I call Samira.
“Hi,” I say. “Um, I need a reality check.”
“Are you stalking him?” she asks, deadpan.
“I think I am,” I say. “What do I do?” I’ve flown to Vienna to try to bump accidently into someone who last saw me when I was a fortune-teller—and he doesn’t actually know any of that.
“I think you should go back to the hotel and have a cup of coffee. Are you drunk?”
“I might be. I did go to church. Like not to the notice board but actually inside.”
Samira doesn’t answer for a moment, and then she says, “Although I want the drama, and, Mara, hear me when I say Ireallywant this drama. My advice to you as someone who quite likes you is that you need to go back to the hotel, or to literally anywhere else.”
“Hmm,” I say, considering her advice.
Then I walk across the road and peer in the window, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. But I cannot see the short sandy hair I’m sure I would recognize. I move to the door and push it open, agust of cool, air-conditioned air hitting me, the bartender turning to smile at me, welcoming. But the bar is almost completely empty.
“What’s going on?” Samira says in my ear.
“He’s not there,” I say.
Of course he’s not. This wasn’t the deal. He is supposed to come to me.
30
A few hours laterand I am sitting in the gorgeous little restaurant across from my hotel, attempting to order another wine and Käseknödel soup, followed by a schnitzel and more white wine, and I pull out my phone and see there are several missed messages from Samira.
Just want to know you’re alive and well and not in an Austrian prison.
I quickly message her back.
Yes, all good. I’ve realized my date with destiny is fixed already.
She replies:
Good. Because we need you back here. The billboard went up outside the gardencenter and there was a typo. Ryan says the opposition’s family owns the printers.
She sends a shot of the billboard. Pictured is Lynn smiling, arms folded, looking every inch the local politician. Next to her a large circle with a big green tick in it, and underneath the messaging reads:MAKE YOUR VOTE CUNT.
Well, it’s certainly persuasive.
I put my phone down and I take in the clear broth, meaty and deep, and possibly a little too warming on this warm summer evening. The schnitzel arrives with buttered boiled potatoes, cranberry jam, and a mountain of rice. The schnitzel is the size of the dinner plate, but it is no match for my appetite, which is insatiable. My phone buzzes again.
All okay? Not seen you at home? Ax
I’m in Vienna.
I watch as the little dots appear as if he’s replying. Then they disappear. I slide my phone back into my pocket. I do not want to think about Ash anymore. I don’t want to think about Ash and Kate.
A coffee arrives, cream piped high, and I savor every mouthful as I watch the bustle of Vienna pass me by. My mind wanders to Charlie. Charlie somewhere in Margate wrangling Sophie into a bath, or into her sleep suit, and reading her a book she can’t yet understand. I imagine her flopping onto the couch, ignoring thewashing, and curling up, finally getting some time to herself before she falls asleep next to Alex on the sofa twenty minutes into a film. She often did that, even without a kid. I hope he makes her the peppermint tea with the pig on the label, in that enormous mug. I hope that for her.
I finish my coffee, and feeling suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness, I decide to take a taxi to the station right away. I am done with Vienna. I need to go home.
As I look up and see the sun about to disappear behind the clouds, I wonder: What did Ireallyhope for me? Beyond the romance and the whirlwind and the magic. Beyond the thrill, what did I really want for myself?
I wanted the sofa. And the movies. And the laughter. But most of all, I wanted a best friend. I wanted the calm, ordinary security and endless joy of a best friend to love and to love me in return.
I imagine the romance of the classical music, the grand architecture, the art, the history, and think, What good is it all? What good is any of it if you’re not with a man who can make a good cup of tea you didn’t know you wanted?
