Swan (22 page)

‘You know, that song by Bananarama?’

Slowly, David returned to an upright position. He
looked greatly relieved. Maybe he just didn’t like Bananarama. Oh well, that
had gone down like a lead balloon.

Thankfully, to spare me any more blushes, the
waitress returned with our main courses. Mine was bog standard meat and pasta,
but David’s looked scrumptious: sirloin steak cooked to perfection and grilled
vegetables that smelled heavenly. Now I wished I had followed his advice and
ordered something different.

‘How’s your food?’ David asked.

‘Yeah, it’s nice, thanks.’

‘Would you like to try some of mine?’

I nodded. He fed me a forkful. It tasted divine.
‘Mmm, I wish I’d got that now.’

‘See, I told you,’ he winked. ‘You need to start
being more adventurous, Madeline. In
all
areas of your life.’

I smiled coquettishly. Was there a hint of a double
entendre there? God, I hoped so.

‘So how often do you consult psychics about your
affairs?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Not often. Only if there’s something on my mind.
Something important that I need guidance on.’ I slurped a forkful of spaghetti
louder than I would have liked. ‘I take it you don’t believe in that sort of
thing?’

David shook his head. ‘No. I think all
fortune-tellers are charlatans. They’re just very well-rehearsed confidence
tricksters.’

‘I don’t agree. I mean, if you ever met this guy
Gerry, he’s amazing. He’s told me things about myself I’ve never told anyone.
There’s no way he could know so much if he wasn’t in touch with the spirit
world.’

‘Rubbish. Have you ever read Sherlock Holmes?’

‘Yes, when I was a kid.’

‘Well, there’s your answer. You know how Sherlock
uses his powers of deduction to solve cases - that’s exactly what those
charlatan fortune-tellers do. They’re masters of deception. They know how to
read people. They tell you they’re reading your palm but what they’re actually
reading is your clothes, your demeanour and your bank balance, trying to work you
out and make a bunch of lucky guesses. There’s nothing supernatural about it
whatsoever.’

‘I disagree. Okay, so maybe some of them
are
con artists, but not all. I mean, if
you could just see this guy Gerry, he’s unbelievable. It can’t be that easy to
fake!’

‘I’m telling you it is. Anyone can do it if they
really put their mind to it. For instance, I look at you and there’s so many
things I could tell you about yourself and I know I’d be spot on.’

‘Is that so?’ I smirked. ‘Okay, so tell me what you
see.’

David paused, apparently weighing up whether or not
to say what was on his mind. ‘I see ...’

‘What do you see?’ I asked impatiently.

He dropped his shoulders, lay down his knife and
fork on the table, as a sign to the waitress that we had finished. ‘I see ... I
see a woman in need of something sweet. Let’s ask for the dessert menu.
Apparently they do a fantastic tiramisu here.’

‘No fair!’ I laughed. ‘You’ve chickened out.’

David didn’t answer. He appeared distracted, like he
was more interested in where the waitress had gone. Eventually she came and
removed the dirty plates. David asked her for two espressos and the dessert
menu. Then he turned and smiled indulgently at me.

‘David listen, there’s something I need to tell
you.’

‘What is it?’

I reached across the table, slipped my hand over his
and looked him in the eyes, just as Beth had told me to. My fingers were
shaking, but I knew there was no turning back now. I just had to go through
with it, had to make him know what I was feeling. ‘There are a lot of things I
haven’t told you about me, David. Things about my past that I’ve never shared
with anyone. I want to be completely honest with you, to clear the air, so that
there are no secrets between us.’ David nodded silently. I continued: ‘Before I
met you, I had nothing. I didn’t have many friends ... actually I don’t have
any friends, except for you. And, well, this is so hard for me to talk about
but ...’

‘Go on,’ he said gently.

