‘Tell me about it. I’m not sure how I managed to stay the two nights, but the place was in a mess, as usual, so I cleared up and took Chandler on a couple of decent walks to the river. It’s just so depressing that she won’t help herself.’
He lowered his head to kiss her. Vic quickly pulled away. ‘Ew, Nate! You stink of beer, sweat and cigarettes.’
‘Hmm. A desirable combination.’ He grinned boyishly. ‘And I did tell you to stay home. We’re like ships that pass in the night, lately.’
Vic smiled back at him apologetically. ‘I wish I had. I fell for the guilt trip. She sounded sober when I last spoke to her. Promised me she was off it. And when I got there, she proceeded to be vile and tell me that I was always the bridesmaid.’ Vic made a little groaning noise. ‘She’s like Jekyll and Hyde when she’s drinking.’
‘I’m sorry it was so awful.’ Nate squeezed her arm, then went to the fridge. ‘When’s Mandy’s hen do, anyway?’
‘Next weekend. I could do with it being the week after. I haven’t arranged any sort of surprises yet and, being head bridesmaid, that’s my job, evidently.’
‘So I’ll be home all alone again,’ Nate said dramatically, levering the top off his Budweiser and pulling a piteous face. ‘Although I’ll be working for most of it.’
‘Exactly.’ Vic shook her head at him. ‘And it was you who chose to take on the most anti-social job in the world.’
‘Yes, and I’m still not sure if it’s what I want to do. I feel caged. It’s a cool restaurant, but when I’m out the back in that steaming kitchen, I could be at a Michelin star place or at Nando’s. It makes no difference to me. And I can’t see me becoming a head chef anytime soon. The money’s shite for the hours I do, too.’
‘Oh, Nate.’ Vic started to busy herself by clearing the washing-up bowl.
‘What does “Oh, Nate” mean? Please don’t start on me. And leave that – it’s my mess. I’ll sort it later.’
Feeling a twinge of guilt for laying into Nate, who despite working ridiculously long hours did usually pull his weight in the flat, Vic turned off the hot tap and squeezed his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Boo. I’m just agitated after the weekend I had. I looked at Mum before I left. She’s sixty-one now, which isn’t in any way old, and I can’t see her ever giving up the booze. I reckon she’ll continue the same old routine, doing the same cleaning jobs until she’s so unfit she can’t. She’ll sit on the same old sofa, poisoning herself and watching the same crap TV for the rest of her life. It’s such a waste. What if I end up like her?’
‘What the fuck, Vic? Listen to me. You’re the one who tells me that we’re all in charge of our own destiny. You’re doing well in your job, you have great friends, and most importantly, you have me.’ Nate’s eyes smiled at her. ‘I do love you, you know.’
‘I know, but we’re thirty-five and still live in a one-bedroom rented flat in Wandsworth.’
‘Oh, Vic. Not this again. Most couples our age are in exactly the same situation.’
As Vic emptied the filthy ashtray into the bin, her subconscious spoke up without warning. ‘It’s not just that, is it?’
‘What is it then, baby girl? Talk to me.’
Vic let out a funny little anguished groan. ‘I’m too tired to do anything now. And you will remember to ask for the weekend off for Mandy’s wedding, won’t you?’
‘What date is it again?’
‘Nate! I’ve told you so many times.’ Vic tutted. ‘And what happened here?’ She picked up her art easel, which was lying on the floor, and propped it against the kitchen wall in its rightful place. Nate shrugged. ‘And it’s next month, the nineteenth of November. The wedding, that is.’
Nate screwed up his face. ‘Weird time of year to be getting married, isn’t it?’
‘I know. Her brother’s flying over from New York, and it was the only time he could fit in around his work, or something.’
‘I’ll try and get it off but no promises, all right?’
She rounded on him. ‘Really?! It’s my best mate’s wedding, for Christ’s sake.’
Nate took a slurp of beer and laughed. ‘I’m teasing you, little one.’ As he kissed the back of her neck, Vic wriggled, giggled, then pulled away. ‘I’ll be there. But for now, how about I have a shower and then me and my moody little Sharpie can make some much needed lurve.’
Vic groaned. As much as she still did fancy him, she really wasn’t in the mood for sex. In fact, she had been so stressed about her mother and worrying about the future, she hadn’t been in the mood for it a lot lately. Realising that she was beginning to run out of excuses, she frantically thought back to when she’d last been menstruating. ‘I’ve got my period, Nate. Sorry.’
‘Quelle surprise.’ Nate turned up the radio. Victoria’s jaw clenched as he began singing along to the Arctic Monkeys, then he stopped, and said, ‘No betting required here, Iknowyou look good on the dance floor. Ruthie at work said she thought I looked a bit like a more rugged version of Alex Turner, too. I’ll take that.’ He started dancing around her. ‘Love this track!’ Nate gently smacked his girlfriend’s bottom, headed for the bathroom and shouted back, ‘At least come and join me in the shower.’
Who the fuck is Ruthie – or Alex Turner, for that matter?Vic thought as she turned off the radio and resumed washing up.
It would be six years this Christmas since she had first met her quirky boyfriend in the queue at McDonald’s in Waterloo station. They were both drunk, had simultaneously ordered a Big Mac meal with ‘fat Coke’ and then proceeded to chat about the joy that was McDonald’s after a bender and the hell that was families at Christmas. He had insisted that she write her number on a serviette, which she had thrown back at him as she sprinted for the platform to find the train that would take her home to Windsor. And the rest was history.
She had been twenty-nine then, and had just moved back in with her mum after breaking up with Steady Stuart, an accountant five years her senior, who created spreadsheets to back up spreadsheets and who had insisted they had sex on the same days at the same time every week. They also had a weekly meal planner stuck on the fridge. Initially, she had liked having spaghetti bolognese every Monday and doggy style on a Saturday, for it created the order that she had never had growing up. And it helped that Stuart was extremely good-looking and hung like a racehorse. But after two years, she realised that she had just been desperate to make it work. That the magic had never been there, and as much as she craved order, order had never really craved her. And that as much as size did matter, spreadsheets did not.
