I wanted to know everything there was to know about him, not just the cologne he wore or how he liked his coffee or what his favourite movie was. The internet could tell me those things. I wanted the deeper, middle-of-the-night stuff. I wanted the past, the present and the future. It was about that point that I realised I was in so much trouble.
‘Tom?’ I watched as he approached, hands laden with a food tray. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘I don’t see why not.’
‘After everything that happened last night and this morning, I feel like now might be the right time to ask if you’re seeing someone?’
‘Is that so?’ He pushed a plate of food across to me: a bratwurst in bread with relish that looked like cranberry, and some shoestring fries.
I felt myself sink under the weight of embarrassment and an expression I couldn’t quite read. Thank God for the distraction of food. ‘Well, I mean, if we’re doing all these things, and we’re just going to see where this week goes, can I assume you don’t have someone at home waiting for you? I realise now, asking that, that it sounds ridiculous, but I am curious.’
‘There’s no one at home,’ he said, giving his head a slight shake and holding his hands up to the open fire. He shifted momentarily, his knee landing between my legs. I did my best to play it cool and ignore it, but it was hard when … well, it was hard. ‘I’ve been single for about six months. I was with Bec for almost a year, but she got sick of playing second fiddle to my career. Her words, not mine.’
‘Do you feel like she did?’ I asked, holding his gaze. ‘Play second fiddle, that is.’
Tom shrugged, his glass held to his mouth. ‘I mean, maybe? But she was also stuck in her own life. She wasn’t prepared to push herself or move around. Was I supposed to just rest on my laurels and wait for things to come to me? Or was I expected to branch out and work for them? I had a great handful of opportunities come at me all at once, so I took them.’
‘No, no, I get it, I do.’ I dabbed some fries in my sauce.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Who was your last?’
‘Until late last year, I was seeing someone from the paper. He was lovely enough, but it ended when he moved to Canberra to work in the public service. It was sad,’ I said. ‘Okay, sad-ish. It had just been kicking along for a few years. We lived together in this tiny one-bedroom unit in Melbourne, ate too much takeaway and it had shifted into something that was more of a roommates scenario. Come to think of it, when he left it was a bit of a relief. It was a bummer, but it was for the best.’
‘Do you miss him?’ Tom asked.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t really miss him. What I do miss is having someone there when I get home from work, and vice versa. Know what I mean?’
‘Very much so,’ he said.
‘There’s just a different energy in the house when you know there’s someone else there with you. It feels a little empty otherwise.’
‘That’s a great description actually.’ Tom glanced quickly around the room. ‘On the back of that, can I ask you something?’
‘Certainly can.’
‘You said with this guy that you didn’t move with him. Why not?’
I chewed my lip for a minute. ‘I suppose I couldn’t really see a future with him.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘That’s fair.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I guess it kind of comes back to my point this morning, which was that I like that you travel around so much because I do, too. And …’ He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘If, at the end of this week, we feel there’s something here worth running with, maybe that’s something we’ll have to talk about in the future? I don’t know, perhaps bringing that up is premature, but I guess one of the things I’m wondering about is whether you’re open to the idea of possibly, if you choose to, moving for someone in the future?’
‘Would you move for someone?’ I asked.
‘In a London minute.’
I was fizzy with cautious excitement – a Pepsi stuffed with Mentos. I snatched up a handful of fries and shoved them in my mouth.
Chapter 12
After wandering through the market and trying as many cuisines as we could, debating a haunted house and stopping by the Ice Kingdom where we watched a sculptor turn a block of ice into a polar bear, we found ourselves outside a theatre advertising The Nutcracker on Ice.
The building was so decorative that it would have been right at home at St Basil’s Cathedral in Moscow. Onion domes and towers, decorated in bright colours, reached skyward and television screens played a performance trailer on loop with a schedule. An avenue of stars in a darkened entry tunnel beckoned us inside.
‘Are you cold?’ Tom cupped his hands to my face. They were soft and warm, and I wanted to bury myself in his hands and stay there forever.
I smiled and may have nuzzled into his hand. ‘A little.’
‘Want to go grab some tickets and sit inside for a while?’ He tipped his chin in the direction of the ticket booth. ‘Have you seen The Nutcracker before?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘And you can keep that answer as reference for 98 per cent of stage plays too.’
‘Heretic. Let’s go then.’
We picked up some of the last tickets left for the matinee performance. Poor view, we were told, but at least we were in the door and, as Tom argued, it was a good place to work on my love of theatre. I handed over my credit card and headed inside.
Inside, a blanket of stars covered the domed ceiling of the theatre, and projections at the rear of the stage transported us to winter in Russia. Christmas trees stood by fireplaces, unopened gifts littered the floor, and candy canes boiled sweets sat in bowls on tables. Contrasting this was the wobbly scaffold seating. We stepped up into the back row and began shuffling through the crowd for our seats.
I gasped. ‘Oh, wow.’
Tom looked at me and smiled as if to say, Told you so.
‘This looks brilliant.’ I pushed my bag beneath my seat and pulled out the program, making a show of reading it for Tom. Occasionally, his eyes would dip down between us like he wanted me to follow.
