“Hampton Court.” Eden touched my arm, shaking me from my thoughts, and pointed in the distance to a striking, rusty-bricked building with perfect lawns spread out around it.
“It looks amazing.” Realizing I hadn’t taken any photos yet, I pulled my iPhone from my pocket and rattled off five or six photos through the window.
“And we have to have one of us,” Eden said as I took the final picture. She took my phone from my hand, her fingers briefly grazing against mine, and held it at arm’s length in front of us.
“Say cheese,” she said, leaning her head towards mine so our foreheads touched and her hair tickled the side of my face. “Sweet!” She looked at the picture, then showed it to me, before finally handing my phone back.
“And one more on my phone as a reminder of an awesome day.” Eden held her own phone out at arm’s length and leant her head to me. This time, she placed her left arm around me, pulling me even closer, allowing her cheek to touch mine, the warmth and softness of her skin against mine making me involuntarily hold my breath.
After what felt like an age, she took the photo and immediately moved away again. She showed me the picture, then put her phone back in her bag once she was satisfied I’d had long enough to see it properly.
“The sunlight catches your hair, you know,” she said, looking at me. “It looks nice.”
“Thanks,” I said, flustered. “Amy always says it’s a nondescript colour. A sort of browny, fairish, mousy mess. It’s never been described as nice before.”
“Amy’s wrong.” Eden shrugged, then turned to look out of the window. I wondered if she might say something else, but she didn’t. Instead, we stood mostly in silence, looking out the window, occasionally pointing out something interesting that one or the other of us had seen.
The Eye was, by now, beginning its descent. I took the opportunity to take some more photos of landmarks on our way down, wandering to the other side of our capsule and capturing Big Ben, the Houses of Parliament, plus a few r
andom ones of buses, and boats going up and down the Thames. I wanted to send them to Amy when I got home, then had a sudden pang when I wondered if she’d be interested in seeing them, or whether, as I’d sensed from her when I’d left her at King’s Cross the previous Saturday, she couldn’t care less about London any more.
Or possibly even me.
Chapter Seventeen
“Are you hungry?” Eden’s voice sounded in my ear. “It’s gone twelve already.”
“Starving,” I said, wanting to add that I’d been trying to ignore the rumbling of my stomach for the last half an hour.
We’d arrived back at ground level, our capsule slowly approaching the platform, where we stepped off before the next batch of tourists stepped on and began the whole process all over again.
“Good,” Eden said. “There’s a place I know not far from here that does awesome tapas. You like tapas, don’t you?”
“Well,” I replied, following Eden from the capsule, “there weren’t many tapas places in the village where I used to live, but I’m partial to a bit of Spanish omelette, so I’m sure I’ll cope.”
“Funny.” Eden slapped my arm, then, pulling me playfully to her, linked her arm in mine. We walked together from the Eye, making our way to the nearest Tube station, hoping that we could get on the first train that would take us across to Leicester Square and on to the cafe that Eden knew.
Rounding the corner towards the station, our arms still linked, I felt Eden freeze. I followed her gaze over to the station entrance and spotted what she’d evidently seen: a girl we both knew from our biology class with some tall, muscular boy I didn’t recognize.
We slowed our steps, and I sensed Eden fighting a dilemma with herself. She unhooked her arm from mine, all the while her eyes on the girl, who was oblivious to our presence. Then, without warning, Eden grabbed my hand and pulled me in the opposite direction, away from the girl and her potentially prying eyes.
And, presumably, away from having to face any awkward questions in front of Gabby and Beth on Monday about why Eden had been hanging out with me in town.
We ran, still hand in hand, back down the street. Eden was just in front of me. I had to stretch my arm out straight to keep up with her as she negotiated the crowds on the street, occasionally turning to look at me. All the while she laughed, making me laugh. It was as though she was turning it into a game, rather than what I knew it to be: fleeing from a situation she didn’t know how to handle.
Finally we stopped running. With our sides heaving from the effort, we leant against the window of a department store, looking at each other and laughing. I wanted to be angry with her, but how could I? How could I be upset that she’d hauled me away rather than having to explain to anyone why she was with me? No, rather than being hurt and upset by her apparent embarrassment at being with me, I was instead mesmerized by her laughter, her exuberance, and the look of sheer mischief on her face.
“You know we’re miles from the Tube station now, don’t you?” I eventually gasped.
“So we’ll walk to the next one along,” Eden said casually. Her eyes though, I noticed, still darted back down the street. “Come on.” She shoved herself away from the window and beckoned me to follow her. “I’m starving after all that running.”
*
The tapas bar was a smallish, smart-looking place, sandwiched in between a florist and a delicatessen. As we arrived I wondered briefly if I was dressed appropriately enough, bearing in mind my scruffy jeans and scuffed boots.
I glanced across at Eden. Seeing her fabulously mussed-up hair, hoodie with sleeves at least two inches too long, and jeans with a small hole at the back (yes, I’d been looking), I figured if I was going to go into a place looking scruffy, Eden Palmer was the best person to go with.
We entered and chose a table close to the window, Eden ordering a glass of sparkling water while I opted for cloudy lemonade. I picked up the lunchtime menu and ran my eyes over the choice of food while we waited for our drinks, wondering with a pang whether Amy would have liked to have come here when she’d visited at the weekend, rather than the pizzeria we ended up in.
