I can feel myself shrinking into my shirt. And I’m angry at myself. What did I think would happen? It’s one fucking mushroom.
James heads to the left of the kitchen and lifts up the flap on a cardboard box, which I see with dismay is filled to the brim with porcini.
‘You can put it there,’ he says bluntly, and I oblige, placing my tiny little foraged mushroom next to the bulging specimens, which must have come up with the veg delivery that morning.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say flatly – meaning, for everything. For the stupid tiny single porcini and the boyfriend-not-boyfriend turning up. For all the lies.
I hear James breathe out and shake his head, and then it all comes tumbling from my mouth.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to believe me – God knows why you would – but honestly, I thought I’d never see Tim again. But turning up like that? That’s his kind of shtick. I should have been firmer with him.’
James looks up to the roof of the chiller, and I continue, because he’s listening at least and I will never get another chance.
‘I know you got a lot of mixed messages. I told you we weren’t together, but in some technical fashion wewere,’ I say, my voice wavering a little as I continue. ‘But it was nothing official. I didn’tfeeldeeply about Tim. That was the whole point of it. To hang out and not stress about it ever getting serious.’Ugh, that didn’t sound good.
He looks down at me, and I can see he’s just waiting for me to finish, so I go for the final truth.
‘It wasn’t like how I felt when I was with you. Nothing like how it was with you. I’m sorry – I’m not always the most open person. I should have been clear about my feelings. My best friend says it’s because I don’t believe people are invested enough in me to care.’
He cocks his head slightly. ‘Do you think that?’ he says.
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘Either way, what you did was shit.’
‘I know,’ I say, trying to bury the rising anxiety. I can’t fix all the lies, but I really want to fix this one. ‘But on this one thing: Tim. On that, I want you to know that my feelings for you were a hundred per cent real.Area hundred per cent real. And whatever shit I had with Tim is over. Really over.’
James looks at me, searches my eyes, and I summon all my strength to hold his gaze. I need him to see that part. That part is true. His face softens slightly. ‘But, like you’ve been saying all along, you’re leaving.’
The chiller swings open, and Anis is standing there, glaring at both of us.
‘I’ve got to go and get changed. Good luck tonight,’ I say, shooting one last apologetic smile, which he acknowledges with a smile in return. On the subject of Tim, there is some movement at least.
I slip into the staff toilets to check my make-up, brush my hair back into a tight low bun and attempt a look that says:I’ve made an effort. I reach across to the hanger with the long, black silk gown that Irene has generously loaned me. I slip it out from its dust cover and carefully – so as not to crease it – pull it over my head and let the light, voluminous fabric fall to just above my shoes. The cut is a simple V-neck: perhaps a little Twenties in style, with a bias skirt falling from the waist and a little touch of silver-thread detailing around the neckline. It fits pretty well and doesn’t show the rolls around my back from the too-tight bra, but clings a little more than I would like to my belly. Nothing an apron won’t cover, though, I guess.
I pull down my eyelid and run a brown pencil along the base, and flick on enough black mascara so that it’s not clumpy. I use a nude lip-gloss I found at the back of the bathroom cupboard, take a deep breath and look into the mirror.
‘You’ve come this far, Elizabeth Finch.Thisfar. You can do it.’
I pull out my phone to check the time, and there’s a message from Heather that simply says:Catching up on some stuff. Let’s talk early next week. I will have lots to tell you …
I want to be with Heather. I understand now the work she puts in – knowing not only one list, but hundreds and thousands of wines, their origins, how they grow. She can tell a raspberry topnote from a gooseberry with a quick whiff, and although I didn’t appreciate it before, I can now see that every time she pulled out a Chianti for our takeaway pizza, or a Sekt before we went out to party, she wasn’t just offering me a drink, she was making everything better. It was love. I cannot wait to appreciate her in a hundred new ways.
I take one last look in the mirror and then head towards the bar area of the restaurant. Bill has done a spectacular job setting up. He looks well. And sober. I give him the thumbs up.
I am ready.I’m going to fucking nail this, I think, as the thunder claps once more overhead.
37.
‘Heather, isn’t it?’
I spin round and recognize Matthew Hunt, the sexy Bond-villain President of the Highland Wine Society, whom I met that very first week. He is handing his rain jacket to one of the many temporary staff I don’t recognize, and sliding a large black umbrella into the basket by the door.
‘You look a picture,’ he says.
‘Hi, Mr Hunt,’ I say, rubbing my hands down my apron before I offer him one. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it gently, and I blush.
‘Call me Matthew,’ he says and, when he smiles, I notice that his teeth are yellow and full of fillings, and I feel kind of grossed out, but also grateful the universe has handed me a leveller.
