One Minute to Midnight (34 page)

‘Not going out tonight?’

‘No, quiet one for me. Where are you?’

‘Lamu, I told you …’

‘No, I mean, where exactly? At the moment?’

‘On the beach.’

‘Really?’

‘Really. I didn’t want to wake Dom.’

‘You didn’t have to ring straight back.’

‘I know.’

I was walking up the channel towards the beach head, towards the open ocean. I held the phone up above my head.

‘Can you hear the breakers?’

‘Not really. Maybe a little.’

I walked along a little further, holding the phone up again.

‘Now?’

‘Yeah, I can hear them.’

I sat down on the beach looking out across open ocean.

‘I was thinking, today …’

‘About Cape Town?’

‘About Mozambique, actually. The Indian Ocean. That was the first time I swam in it.’

He laughed softly. ‘I remember. You were so excited.’

‘Do you remember Julian trying to climb that date palm?’

‘When he fell and hit his head …’

‘And then freaked out and insisted that we keep him awake for twenty-four hours to “monitor him” in case he had brain damage?’ We both laughed at the memory.

‘That was a good holiday,’ Aidan said.

The sky above was beginning to brighten a little, turning from black to grey.

‘I wish I didn’t think about him so much,’ I said.

‘I wish I didn’t think about you so much,’ Aidan replied.

‘We shouldn’t talk any more.’

‘I know.’

‘It feels like …’

‘A betrayal.’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice. I miss your voice. I miss …’

‘Goodbye, Aidan.’

‘I love you, Nicole.’

I went back to our room and slipped into bed beside my husband, slipping my arms around him.

‘You’re cold,’ Dom croaked sleepily.

‘I went for a walk,’ I said.

‘You’re always disappearing on me,’ Dom said. ‘Where is it that you go?’

‘Just walking. I was just walking.’

‘Thinking about Julian?’

‘Just walking.’

Chapter Nineteen

30 December 2011

I FIGHT WITH myself all the way back to the hotel. Part of me, a big part of me, possibly more than seventy-five per cent of me, wants to tell the cabbie to turn around, to drive as fast as he can back to the street corner where he picked me up, so that I can leap out of the car and run after Aidan and catch him at the last minute, just as he’s about to descend into the subway to head to who knows where, just as he’s about to disappear from my life again. Just like in a film.

The rational, cool-headed part of me says, ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. Say you did run after him, say by some miracle you did catch him. Then what? Then what happens? You go back to his apartment with him? You sleep with him, while your husband is waiting for you across town?’

The very thought makes me feel ill. I couldn’t do that, no matter how much I want to be with Aidan, no matter how much he means to me. I’m not that cold; I’m not that heartless. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Dom, sitting there in the hotel room, watching the clock, waiting for the woman he loves to come back to him. I want to be back at the hotel, I want to get back to safety. I want this taxi to go faster. Why doesn’t
this
driver lean on his horn?

When we finally get there, I leap out of the cab and run up the steps into the lobby, I press the button and wait for the lift to come. There is only one lift, which is ridiculous for a hotel this size. It takes ages, it takes for ever.

Back in our hotel room, Dom is sitting on the sofa, anxiously watching the door.

‘There you are,’ he says, that familiar note of irritation in his voice. ‘How long does it take to buy a dress for Christ’s sake? We’re supposed to be meeting Karl in half an hour.’

And just like that I wish I had gone back to find Aidan.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, though I don’t actually feel any remorse. ‘It took an age to find a cab, and then the traffic was appalling. And you know how indecisive I am when it comes to shopping.’ Ridiculously, given the fact that I am lying to him, I feel put out, as though he is being unreasonable. ‘I found a great dress though,’ I say, holding up my shopping bag. ‘Do you want to see?’

He shrugs. ‘Armani?’ he says, looking at the bag. ‘How much did that set us back?’

I sigh. ‘God, you really are determined to have a shit time, aren’t you? Maybe you wouldn’t be in such a crappy mood if you hadn’t spent all day cooped up in this hotel room. Seriously, is this what you came to New York to do? You haven’t left the room since we got here.’