I took a deep breath. ‘I’m not thirty-six, I’m
forty-one. I haven’t dated a guy in twenty-five years, I have bad credit, I’ll
probably never be able to get a mortgage, and I’m actually a pretty hopeless
scriptwriter. My mother wasn’t the only reason I didn’t go to film school.
Actually, I failed the entrance exams. I just wasn’t good enough. I got a D in
English Lit., and regularly suffer from writer’s block and to be honest, I’ve
never actually completed a screenplay. Even the one I told you about,
Jane Bloggs
never got past the
synopsis.’

‘Why are you telling me all this, Madeline? Do you
really think it will change how I see you?’

‘I don’t know. I’m just so sick of pretending to be
someone I’m not. This is me. This is Madeline Smith, warts and all. If you
choose not to see me again, then fine, but at least I’ve given it to you
straight. The truth is, these last few weeks I’ve spent without you have been
the worst of my life. Not hearing from you, not seeing you - it made me realise
just how much you mean to me, David. You’re the air that I breathe.’ I gulped,
feeling increasingly emotional. ‘Now, I don’t know what your feelings are
towards me ... or, or what your intentions are, but I just want to say this: if
it’s only friendship you’re after, then I can’t just be friends with you, okay?
It’s hurting me too much to be so close to you ... to care about you so much
and not have this relationship lead anywhere. I’ve had so many disappointments
in my life; I’m not getting any younger. I need someone I can rely on, someone
who will always be there for me like I would be there for you. David, what I’m
trying to tell you is that I love you. Okay? There – I’ve said it –
I love you.’

He fell silent, stared at me for a while. I
swallowed painfully, trying to assess his reaction. His face was so placid, so
unreadable; it was difficult to tell what he was thinking. Then, he took my
hand and stroked it gently.

‘Darling, that was magnificent. I really don’t know
what to say. I’m speechless ...’ He looked so moved. And were those tears in
his eyes? It was difficult to tell. ‘No one has ever been so honest with me
before. It took a lot of guts, and I really respect you for that.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. So he didn’t hate me
then. Thank God for that.

David signalled to the waiter and ordered us a
bottle of expensive champagne. ‘This calls for a celebration,’ he grinned,
rubbing his hands together. There was a sparkle in his eyes that I hadn’t seen
before, a hint of something mysterious.

Soon, the waiter returned, popped open the champagne
and poured us both a glass.

‘To honesty,’ David toasted.

‘To honesty,’ I said, downing the bubbly in three
gulps. I had always been a bit of a lightweight, but champagne was the real
killer for me. The bubbles always went straight to my head. By the time we’d
finished the first bottle, I was away with the fairies. In fact, I was so
intoxicated I didn’t notice that David hadn’t really touched any of his glass,
and when he then ordered a second bottle, I was the sole recipient. By the time
David called for the bill, everything had melded into a pleasant drunken haze.

When the clock struck twelve to sire in the New Year
we were treated to a gloriously inept rendition of Kool and the Gang’s
Celebration
by a group of drunken office
workers who had decided to hijack the podium. I was just in the process of clambering
up with them, when I felt a gentle tug at the hem of dress. I turned round, my
eyes rolling maniacally.

‘Get down from there please,’ David said firmly. ‘I
don’t want you making a fool of yourself in front of all these people.’

I stumbled down from the podium. One of the lads
cheered as he watched me collapse into David’s arms. With great difficulty, I
pulled on my coat and followed him out the door.

‘Goodbye and Happy New Year!’ the waitress called
after us.

‘Happy New Year!’ I slurred.

‘I think we should probably get a taxi,’ David
smiled, picking me up from the floor for the second time. I was having serious
trouble walking straight.

‘Whey! Come on England!’ I shouted, kicking an
imaginary football in the air. Exploding in giggles, I started doing the
can-can outside the restaurant, flashing my knickers at passers-by.

‘Oh God, stop that!’ David shouted. But I could see
the trace of a smile on his lips.

I smoothed down my dress, made an attempt to stand
up straight. Then I put my finger in my mouth like a naughty schoolgirl to
pacify him, but he was having none of it. All David wanted was us out of there
– fast!

