The waiter arrives once more, and before he can place my drink in front of me, I’ve whipped it unceremoniously out of his hand. I take an indecorous gulp and come up coughing. Maybe that’s why brandy is good for shock. It’s guaranteed to bring all snits to a spluttering end as well as drag all simpering misses from swoons.
But I’m not swooning, and I’m not giving up on my snit.
With a start, I become aware of Luke’s fingers entwining with my own.
‘Waiting for tonight has been the best and worst of tortures. Spending time with you, watching you, knowing each day we were getting closer to really doing this. I’m just so fucking bummed that it’s all been for nothing.’ His words are almost desperate, and he’s not the only one feeling let down.Frustrated. Flat. But it doesn’t matter because what was will never be. Not now.
‘We haven’t slept together in months, her and I, and I don’t know what we’re going to do going forward. I just know I’ll need to be there for her, and that it’ll be expected of me from so many directions.’
‘And so you should.’ Please don’t say you’re going to try to welch on this because that would make you less than the man I hoped you were. Also, please let me finish my drink in peace because I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with this shit.
‘But I promise you—’
‘Whatever that promise is, hold onto it for the mother of your child.’ Because I’m looking for a man in my life, not a man-child. With a child. And associated baggage.
And though part of me wants him to define what he means by “months”—before our tacit agreement or after?—much bigger things than this are at play right now. I’m not splitting hairs now, particularly as I have no intention of becoming involved in this. My life is already complicated enough. I can’t be anything but his friend.
‘Whatever tonight was supposed to be doesn’t matter now,’ I continue softly. ‘Maybe we were never destined to be anything other than friends.’ First college and now this. I swear to myself right here and now that I’m not going to wait to act on anything ever again.
‘Or maybe,’ he says, his eyes lingering on our holding hands, ‘we should take this opportunity to get it out of our systems. My ex, Anna. I haven’t made her any promises.’
His words are halting, but his meaning is no less clear.
Urgh. Men.
‘She’s going to need you.’
And I don’t have the mental capacity to look after anyone else, I realise, because this is what I do. I take on other people’s worries, problems, and issues. That’s why I’m funding a company out of my own inheritance, living on a shoestring budget, wearing cheap clothes, and using public transport while the people who work for me all seem to have cars. I mean, do they think I’m conscious of my carbon footprint? That I bring my lunch because I’m environmentally conscious? I am, of course I am. But I’m also broke!
‘And you have to focus on E-Volve,’ he says slowly, retracting his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I would even suggest a thing.’
‘It’s okay,’ I answer simply, even if it feels much less than okay. But I have this meeting to think of, and I can’t afford to blow it. I sigh in quiet acceptance. I won’t get laid tonight. I won’t get to experience the delights of Luke, but... ‘Some things are just bigger than sex.’ Even as I speak, I’m pushing back my chair, and he doesn’t stop me. So with my head held high, I leave the restaurant.
Outside, the air is still heavy, grey clouds trapping the day’s heat while also threatening a deluge of rain. I turn left for no other reason than I want to be anywhere else but here. After the highs of earlier today, I’m feeling more than a little emotional.Blame the brandy, I tell myself, refusing to give in to the sting of tears as I give myself a little reality check. If it’s been a day of highs and lows, given the choice, would I reverse things? Get to be with Luke while failing my pitch? If that had been the play of things, I wouldn’t be crying right now. I’d be looking for a bridge to jump off.
Though it’s past eight thirty, it’s still full daylight. Summer days in London are long, and the sun often doesn’t set until after ten in the evening. I walk without thought or direction, passing bars, restaurants, and old-fashioned English pubs where people spill out onto the sidewalks with their drinks in hand to avoid the stifling heat indoors.Oh, for a little air conditioning.
‘The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away!’
From the other side of the road, a drunken vagrant calls out. I want to yell back that he should pick on someone else today because I’ve had enough, but I keep my eyes focussed ahead and continue walking instead.
At a pedestrian crossing, I pull out my phone as my shoes begin to pinch and consider splurging on an Uber ride home. The green man begins to flash as the delicious scent of rosemary and garlic tantalises my nose. I’m suddenly starving and conscious of the fact I haven’t eaten since lunchtime when I’d had a couple of crackers with a chunk of aged cheddar cheese. I was kind of looking forward to a fancy meal tonight almost as much as I was looking forward to being in Luke’s arms. I sigh heavily, accepting but not appreciating the fact that neither of those things are on my Friday night agenda now.
I cross the road and pause as a passing car disturbs the heavy air briefly, fluttering the hem of my dress against my legs. What the hell? I’m celebrating and commiserating this evening. I’ll splurge on both an Uber to save my feet and a meal to nourish my belly.After all, what are credit cards for?SoI follow my nose, which leads me to a restaurant close by.
Pushing on the door, I step from the light into the darker interior.
‘Madam?’ Almost immediately, I’m accosted by an imperious-sounding voice from beyond a small archway.
‘Table for one, please.’
‘Do you have a booking?’ The man steps under the dim light. He’s seventy if he’s a day, dressed in a dinner jacket, and holding a leather-bound menu in his hand. A maître d’ of the old school, by the looks of things.
‘No, I—’
‘Then I’m afraid we’re fully booked this evening.’ His gaze roams over me disdainfully, so much so that I find myself looking down at my dress.No stains. And it’s Stella McCartney, for goodness’ sake!
‘Really? You’re fully booked?’ I repeat doubtfully.
