Still Me
Page 33
I fought my way back to Nathan, my face suddenly flushed and a faint buzzing in my ears. It didn’t matter how wrong his accent, how different his eyebrows, the slant at the edge of his eyes that went the wrong way, it was impossible to look at Josh and not see Will there. I wondered if it would ever stop jolting me. I wondered at my unconscious internal use of the word ‘ever’.
‘I bumped into a friend!’ I said, just as Josh appeared.
‘A friend,’ said Nathan.
‘Nathan, Dean, Arun, this is Josh Ryan.’
‘You forgot “the Third”.’ He grinned at me, like we’d exchanged a private joke. ‘Hey.’ Josh held out a hand, leant forward and shook Nathan’s. I saw Nathan’s eyes travel over him and flicker towards me. I raised a bright, neutral smile, as if I had loads of good-looking male friends dotted all over Manhattan who might just want to come and join us in bars.
‘Can I buy anyone a beer?’ said Josh. ‘They do great food here too if anyone’s interested.’
‘A “friend”?’ murmured Nathan, as Josh stepped up to the bar.
‘Yes. A friend. I met him at the Yellow Ball. With Agnes.’
‘He looks like –’
‘I know.’
Nathan considered this. He looked at me, then at Josh. ‘That whole “saying yes” thing of yours. You haven’t …’
‘I love Sam, Nathan.’
‘Sure you do, mate. I’m just saying.’
I felt Nathan’s scrutiny during the rest of the evening. Josh and I somehow ended up on the edge of the table away from everyone else, where he talked about his job and the insane mixture of opiates and anti-depressants his work colleagues shovelled into themselves every day just to cope with the demands of the office, and how hard he was trying not to offend his easily offended boss, and how he kept failing, and the apartment he never had time to decorate and what had happened when his clean-freak mother visited from Boston. I nodded and smiled and listened and tried to make sure that when I found myself watching his face it was in an appropriate, interested way rather than a slightly obsessive, wistful oh-but-you’re-so-like-him way.
‘And how about you, Louisa Clark? You’ve said almost nothing about yourself all evening. How’s the holiday going? When do you have to head back?’
The job. I realized, with a lurch, that the last time we had met I had lied about who I was. And also that I was too drunk to maintain any kind of lie, or to feel as ashamed as I probably should about confessing. ‘Josh. I have to tell you something.’
He leant forward. ‘Ah. You’re married.’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, that’s something. You have an incurable disease? Weeks left to live?’
I shook my head.
‘You’re bored? You’re bored. You’d really rather talk to someone else now? I get it. I’ve barely drawn breath.’
I started to laugh. ‘No. Not that. You’re great company.’ I looked down at my feet. ‘I’m … not who I told you I was. I’m not Agnes’s friend from England. I just said that because she needed an ally at the Yellow Ball. I’m, well, I’m her assistant. I’m just an assistant.’
When I looked up he was gazing at me.
‘And?’
I stared at him. His eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them.
‘Louisa. This is New York. Everyone talks themselves up. Every bank teller is a junior vice president. Every bar-tender has a production company. I guessed you had to work for Agnes because of the way you were running around after her. No friend would do that. Unless they were, like, really stupid. Which you plainly are not.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Hey. I’m just glad you’re not married. Unless you are married. That bit wasn’t a lie too, was it?’
He had taken hold of one of my hands. I felt my breath give slightly in my chest, and I had to swallow before I spoke. ‘No. But I do have a boyfriend.’
He kept his eyes on mine, perhaps searching to see whether there was some punch-line coming, then released my hand reluctantly. ‘Ah. Well, that’s a pity.’ He leant back in his chair, and took a sip of his drink. ‘So how come he isn’t here?’
‘Because he’s in England.’
‘And he’s coming over?’
‘No.’
He pulled a face, the kind of face people make when they think you’re doing something stupid but don’t want to say so out loud. He shrugged. ‘Then we can be friends. You know everyone dates here, right? Doesn’t have to be a thing. I’ll be your incredibly handsome male walker.’
‘Do you mean dating as in “having sex with”?’
‘Woah. You English girls don’t mince your words.’
‘I just don’t want to lead you down the garden path.’