‘I came to New York because
you
wanted to come, Nicole, and because I wanted to be with you,’ he says. ‘I always want to be with you. It’s just not very easy, you know? Because you’re always running out the door.’

I shower and change and we hurry back down to the lobby to grab a cab to Tribeca, where we’re due to meet Karl. We’re not exactly fighting, but we’re not exactly friends, either. We’re headed for the Macao Trading Company, which, according to Karl, serves amazing cocktails in the lounge bar.

Dom grumbles all the way, but we’re only ten minutes late in the end. We walk downstairs to a low-lit, high-ceilinged room flanked on one side by a long, candle-strewn bar above which are six or seven shelves of gleaming bottles. I spot Karl immediately, and start to tear up straight away. He looks wonderful. He has maintained his perfect gym-fit physique and alabaster skin, but he has grown a George Michaelesque beard, manicured to within an inch of its life, which makes him look terribly distinguished, as does the light dusting of grey at his temples. He’s sitting on a stool at the near end of the bar, legs crossed, reading the
New Yorker
.

‘
Guten tag
!’ I call out to him and he looks up, his handsome face breaking into a broad grin.

‘Nicole!’ he yells, leaping off his stool to the alarm of the drinkers around him. He takes a few steps towards us and grabs me, lifting me off the ground and swinging me around, bear-hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. ‘Oh Nicole, Nicole! It’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you’re here.’ He’s tearing up, too. He puts me down and we both wipe our eyes and laugh, he kisses me on both cheeks and then hugs Dom, with almost as much force and enthusiasm as he embraced me.

We choose cocktails. I opt for the Westside, lemon vodka and fresh lemon juice with soda, Karl goes for a rather camp blood peach Bellini, which consists of puréed blood peaches, Campari and prosecco. Dom, much more butch, chooses a Once Daily, rum with bourbon and ginger liqueur on the rocks, with a splash of Fernet Branca.

‘What the hell is Fernet Branca?’ I ask.

‘No idea,’ Dom replies, taking a sip of his drink, ‘but this is delicious.’

We find ourselves a table in the corner surrounded by assorted Chinoiserie: vases and puppets, faded pictures of beautiful Chinese girls, ancient tatty globes the very sight of which make my feet itch. Karl asks what we’ve been up to, we prattle on about Christmas and swap work tales. Karl’s gallery, which is just a few blocks away, he tells us, is doing quite well, recession notwithstanding.

‘You should drop by tomorrow before the party, or the next day, whenever – we have this great Franko B exhibition …’ Dom and I look at him blankly. ‘Fabulous Italian artist, he’s a painter but he also does performance, installations, that kind of thing. He’s very interesting.’ We both nod dutifully; Karl laughs. ‘Philistines!’ he says. ‘How long are you here for?’

‘Just until Monday.’

‘Okay then, well apart from visiting my fabulous gallery, you must go to MoMA …’

‘MoMA?’ Dom asks.

‘The Museum of Modern Art, Dom, even I know that.’

‘You should go ice-skating at the Rockefeller Center, and while you’re there you should go to the Top of the Rock – it’s actually better than the Empire State because there are fewer people – and of course you can actually
see
the Empire State. And you
must
have pork rolls at Momofuku – they are absolutely to die for – and you should walk the High Line …’

‘The High Line?’ Dom asks, and I don’t listen to Karl’s answer because I’m jolted back to that afternoon and I get a pure sense memory, the sensation of Aidan’s lips on mine, my stomach flips.

‘You okay, Nic?’ Dom asks me. ‘You look flushed.’

I go to the loo and splash my face with water. I fish my mobile from my handbag and check the call log. There’s nothing from Aidan. I did tell him that it was time to say goodbye, so why am I so disappointed that, less than three hours since I saw him, he hasn’t been in touch? I reapply my make-up and return to our table. Dom is at the bar, ordering another round.