‘What?’ I asked.
Again, his eyes darted to a spot between us and back up again. This time, I looked. Leaning into the armrest, his hand sat between us, open and waiting. He twinkled his fingers, an invite if ever there was one. I slipped my fingers between his.
If any part of me still worried that I had ruined everything yesterday, it packed up and left with the drinks boy. Tom’s head tipped ever so slightly as he closed his other hand on top of mine. All those feelings I worried I’d lost, they were there, and it was perfect.
‘You’re okay, Isobel,’ he said quietly.
‘You’re not so bad yourself.’
From the moment the lights dipped, I wondered why I hadn’t at least tried theatre more often in the past. I swayed with the Sugar Plum Fairy as she danced across the arena, and felt my back stiffen as the Nutcracker stood to attention. This was incredible, it was sight, sound and emotion dialled up to eleven as the Nutcracker came to life, Clara and her prince travelled to the land of sweets, and the Sugar Plum Fairy danced.
The audience faded into obscurity, though I was also acutely aware that their sighs, gasps and applause mirrored mine. I was hooked. I felt every clash of the symbol and bellow of the organ, and as I wiped tears away at the end of the show I finally understood it.
When everything was over and the stage was empty, I sat for a few moments while the crowd filtered out around me. Pivoting my knees around to let people past, I was already trying to work out if I could fit another helping of theatre into my week before I left.
I turned to find Tom watching me.
‘Yes?’ I asked.
He smiled. ‘How was it?’
‘Utterly brilliant. Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He leaned a bit closer. ‘Are you saying I was right?’
‘I might be.’
The theatre emp
tied around us, and the roar of feet and excited chatter turned into the sweep of brooms and the crunch of plastic as ushers began picking up wrappers and rubbish left behind. We were too lost in our discussion of set design and lighting, Tom talking me through different aspects of the night, to notice that an usher had reached our row. He bent over into my line of sight.
‘Show’s over, kids.’ He grinned, flashing a small torch at our feet.
‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.’ I grappled for my bag underneath the seat, my hand finally slipping from Tom’s. ‘We were just …’ I looked to Tom for help and sighed heavily.
‘It’s fine, we’re just going,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
All I wanted was to sit and revel in the atmosphere some more, but we stood and walked out, listening to the chatter of other theatregoers as we slipped through the crowd and made our way back out to Hyde Park.
‘You know, I do have one question,’ I said, hoisting my backpack onto my shoulder.
‘What’s that?’
‘When do I get to watch you perform?’
‘Oh.’ Tom smiled, embarrassed. ‘There’s always the day after tomorrow if you’re free? We’re doing a read-through in the morning.’
‘Really? I’m allowed to come and watch?’
‘Sure,’ he shrugged. ‘At least this time your name will be on the list.’
* * *
Winter in London evoked a feeling. It was a combination of the chill in the air and the early dusk that created a special something. It was hard to describe, but it made the lights, the cheer and the romance of the season seem all the more real. It covered everything with a dusting of fun and love and warmth and made the windows outside Harrods look like something plucked directly from The Nutcracker.
Windows were dressed with scenes of Christmas trees, a North Pole workshop and a household strewn with presents and dresses so exquisite I’d never wear for fear of destroying them. In another were marzipan-covered fruitcakes and an oversized roast dinner complete with a gravy boat and a plate big enough to be a car wheel. It reminded me of similar displays at shopping centres at home, only on a grander, far more expensive scale.
‘I’ve got an idea.’ Tom leaned in as we marvelled over roast potatoes and saltshakers the size of my head. I could have demolished a baked potato, even after our hearty dinner of Thai as we wandered another lap of Hyde Park.
‘Just the one?’ I dug around in a paper bag for a piece of liquorice, a sweetshop my very last stop of the evening. It was hardly as comforting as a roast dinner, but the sugar was nice.
‘Your last night here.’
I swallowed. ‘Yes?’
‘Let’s do Christmas dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ I said. ‘I was going to suggest we go out somewhere fancy and spend a minor fortune.’
‘I would like to make the counteroffer of a homecooked meal, something with a bit more heart. It’s the culmination of your time here, isn’t it?’ he asked. ‘Come to my house. I’ll burn the turkey, lump the gravy, and serve it all with some lukewarm wine. Service with a smile.’
‘Pudding with brandy custard?’
‘As you wish.’ He bowed playfully. ‘Diamond tuxedo service.’
‘In that case, you can count me in.’
‘I can?’ He beamed proudly. ‘Okay. This is good. I didn’t think you’d say yes to that.’
‘I did say I wanted to experience Christmas, didn’t I?’ I slipped my arm through the crook of his elbow. ‘And really, dinner is peak yuletide. I’ll bring the crackers.’
‘No, I’ve got some!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Found some in M&S on my way home last night.’
Last night. Ick. My nerves wrung themselves out.
‘My, you certainly are fancy.’ I laughed with him. ‘I’m already looking forward to it.’
Now, as we moved along with the crowd, we watched people moving through the train station on the corner. There were those who ducked and smiled, those who walked along the fringes, hoping to avoid others. Then there were those who barrelled through as if we all should be grateful to be in their presence. Move, peasants!
