So she was feeling nervous as she made her way into the arrivals hall, searching the crowds around the barrier for Mark. Then she spotted him waving at her, and was instantly reassured by the sight of his friendly face. She made her way quickly to him, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a gentle, tentative kiss – less than lovers but more than friends.
‘It’s really good to see you,’ he said, smiling down at her.
‘It’s good to see you too.’
He took her bag and led her to his car, swinging her case into the boot. Her flight had got in just after eight, but the evenings were lengthening, and the sun was setting as they drove towards London.
‘So, I thought we’d stay in tonight,’ he said. ‘I figured you’d probably be tired after your journey.’
‘I am tired,’ Claire said, stifling a yawn, as if by the power of suggestion. ‘Why is travelling always so exhausting, even if it’s only a really short trip?’
‘Tomorrow night I’ve booked us a table for dinner at a little bistro in the village. I hope that’s okay.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
He asked after her mother and work, and they chatted easily for the rest of the journey. Mark’s place was a large garden flat in a period building just outside Highgate village.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, as he led her into a bright, modern living room with wooden floors. She had expected his flat to be very sleek and minimalist, but it was much more homely and cosy than she had imagined, and felt comfortably messy and lived-in. There were books piled everywhere, and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls in the living room.
‘Come on, and I’ll show you around,’ he said, leaving her bag on the floor.
He took her on a quick tour of the flat, the kitchen living up to some of her bachelor-pad expectations, with lots of chrome appliances, high-tech gadgets and granite worktops. ‘I knew you were coming so I baked a cake,’ he said, pointing to a sponge that was sitting on a rack on the worktop.
‘You really baked? For me?’ Claire asked, touched by the sweetness of the gesture.
‘Sure. It’s lemon drizzle – my speciality.’
‘Oh, that’s my favourite! My mum makes it a lot.’
‘I have a lot to live up to, then. Are you hungry, or have you eaten?’
‘No, I haven’t and I’m starving.’
‘I thought I’d make you my world-famous nachos tonight. Is that okay?’
‘Perfect.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not fair, you know all my weaknesses.’ Their Twitter conversations had revolved around food almost as much as books.
‘I do,’ he said, with an evil grin. ‘I’ll take all the unfair advantages I can get.’
‘Are your nachos really world-famous, though?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, Twitter covers the world, so I’d say yes.’
Claire smiled.
‘Now I’ll show you the rest,’ Mark said, and led her into the hallway.
After showing her the bathroom and his bedroom, he showed her into a second, smaller bedroom across the hall from his. ‘This is you. There’s an en-suite shower, or you can use the main bathroom. I’ve left you some towels. If you need anything else, just let me know.’
‘Thank you.’ Claire smiled at him. ‘This is lovely.’ She was so glad she had established the five-date rule, that she could get to know Mark without feeling anxious about having to fend him off and make excuses for not wanting to sleep with him.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, and I’ll make the nachos. When you’ve got yourself sorted, come and join me.’
Claire quickly unpacked a few things from her case, washed her face and put on some mascara and lipstick. When she went back to the living room, Mark was in the kitchen area. A bottle of red wine was open on the counter. He poured a couple of glasses and handed one to her.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, gesturing to the sofa. ‘This’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.’
‘Thanks.’
The coffee table in front of the sofa was set with knives, forks, plates and napkins, and there were dishes of salsa, sour cream and guacamole. Moments later, Mark joined her, placing a large plate of nachos on the table.
‘Dig in,’ he said, handing her a plate.
‘Oh, my God, these are amazing,’ Claire said. ‘They deserve their reputation.’
‘They live up to expectations?’ Mark smiled.
‘Definitely. If I wasn’t here incognito, I’d tweet about them right now.’
‘Speaking of incognito,’ he said, wiping his hands. He picked up a hardback book from the side table beside him and handed it to her.
She wiped her hands on a napkin before taking it from him. She gasped in pleasure, recognising the title. The author was Mark’s latest signing, and Claire was friendly with her on Twitter. ‘Thank you! I can’t wait to read it,’ she said, turning it over in her hands. ‘It sounds great.’
‘I hope you’ll love it.’
‘How did the launch go on Wednesday?’
‘Really well. It was fun. I got it signed for you,’ he said, nodding to the book.
‘Oh!’ Claire opened the book to the title page and saw that it was signed to @NiceGirl ‘whoever you may be’.
‘I said I could get it to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m dying to know what you think of it. Let me know when you’ve read it.’
‘I will.’ It pleased Claire that Mark valued her opinion. They had become friendly on Twitter through chatting about books. The first time Mark had tweeted her it was because she had been raving about the book she was reading, and it turned out to be one he’d just published. Over time, they’d found they had very similar taste, and when they did disagree on something, Mark was always keen to hear her views.
She put the book on the arm of the sofa, and helped herself to more nachos, loading them up with sour cream, salsa and guacamole.
‘How’s your writing going?’ Mark asked. ‘How’s the novel coming along?’
‘Very slowly. I don’t have a lot of time, what with work and looking after my mum, and the blog is very time-consuming. But I’ve almost finished the first draft.’