‘You’re telling me this isn’t going to be a friends-with-benefits thing. Okay, Louisa Clark. I get it.’
I tried not to smile. And failed.
‘You’re very cute,’ he said. ‘And you’re funny. And direct. And not like any girl I’ve ever met.’
‘And you’re very charming.’
‘That’s because I’m a little bit enraptured.’
‘And I’m a little bit drunk.’
‘Oh, now I’m wounded. Really wounded.’ He clutched at his heart.
It was at this point that I turned my head and saw Nathan watching. He gave a faint lift of his eyebrow, then tapped his wrist. It was enough to bring me back to earth. ‘You know – I really have to go. Early start.’
‘I’ve gone too far. I’ve frightened you off.’
‘Oh, I’m not that easily frightened. But I do have a tricky day at work tomorrow. And my morning run doesn’t work so well on several pints of beer and a tequila chaser.’
‘Will you call me? For a platonic beer? So I can moon at you a little?’
‘I have to warn you, “mooning” means something quite different in England.’ I told him and he exploded with laughter.
‘Well, I promise not to do that. Unless, of course, you want me to.’
‘That’s quite the offer.’
‘I mean it. Call me.’
I walked out, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way. As Nathan hailed a yellow taxi, I turned as the door was closing. I could only just make him out through a tiny gap as it swung shut, but it was enough to see he was still watching me. And smiling.
I called Sam. ‘Hey,’ I said, when he picked up.
‘Lou? Why am I even asking? Who else would ring me at four forty-five in the morning?’
‘So what are you doing?’ I lay back on my bed, and let my shoes drop from my feet onto the carpeted floor.
‘Just back off a shift. Reading. How are you? You sound cheerful.’
‘Been to a bar. Tough day. But I feel a lot better now. And I just wanted to hear your voice. Because I miss you. And you’re my boyfriend.’
‘And you’re drunk.’ He laughed.
‘I might be. A little. Did you say you were reading?’
‘Yup. A novel.’
‘Really? I thought you didn’t read fiction.’
‘Oh, Katie got it for me. Insisted I’d enjoy it. I can’t face the endless inquisitions if I keep not reading it.’
‘She’s buying you books?’ I pushed myself upright, my good mood suddenly dissipating.
‘Why? What does buying me a book mean?’ He sounded half amused.
‘It means she fancies you.’
‘It does not.’
‘It totally does.’ Alcohol had loosened my inhibitions. I felt the words coming before I could stop them. ‘If women try to make you read something it’s because they fancy you. They want to be in your head. They want to make you think of stuff.’
I heard him chuckle. ‘And what if it’s a motorcycle repair manual?’
‘Still counts. Because then she’d be trying to show you what a cool, sexy, motorbike-loving kind of chick she is.’
‘Well, this isn’t about motorbikes. It’s some French thing.’
‘I bumped into a friend!’ I said, just as Josh appeared.
‘A friend,’ said Nathan.
‘Nathan, Dean, Arun, this is Josh Ryan.’
‘You forgot “the Third”.’ He grinned at me, like we’d exchanged a private joke. ‘Hey.’ Josh held out a hand, leant forward and shook Nathan’s. I saw Nathan’s eyes travel over him and flicker towards me. I raised a bright, neutral smile, as if I had loads of good-looking male friends dotted all over Manhattan who might just want to come and join us in bars.
‘Can I buy anyone a beer?’ said Josh. ‘They do great food here too if anyone’s interested.’
‘A “friend”?’ murmured Nathan, as Josh stepped up to the bar.
‘Yes. A friend. I met him at the Yellow Ball. With Agnes.’
‘He looks like –’
‘I know.’
Nathan considered this. He looked at me, then at Josh. ‘That whole “saying yes” thing of yours. You haven’t …’
‘I love Sam, Nathan.’
‘Sure you do, mate. I’m just saying.’
I felt Nathan’s scrutiny during the rest of the evening. Josh and I somehow ended up on the edge of the table away from everyone else, where he talked about his job and the insane mixture of opiates and anti-depressants his work colleagues shovelled into themselves every day just to cope with the demands of the office, and how hard he was trying not to offend his easily offended boss, and how he kept failing, and the apartment he never had time to decorate and what had happened when his clean-freak mother visited from Boston. I nodded and smiled and listened and tried to make sure that when I found myself watching his face it was in an appropriate, interested way rather than a slightly obsessive, wistful oh-but-you’re-so-like-him way.