‘Do you ever think about etiquette?’ I scowled as someone pushed between us. Frankly, I was enjoying holding Tom’s hand so much that prying me from him was now considered a capital offence.
‘Constantly.’
‘Are you standing on the right side?’ I asked.
‘I’m standing on your right side, yes.’ His shoulder was warm against mine.
‘In terms of etiquette, though, are you standing on the correct side?’
‘I’m not entirely sure. Let me check.’ Tom pulled his phone from his pocket.
‘People don’t think much about it so much anymore, do they?’ I mused, more to myself than criticism spoken aloud.
‘It’s true, and I’m terribly ashamed,’ Tom spoke at the phone screen that illuminated before him. ‘Manners just don’t seem fashionable anymore, do they?’
I leaned forward, hoping to chance a glimpse at his phone screen. I wanted to know what he was looking at. Steadying myself with a hand on his forearm again, a thought sat front and centre in my mind: one slip, and I could have rested the length of my body against his. It was tempting, but I settled for feeling his breath tickling my forehead.
‘Okay, celluloid princess, I am to walk on the kerb side of the road to prevent you being splashed by water or taken out by a stray vehicle. If not the kerb side, then I would be correct walking on your right side.’
‘A man with manners is infinitely more handsome.’
Tom grinned. ‘I need my right hand free for my sword.’
‘Good thing you won’t need it.’
‘You don’t know that,’ he teased, drawling his words.
I copied his grin and continued along the street. He gave chase, his now familiar skip following me before taking his chivalrous place by my left side, next to the kerb. Reaching the pedestrian crossing dissolved us both into a world of confusion.
‘Now what the hell am I supposed to do?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea.’
‘There’s danger from all sides. I can’t be a bubble.’ He bowed his head in thought. When he started moving again, he walked around me in circles.
‘Where’s the biggest danger?’ I asked, dragging him to a stop. The last thing I wanted was a dizzy Tom and exploding wine and coffee and anything else he’d put in his mouth today.
‘I don’t know, that’s the point.’
When the lights changed, he slipped his arms around my middle and threaded his fingers across my stomach. With his face buried in my shoulder, he at least thought he was my shield against the world. I laughed loudly, though I was adoring the closeness, the smell of his aftershave and the warmth of his body against my back. This was danger, joy and sadness all wrapped in one lovely package and, yet, I couldn’t drag myself away.
‘Beware!’ he shouted to anyone that got close enough to be considered a false threat. ‘I can still reach my sword.’
Around the block and back again, I came to a stop at the entrance of the Tube station, feet stumbling over each other and Tom. Above us was the rondel of the Underground, lit up against an inky night sky. The last throes of a busy day smattered out around us.
‘Now what?’ Tom straightened himself out. ‘Seeing as I managed to get you across roads with expert safety.’
‘I think I owe Estelle a bit of time and attention,’ I said. ‘She’s not long been home from work, and we haven’t had much of a chance to catch up, so I might head home and see her.’
‘Can I walk you?’ Tom’s hand tightened around mine.
‘No.’ I smiled and shook my head. ‘I’m good from here.’
‘All right.’ He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek and I slipped my spare arm around his shoulder for a hug. As his fingers slipped through mine and I did my best to get wobbly feet down the steps of the station, I wondered if I shouldn’t just turn back and ask if I could stay.
Chapter 13
6 Days ’til Christmas
Estelle handed me a takeaway coffee before shaking out some sugar packets for hers. I’d waited outside Alfred’s this morning while she’d gone in, instead preferring to fiddle with my camera and the small selection of lenses I’d brought with me.
‘Alfred wanted to know why you didn’t bring your, quote, incredibly handsome friend, unquote, with you this morning,’ she said, licking the froth from her stirrer and tossing it in the bin. ‘I tried to tell him that I was the handsome friend, but he disagreed.’
I turned to the window and waved at Alfred as we began walking towards the gallery. ‘I didn’t bring him because he’s busy this morning.’
‘With?’
‘Huh?’ I asked.
‘What’s he busy with?’ Estelle asked.
‘Oh, he’s got some meetings. He’ll be tied up until about lunch, I think,’ I said.
Tom had sent a flurry of messages this morning. He was glad he’d come by to see me yesterday, glad that we’d talked about my leaving, and he told me I needn’t read anything into the fact that he wasn’t available this morning. Meetings were one of life’s unavoidable pains, he said.
That was great, I’d replied. I had my own life admin that needed catching up on. My inbox was full, my social media was suffering from being ignored, I hadn’t had a chance to indulge in my photography since I’d arrived and I owed my sister Miriam a phone call. Come to think of it, I welcomed the alone time.
‘Everything go okay yesterday?’ she asked. ‘Sorry I wasn’t available for a chat last night.’
I’d arrived home last night to find Estelle asleep on the couch so even though I’d cut short my time with Tom to catch up with her, the most talking we did was when I pushed her upstairs to bed and she mumbled about wanting to be a travel writer again.
One Week 'Til Christmas Page 9