‘Don’t forget to send it to me whenever you’re ready.’
The prospect of Mark reading her novel was exciting and also terrifying. She’d hate if he didn’t rate something she’d written.
‘I will.’ She took a gulp of her wine. ‘I just hope you like it.’
‘I can’t imagine not liking something you’d written.’
‘Well, it’s very different from the blog, obviously.’ If not quite as different as he thought. They were both fiction.
Mark forked the last of the nachos onto his plate. ‘What are you reading at the moment?’ he asked.
The talk turned to books, and the time flew by as they discussed what they’d read recently and writers they knew on Twitter or in real life. Mark shared some gossip about writers he’d met, and Claire told him about the ones who had held events in the shop, who was rude and obnoxious, who had turned out to be unexpectedly sweet and unassuming. Suddenly it was after midnight and she found she was exhausted.
‘I’m going to have to call it a night,’ she said, yawning.
‘God, sorry – I didn’t notice the time.’
‘I didn’t either,’ she said. She had been so caught up in their conversation, she hadn’t noticed it getting late, or how tired she was.
‘Well, good night,’ he said, as he got up. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly and lingeringly. ‘Help yourself to anything you need. I’ll see you in the morning.’
The next morning at breakfast, Mark announced that he was going to take her to ‘the most romantic place in London’, so she was more than a little alarmed when they turned up at the gates of Highgate Cemetery.
‘Seriously, this is where we’re going? A cemetery?’
‘I know – such a cliché
d second date.’ Mark smiled.
‘Is there something I should know about you?’
‘Wait and see.’ He took her hand. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t just wander around on our own. You have to join a guided tour. Apart from that, the west cemetery really is the most romantic place I know in London.’
‘I knew you were too good to be true.’
But it turned out he was right, and Claire found herself completely enchanted as they walked along the twisting wooded paths among ivy-clad monuments and ancient crumbling tombstones watched over by winged angels. Despite the presence of the tour group, the atmosphere was tranquil and ethereal – it was like being transported back in time as they explored the dank catacombs and gazed in awe at colossal ornate mausoleums.
‘Okay, you were right,’ Claire whispered to Mark, as they walked along. ‘This is incredibly romantic.’
‘You like it?’
‘I love it! It’s so beautiful.’ She thought it was one of the most extraordinary places she’d ever been to, and she only wished they could have stayed longer. She could happily have spent several hours wandering around on her own.
They picked up bread and cheese at a deli on the way home, and had lunch in the garden as it was a warm, sunny day. The errant Millie finally turned up, stalking imperiously across the grass to Claire and circling around her chair before trotting over to Mark and springing into his lap, where she curled up.
‘I think you’ve been maligning her,’ Claire said, nodding to the ginger tabby that was nuzzling Mark’s hand as he petted her. ‘She seems quite devoted.’
‘She’s just marking her territory because you’re here,’ Mark said, stroking Millie’s ears. ‘Bloody cat in the manger. Aren’t you?’ But his features softened as he looked down at her adoringly.
Claire rubbed her arms as the sky clouded over and the air turned chilly.
‘Let’s have coffee and cake inside,’ Mark said, standing and starting to clear the table, ‘and we can discuss the book.’
‘I’ll just ring my mother first,’ Claire said.
She went to her bedroom to make the call while Mark loaded the dishwasher. When she came back into the living room, he was sitting at the table waiting for her with the promised coffee and cake, and a large pile of paper in front of him. When she joined him at the table, she was alarmed to see it was printouts of her blog. She had to will herself not to blush as he calmly leafed through some of her raunchiest posts, discussing the different ways the book might be organised, chronologically or according to topic.
‘This cake is delicious. I’m impressed.’ A man who baked was a definite plus, Claire thought – and she was glad of the sugar to calm her nerves. She had to remind herself she was supposed to be the ballsy girl who had done all this stuff, and force herself to act casually.
‘I thought maybe it could be arranged episodically,’ Mark said, ‘but obviously with regular characters and a constant theme running through it – a bit like Sex and the City. The book, not the show.’
‘Right.’
‘So I think maybe you need to write some extra material to give it more cohesion. I also think it needs some sort of conclusion. Maybe you should end up with one of these guys.’
‘Who would you suggest?’
‘You know, I always kind of thought you’d end up with Mr Bossy.’
‘Really?’ She gulped.
‘He seemed like the one you were always drawn back to. But that was before I met you, of course. Now that I know you, he doesn’t really seem your type.’
‘I could still write it that way – it doesn’t have to be true.’ It could be fun to do, she thought. She had always enjoyed writing about Mr Bossy.
‘Or how about Mr Strange? You had something pretty solid going with him.’
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘The clue is in his name.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said, his tone wary.
‘Yeah.’
‘This guy you’ve been writing about recently – the Artist. Is he real?’
‘Oh.’ Claire thought quickly. But she had no reason to lie. It was almost a relief that there was something in her blog that was at least partly true, and it wasn’t as if Mark expected her to be celibate – quite the opposite. ‘Yes, he’s real,’ she said.