As I sit down, Karl takes my hand and smiles at me.

‘You look good,’ he says. ‘Really good.’

‘So do you,’ I say, reaching up to touch his face. ‘I like the beard.’

He laughs. ‘Not my idea …’

‘Oh no?’ I say, an eyebrow raised.

‘No, a friend suggested it, he thought it would look nice.’

‘A friend, eh? And who is this friend?’

Dom sits back down and hands us our drinks.

‘I actually wanted to talk to you about him, about us. I wanted to see you before the party, before the … uh … official announcement. I wanted to tell you the news first of all.’

‘What news is that?’ Dom asks and I try to ignore the sinking feeling I’m getting.

‘I’m getting married!’ Karl announces raising his glass to us both.

‘Bloody hell!’ Dom splutters, crashing his glass against Karl’s delicate champagne flute, ‘Congratulations! That’s fantastic, Karl. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘His name’s Sean, he’s great, you’ll really like him …’

‘So when is this happening?’ Dom asks him. ‘Are you doing it here in New York?’

‘We’re not sure yet. When Sean first asked me it wasn’t even possible because they hadn’t legalised it here yet, so we were thinking Vermont or something like that, or even Germany, because you can get a civil partnership there, but now we’re not so sure …’

I’m aware that I haven’t said a word since Karl dropped his bombshell, and now they are, too, they both turn and look at me.

‘Nic?’ Dom says, placing his hand on my arm. ‘Isn’t this great?’ I look up at Karl, he’s looking back at me, hopeful, and so I give him the brightest smile I can and say, ‘Yes, it’s … really great. Congratulations.’ All of a sudden I’m desperate to be out of there, I don’t want Karl to see how upset I am, so I get to my feet and say, ‘I’m really sorry, I’m not feeling very well. I have to go.’

I don’t look at them as I pull my coat on, I can’t bear to see the look on Karl’s face. I push through the noisy crowd of drinkers and hurry up the stairs, out onto the street, into another snowstorm. I hurry along the street, half-blinded by white, looking desperately this way and that for a taxi.

‘Nicole!’ I hear Dom’s voice behind me, ‘Wait!’ He catches up with me and grabs my arm, spinning me around roughly. ‘What the hell are you doing? That was awful what you did back there.’

‘I know, I’m sorry …’ I stammer.

‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry. That was fucking cruel. He doesn’t deserve that. He of all people does not deserve that. Jesus Christ, I know you think your pain is greater than most people’s, but do you really think it’s greater than his? Do you honestly think he’s suffered less than you have?’ He lets go of my arm; no, he throws my arm back against my chest. ‘He doesn’t deserve to be happy, is that it?’ He’s yelling at me now, furious. ‘Because you can’t be happy, because you can’t move on, because you’re stuck in your bubble of grief, that means everybody else should be fucking miserable too, is that it?’

I feel ashamed, and not just because our unseemly little domestic is being witnessed by the hipsters waiting for their tables at Macao. He’s right, what I did was awful and I can’t take it back now: my first reaction to the news that Karl is getting married will always be an unkind one, there’s nothing I can do about it. I turn away from Dom and walk slowly down the street, into the wind.

‘Where are you going?’ Dom yells, he pushes past me, blocks my path. ‘You’re leaving? You’re not even going to go back and say sorry?’

‘I can’t now, Dom. Please let me go, I’ll talk to him tomorrow or I’ll call him later on …’

I carry on down the street, heading north, almost blinded by snow. Dom stops me again, he grabs my arm again.

‘Nicole, for god’s sake, you can’t do this. Come back inside, please. Come on – you and me, we’ll go back in there, you’ll apologise, we’ll have a nice drink and behave like civilised human beings.’

He’s right, he’s right. I know he’s right. If I go back there now, I can at least try to make things better. But I can’t do it if Dom’s there beside me, steering me back into the bar – it’ll look like he’s dragged me back to apologise. Which of course he has, but I don’t want Karl to see that.