“So, what do you fancy?” Eden asked. “There’s an omelette,” she added with a mischievous grin.
“So then I’ll have that, and…let me see,” I said, leaning back slightly as the server brought our drinks. “Chorizo. I like chorizo.”
“And paella? Do you like that?”
“I do, yes.”
“So let’s have that. We can share.” Eden sipped at her water.
“Sure,” I said. I took a gulp from my drink.
“What about”—Eden’s eyes scanned the menu in front of her—“patatas alioli?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Patatas alioli.”
“Ally-what?”
“Oli. It’s potatoes with a sort of garlic mayonnaise over them.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I just did, didn’t I?” Eden grinned. “And some ciabatta too. Just love me some ciabatta.” She folded her menu back up and placed it on the table. “Sound good to you?”
“Perfect.”
I looked across at Eden, sitting with her back to the window so she was able to see out across the restaurant, and watched as she lifted her head higher and searched out a server. Her eyes moved slowly as she tilted her head this way and that slightly until, at last, she caught the eye of the guy who’d brought us our drinks. With a small nod of her head and a raise of her eyebrows, she confidently summoned him to our table, where she effortlessly ordered our food in Spanish, once she’d found out that he was Spanish.
I watched in awe, admiring both her confidence and natural friendliness, and the ease with which she spoke to our server. It made her previous lack of confidence out on the street seem even weirder. “My Spanish teacher will be pleased when I tell her I ordered us lunch in the lingo.” Eden watched as our server walked away from the table. “She’s always telling me to practise more.”
“You’re good,” I said truthfully. “You lost me, anyway. You could have been asking him on a date for all I know.”
“Mm, tempted,” Eden said, glancing over at the server. She looked back at me and promptly poked her tongue out, making my stomach flip over. “But not tempted enough.”
She looked down into her glass, idly popping a few bubbles with the tip of her finger, then back up at me.
“Why did you run away from that girl?” I asked.
Eden stopped her bubble popping.
“Dunno,” she said. “Spur of the moment thing.”
“She’s your friend.” A statement. Not necessarily one that needed an answer, but one she needed to hear.
“I know she’s my friend,” Eden said. “I just figured if she saw us, we’d never get away.”
I grinned. “True.”
“Tell me some more about Amy,” Eden said.
She was changing the subject. Not too obvious, then.
I took a long drink of my lemonade, then put the glass back down on the table.
“I think I’ve told you most things,” I said.
“You’ve hardly told me anything!” Eden laughed. “What does she look like? What subjects is she doing at school?”
“Why are you so interested?” I asked slowly.
“Sorry—shouldn’t I be?” Eden asked. She looked hurt, and just like when she’d looked hurt back at the Eye, I instantly felt bad that I’d said anything.
“Of course. I’m sorry, too,” I said finally. “Well, she looks like this.” I fished my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my photos until I found a picture of her on her own. “This was taken just before I left for London.” I held the phone up to Eden.
“She looks nice.”
“She is,” I said.
“It must be nice to be so in love with someone,” Eden said.
“It is,” I replied. “It’s the nicest thing, but it’s also the worst thing at the same time. Especially when you’re not with
them. Then it’s shit.”
“I hope you don’t feel like shit at the moment,” Eden said softly.
“God, no.” I looked straight at her. “I feel amazing right now. I mean—”
“Good,” Eden said, just as softly as before.
I grabbed my glass and took another long drink, hoping the cold lemonade would steady the nerves that were creeping back again. Eden’s velvety-soft voice, so quiet and gentle, and the way she looked right at me when she spoke, holding my eyes for a second too long, all conspired to make my hands sweat and my insides dissolve.
Thankfully Eden didn’t ask me any more questions about Amy that day. I was relieved. Talking about Amy in Eden’s company made me uncomfortable. Crazy. Amy was my other life. My Cragthorne life, if you like. This was my London life, and the two seemed a million miles apart right now.
If that makes you think I’d put Amy to the back of my mind all day, you’d be wrong. When Eden left the table to visit the loo, I felt compelled to text Amy to ask her how she was, and to tell her I loved her. I kinda hoped she would have replied by the time Eden returned. She hadn’t. Pretty standard these days, I’d say.
Our tapas were fabulous. We spent hours in the restaurant, taking our time over our food, ordering more drinks, then desserts, then coffees. And we talked and talked, until I was sure we’d have nothing left to talk about. I was wrong. After we finally left the restaurant, we spent the rest of our time just walking and chatting more, ending up sitting on a bench along the South Bank. There we sat in the fast-approaching dusk and watched the last of the day’s glass-topped tourist boats plough up and down the Thames.
We spoke about everything: school, fencing, music, politics, our families, likes and dislikes. Eden was such easy company, and I realized with a jolt that I laughed more with her that day than I’d done with Amy the previous weekend. I was spellbound by Eden’s intelligence, too. I loved that I could have a conversation with her about politics and current affairs without her talking me down or storming off in a huff. That was a favourite trick of Amy’s whenever we attempted to have a conversation about anything with any depth.