‘And he’s around at the moment?’
‘Um … yeah, that part is true. I’ve been … seeing him lately.’ She blushed.
‘Well … maybe you’ll end up with him.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s not boyfriend material.’
‘Right.’ Something like relief passed across Mark’s face. ‘Well, you could always meet someone new,’ he said, looking at her meaningfully.
‘Do you have anyone particular in mind?’
He smiled. ‘Call him Mr Right.’
‘And what would Mr Right be like?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Decent guy, likes cats. Makes a mean lemon drizzle cake, world-famous nachos …’
She laughed. ‘It would be a good way of wrapping up the blog, I guess. Because I wouldn’t want to tell everyone what Mr Right and I were doing. It’d be private.’
‘Do you plan to stop writing the blog?’
‘I think it’s run its course. I’m almost out of stuff to write about. Maybe it’s time to give NiceGirl her happy-ever-after and let her walk off into the sunset.’
‘Well, you might want to consider the timing of that. Publication is scheduled for next spring …’
Next spring sounded so far away. Claire wondered what her life would be like then. Would she be with Mark? Could he really be her Mr Right?
Claire had tried to sex up her wardrobe a bit for her visit, but she was glad she hadn’t strayed too far out of her comfort zone as she dressed for dinner that night. She was nervous enough as it was. She felt like she was going on a first date. But her little lace shift dress was a happy compromise – sexy, but not so blatant that it made her uncomfortable.
The restaurant was a cosy little neighbourhood bistro, where Mark was obviously well known, and she relaxed as they chatted over the delicious food and wine. She wondered what date they were on now as she sipped coffee. This definitely felt like a date, but she wasn’t sure if last night counted – or did the whole weekend count as one? It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Mark, but then she remembered what Yvonne had said: ‘We have all the power.’ It was her rule, so it was up to her to decide what counted. She didn’t want things to move too fast – she still had a lot to learn.
‘Well, this definitely feels like a date,’ she said lightly. ‘But I don’t think I can count the cemetery – lovely as it was.’
Mark smiled. ‘What about last night?’
‘A night in?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s what old married couples do, so I don’t think I can count it.’
‘Even a night in with world-famous nachos?’
‘Even then. Sorry.’
‘Damn,’ he said, but he didn’t seem put out.
Claire suddenly felt like she really did have all the power, and it felt nice.
Mark took her hand as they walked the short distance back to his flat.
‘Nightcap?’ he offered, when they were inside.
‘Yes, please.’
He poured them both some Amaretto and they sat side by side on the sofa.
‘Well, here’s to second dates,’ he said, clinking his glass with hers, but instead of drinking, he leaned in and kissed her.
At least kissing was something she knew how to do, so Claire put her free arm around his neck and kissed him back enthusiastically. His lips felt warm and soft, he was a good kisser. His eyes were dark as he pulled away. They both took a sip of their drinks, then simultaneously placed their glasses on the coffee table and started kissing again, sweet, almond-flavoured kisses.
She recognised the almost imperceptible shift, like a gear change, when Mark’s breathing deepened and things became more heated. This was the point w
here Luca would start pulling at her clothes, when his hands would become urgent on her body, and she would get impatient for the feel of his skin against hers. Her hand reached out instinctively to unbutton Mark’s shirt, but she stopped herself, instead placing it firmly on his chest and moving away.
Mark sighed as he sat back and picked up his drink again. He smiled at her lazily, his eyes on her lips, then tossed back the rest of his Amaretto. ‘Time for bed, I think,’ he said ruefully, and just for a moment Claire wished she was going with him. But it was too soon. Instead, she went to bed alone, slightly frustrated and feeling guilty for wishing Luca was there to finish what Mark had started.
Chapter Eighteen
On Monday Claire was meeting Catherine for a drink after work. She was just arriving at the Temple Bar pub when Catherine came up the street pushing Paddington in yet another new buggy.
‘Hi.’ Catherine greeted her with a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Just let me get rid of this thing before we go in.’ She lifted Paddington out of the buggy and hunkered down to stuff him into a large holdall she had in the bottom, zipping it up.
‘Will he be all right in there?’ Claire asked.
‘Oh, he’ll be fine,’ Catherine said, as she straightened. ‘He’s used to it. I get funny looks if I bring him into a bar.’
‘Well, it’s handy you can stuff him into a bag without anyone calling Social Services.’
‘I know. I’m blessed,’ she said distractedly, as she struggled with the buggy, pulling levers and kicking it as she tried to get it to fold.
‘Oh, sod this,’ she said, lifting it and whacking it down on the pavement in frustration. She looked around them at the crowd milling through the busy street. Then her eyes lit on a woman slumped against the side of a building, sitting on a blanket, begging from passers-by.
‘Do you think she’d like a state-of-the-art pushchair?’ she asked Claire. Without waiting for an answer, she ran across to the woman, pushing it in front of her. Claire watched as they spoke. There was a lot of gesticulating, and it looked like they were having an argument. Finally, Catherine bent down and put something in the woman’s hand, then left the buggy with her and came back to Claire.
Some Girls Do Page 21
