Skip to the End

I didn’t think I’d sleep, but after such a draining day I was out the minute I closed my eyes, only to wake up with Zazel’s furry body in my face.

I pick the fluff from my mouth and slide her down under my chin.

‘Is your lord and master awake?’ I whisper in her dainty ear.

She stretches out her paws, extending her limbs, and then looks back at me as if to say, ‘Funny that you think he’s in charge.’

I listen for movement from his direction. All is quiet.

It gives me a chance to gather my thoughts . . . I wonder if we could take my mum out for the day? If Gareth was with me, with his strength and wheels and reassuring presence, so many possibilities could open up. Though perhaps she should be resting after her fall. Either way, I want to treat Gareth to a bumper Sunday lunch to say thank you for everything. Maybe afterwards he could give me a tour of the neighbourhood. I’m certain I want to reside closer to the nursing home now and it would be nice to explore and really get a feel for what it would be like to live in this part of town. I’ll propose it over coffee.

Not for Gareth a sleek Nespresso machine or cafetiere. He favours a Greek briki – a hammered copper vessel with a wooden handle – heated directly over the flame.

‘You’re up!’ I cheer as he stumbles out from his room. ‘How many times do I have to let it bubble to the boil? I’ve done two already . . .’

‘One sec!’ he calls as he heads for the bathroom.

I take a deep breath. He’s shirtless, still just in his pyjama bottoms, and when he joins me I have to turn away so he can’t read my desire to trace every curve of every muscle and each faint scar left by a rogue garden thorn.

What is up with my hormones since the wedding?

‘Just let it simmer down and then put it back on the heat one more time,’ he instructs.

‘Simmer down,’ I repeat as he leans across me to get the petite cups and saucers from the cupboard. ‘You know, I was going to wait on you.’

‘It’s more fun if we do it together,’ he says. ‘So, you know, I wouldn’t normally serve Turkish Delight until the afternoon coffee but I want you to try the new lemon one. They just got them in at the international market. I think I prefer it, it’s not as chewy.’

As my hands are full bringing the cups to the table he pops one in my mouth.

‘Mmmm, I love that!’ I say as we take a seat opposite each other.

He sips the dark brown liquid, making the required inhaling-slurping sound.

I do the same and then burst out laughing. ‘This is my favourite thing about this coffee – making weird noises.’

‘Feels like we’re back in Kefalonia,’ he smiles.

‘Remember you didn’t want to go initially, because of the taramasalata.’

‘Well, it seems silly when you put it like that.’

‘Wasn’t that the reason?’

‘You know I only have to look at it to feel nauseous.’

‘I think that’s true for a lot of people. Especially if they once mistook it for strawberry mousse.’

‘Noooo!’ In a bid to distract himself from thoughts of pink goop he starts manically spinning a teaspoon on the table.

‘Okay, now it’s my turn to feel nauseous,’ I say, reaching out to stop the spinning.

‘That makes you dizzy?’

‘No, it’s reminding me of Elliot’s spin-the bottle party!’

‘Oh god.’ He cringes, rubbing his face with his hands. ‘Not my finest hour.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Does anyone have their finest hour at a spin-the-bottle party?’

He gives me a grateful smile.

‘You know, when the bottle stopped halfway between you and Elliot, I thought it was curtains for me – the idea of spending three minutes in the coatroom with him . . .’ I instinctively cross my hands across my boobs, at which point I realise one of the pyjama buttons is undone. How long has that been gaping?

Gareth seems oblivious, too busy reliving that teenage night. He gallantly stepped up to the task of what was slated to have been my first premonition kiss but things took a different turn. The space was way smaller than we expected, and jammed with the family’s parkas, waterproofs, fleeces and a lifetime of shoes. It was also pitch black. I put my hands out trying to judge how close Gareth was to me and found his chest rising and falling apace. His breathing was unusually heavy. For a moment I thought things were going to take an unexpectedly lusty turn but then I realised this wasn’t amorous breathing, it was anxiety.

‘Are you okay?’ I whispered.

‘I – I just . . .’ He panted out his words. ‘So close. The walls.’

As he shifted and twisted, he accidentally dislodged some of the boxes on the shelf, one narrowly missing my head.

I tried banging on the door but the party jailers insisted we still had two minutes to go. I felt for his hands, praying I wouldn’t further exacerbate his claustrophobia. ‘It’s going to be okay, deep breath in . . . Oh my god! What’s that smell?’ I recoiled.

‘I think it’s Elliot’s trainers,’ he muttered.

And then we burst out laughing.

‘You were so gracious, never revealing what happened in there,’ Gareth tells me.

‘Oh, come on, the combination of Elliot’s trainers and the hideous pressure of being my first premonition kiss? Even The Rock would crack.’

‘Actually, I kind of wanted it to be me.’

I look up at him.

‘I was worried about you having a bad experience with some stranger. Instead, you had a bad experience with me!’