Thankfully, within a couple of minutes, he managed
to flag down a black cab, and we were on our way back toward Docklands. As we
drove, I kept leaning over him, pointing and slurring the names of the
landmarks we passed. David seemed to find my chaotic behaviour terribly
amusing. He handled me with quiet firmness, allowing me to display a little
craziness without doing anything too embarrassing.

When we finally got back to his flat, I was smashed
and ready for my bed. I stumbled into the living room, crashed out on the sofa
and rolled from left to right, laughing uncontrollably. I’d always been a happy
drunk, as David was now discovering.

He went to the kitchen, came back with a glass of
tap water. ‘I think you need to sober up a bit,’ he murmured.

‘I am sober,’ I giggled, taking the drink.

David sat in the chair opposite and studied me for a
minute or so. His face flickered with amusement. Then, he took off his glasses,
rubbed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh.

‘Madeline, there’s something I need to tell you.’

I took a sip of water and looked at him through
inebriated eyes. ‘What is it?’ I laughed.

He took the glass from me, clutched my hands in his.
‘You know you said we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other? Well, I’ve been
keeping something from you that I think you should know.’

A slow, lop-sided grin spread across my face. ‘Okay,
what is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?’

‘I don’t know if I should.’

‘Don’t be such a spoilsport. I’ve told you
everything about me, now it’s your turn. I’m sure whatever it is can’t be that
bad.’

‘Okay, okay!’ He looked more nervous than I’d ever
seen him before. Perhaps if I’d been sober, this would have worried me, but as
it was, the alcohol had made me flippant enough not to care.

‘Out with it!’ I demanded.

‘I don’t know how to say this ...’

‘Oh come on, come on. What is it? Don’t tell me you
were born a woman?’

‘I wish it were that simple.’

‘Come on David, this is starting to get really
boring. Don’t keep me in suspense. What on earth is it?’

‘My name isn’t David Powell. It’s Chet Vincent.’

At first, what he’d said didn’t register. ‘Come
again?’

‘I’m Chet Vincent.’

‘As in Chet Vincent the actor?’

‘Yes.’

I stared at him for a long time with a stupefied
expression on my face. Then, I playfully punched his arm. ‘Get out of here!
You’re having me on.’

‘I’m not, Madeline. I wouldn’t joke with you about
something like this.’

Ignoring him, I leaned back on the sofa, my legs
akimbo, and downed the last of the water. ‘Another glass, Monsieur,’ I grinned,
handing him back the cup.

David wasn’t smiling anymore. His face was grim.
‘This is not a joke, Madeline. I really am Chet Vincent.’

‘How can you be Chet Vincent? Chet Vincent is dead,
David. Everyone knows that. Stop pulling my leg, will you? Now be a dear and
get me another glass of water, please.’

‘You’re not listening are you? Maybe now’s not the
time to discuss this. I thought if I got you a bit merry, it’d be easier for
you to take. But now I see you’re too out of it to appreciate what I’m telling
you. I wish I hadn’t told you, now.’

He got up, made for the kitchen. I grabbed his arm.
‘Darling, if you’re Chet Vincent, I’m Barack Obama.’

‘You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?’

‘If you really are Chet Vincent, then prove it.
Prove it
! Wave your magic wand, David,
and make my prince appear.’

He didn’t answer. He took my glass back to the
kitchen, refilled it, handed it to me, and then disappeared into his bedroom.
He was gone for ages. During his absence, I drifted in and out of
consciousness. The champagne had really gone to my head, and I was dwelling in
a strange netherworld that didn’t seem real.

‘Madeline ...’

‘Huh?’

I glanced up. In the doorway of the living room
stood the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. A man with ruggedly handsome
features and a thicket of lush brown hair, a man with a devastating smile,
dreamy eyes and a washboard stomach, a man who had haunted my dreams night
after night since girlhood. He was wearing the exact same clothes that David
had worn, open at the chest, but he wasn’t David. No, the Adonis standing
before me was Chet Vincent!
[E12]