I smile, toying with my cup. ‘You know, when I first heard you breathing so hard, I thought, Oh hello, things are about to get steamy!’

‘Did you?’ He holds my gaze and suddenly I have that feeling again.

I want to kiss him.

And I want him to kiss me.

As my mouth opens to say his name, the table buzzes. He tilts his phone towards him. Peony.

My hand moves to stop him answering – but then the doorbell rings.

He looks confused then presses the green button on his phone. ‘Hello?’ There’s a pause. He looks directly at me. ‘You’re outside? Now?’

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding.

‘Coffee and pastries?’ He winces, getting to his feet and sluicing the last of his coffee down the sink. ‘I’ll be right there.’

‘Is she going to freak out that I’m here?’ I call as he heads to his room.

‘No, I told her you were staying, it’s not a problem.’

Hmm. No wonder she’s here so early.

I watch him pull on a T-shirt and then remember I’m still in his pyjamas, so grab my bundle of clothes and run into the bathroom. As soon as the door closes, I lean on the wall, feeling light-headed, then catch sight of my stunned face in the mirror. What just happened? Did we have a moment?

Hearing voices, I jolt myself into action. I don’t want Peony thinking I’m hiding. I slip out of the pyjamas but hesitate as I go to put them in his laundry basket, diverting them instead to my bag. I want to return them clean I think to myself, but what I actually want to do is climb back into them as soon as I get home.

But for now, it’s bravado time.

‘This is a lot of dress,’ I mutter to myself as I pull it on and try to revive the flounces. And just so red. Not the most discreet look. Scarlet lipstick seems inappropriate and I know I won’t be able to do the plaits like May so I opt for a quick topknot. Now I look like a flamenco dancer. Oh well, in for a pound, in for a peseta.

I approach the kitchen and call ‘Ole!’ from the doorway, arms raised clicking imaginary castanets. It’s a good call – I couldn’t look any less of a match for Gareth if I tried.

Peony, meanwhile, looks like a tumble of bluebells to his woodland dell, perched on his knee in a skimpy floral dress, slender limbs entwining with his.

‘How’s your mother?’ she asks.

‘I’m just heading out to get an update,’ I reply.

‘I brought you a latte,’ she says, sliding the cup towards me. ‘And help yourself to the apricot galette.’

‘Wow! That looks delicious, where did you get it?’

‘I made it.’

Of course she did.

‘I had to do something with my Saturday night.’

I wince and then apologise for throwing off her plans.

‘No worries. We’ll make up for it today.’ She nuzzles Gareth.

‘Well, I’d better be off.’ I hold up my drink. ‘I’ll take this with me, if that’s okay?’

‘Of course. And please take a couple of slices of the pastry.’

I’d love to say no but I suspect it is as delicious as it looks.

I thank her as I fold them into a paper napkin and then look at Gareth, or rather near Gareth because I don’t want my eyes to give me away. ‘I really appreciate you helping me with mum and letting me stay.’

‘Do you want me to run you there?’

‘No, no. I could do with the walk. I’ll see myself out.’

I try to make a swift exit but struggle at the door, trying to not spill my coffee or crumple my pastries. Naturally my bag slips off my shoulder as I attempt to grapple with the lock.

‘Here, allow me.’

Gareth appears behind me, reaching over my shoulder to undo the bolt. I can feel the heat from him all down my back. I’d do anything to lean into him, to feel his breath on my cheek, then slowly turn my face towards his. But now is not the time.

‘Thanks again,’ I mutter as I make my ungainly exit through the now open door.

*

I keep my head down until I round the corner and then I expel a long breath. I need to sit down . . .

I catch sight of a small, deserted square and make a beeline for it, squeaking open the gate and finding a little bench amid the brambles. As I sit there, I try to replay the scene. But there’s nothing concrete for me to cling to – two friends reminiscing. A boy and a girl talking about an almost kiss from twenty years ago.

But that look he gave me!

My body tingles as I re-experience the thrill. What am I supposed to do with that?

I go to reach for my phone, as if it might have the answer, but remember it’s been smashed to smithereens. Who would I call anyway? Charlotte’s still away and it’s too early to be calling May or Jay on a Sunday. Besides, it would be weird to discuss any romantic feelings for Gareth with them.

I reach for the coffee cup and take a sip, lukewarm now. And then I look at the pastries but I don’t take a bite. Perhaps my mum would like them?

When I’m told that I can’t see her for another two hours I decide to make the pilgrimage to the Regent Street Apple store and get the new phone I’ve been putting off buying for months, stopping off at H&M en route to buy some cheap jogging bottoms and a slouchy top. Finally I can relax.

‘All set,’ Tony the Apple guy nods to my phone.

‘This really is magic,’ I smile appreciatively as all my personal info appears on screen. ‘Ooh! A text from May!’

‘Say hi from me,’ he jokes as he heads to his next customer.

It’s from last night, sent at one a.m.

It just occurred to me what we overlooked on the night of the wedding . . .