‘And how about you, Louisa Clark? You’ve said almost nothing about yourself all evening. How’s the holiday going? When do you have to head back?’
The job. I realized, with a lurch, that the last time we had met I had lied about who I was. And also that I was too drunk to maintain any kind of lie, or to feel as ashamed as I probably should about confessing. ‘Josh. I have to tell you something.’
He leant forward. ‘Ah. You’re married.’
‘Nope.’
‘Well, that’s something. You have an incurable disease? Weeks left to live?’
I shook my head.
‘You’re bored? You’re bored. You’d really rather talk to someone else now? I get it. I’ve barely drawn breath.’
I started to laugh. ‘No. Not that. You’re great company.’ I looked down at my feet. ‘I’m … not who I told you I was. I’m not Agnes’s friend from England. I just said that because she needed an ally at the Yellow Ball. I’m, well, I’m her assistant. I’m just an assistant.’
When I looked up he was gazing at me.
‘And?’
I stared at him. His eyes had tiny flecks of gold in them.
‘Louisa. This is New York. Everyone talks themselves up. Every bank teller is a junior vice president. Every bar-tender has a production company. I guessed you had to work for Agnes because of the way you were running around after her. No friend would do that. Unless they were, like, really stupid. Which you plainly are not.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Hey. I’m just glad you’re not married. Unless you are married. That bit wasn’t a lie too, was it?’
He had taken hold of one of my hands. I felt my breath give slightly in my chest, and I had to swallow before I spoke. ‘No. But I do have a boyfriend.’
He kept his eyes on mine, perhaps searching to see whether there was some punch-line coming, then released my hand reluctantly. ‘Ah. Well, that’s a pity.’ He leant back in his chair, and took a sip of his drink. ‘So how come he isn’t here?’
‘Because he’s in England.’
‘And he’s coming over?’
‘No.’
He pulled a face, the kind of face people make when they think you’re doing something stupid but don’t want to say so out loud. He shrugged. ‘Then we can be friends. You know everyone dates here, right? Doesn’t have to be a thing. I’ll be your incredibly handsome male walker.’
‘Do you mean dating as in “having sex with”?’
‘Woah. You English girls don’t mince your words.’
‘I just don’t want to lead you down the garden path.’
‘You’re telling me this isn’t going to be a friends-with-benefits thing. Okay, Louisa Clark. I get it.’
I tried not to smile. And failed.
‘You’re very cute,’ he said. ‘And you’re funny. And direct. And not like any girl I’ve ever met.’
‘And you’re very charming.’
‘That’s because I’m a little bit enraptured.’
‘And I’m a little bit drunk.’
‘Oh, now I’m wounded. Really wounded.’ He clutched at his heart.
It was at this point that I turned my head and saw Nathan watching. He gave a faint lift of his eyebrow, then tapped his wrist. It was enough to bring me back to earth. ‘You know – I really have to go. Early start.’
‘I’ve gone too far. I’ve frightened you off.’
‘Oh, I’m not that easily frightened. But I do have a tricky day at work tomorrow. And my morning run doesn’t work so well on several pints of beer and a tequila chaser.’
‘Will you call me? For a platonic beer? So I can moon at you a little?’
‘I have to warn you, “mooning” means something quite different in England.’ I told him and he exploded with laughter.
‘Well, I promise not to do that. Unless, of course, you want me to.’
‘That’s quite the offer.’
‘I mean it. Call me.’
I walked out, feeling his eyes on my back the whole way. As Nathan hailed a yellow taxi, I turned as the door was closing. I could only just make him out through a tiny gap as it swung shut, but it was enough to see he was still watching me. And smiling.
I called Sam. ‘Hey,’ I said, when he picked up.
‘Lou? Why am I even asking? Who else would ring me at four forty-five in the morning?’
‘So what are you doing?’ I lay back on my bed, and let my shoes drop from my feet onto the carpeted floor.
‘Just back off a shift. Reading. How are you? You sound cheerful.’
‘Been to a bar. Tough day. But I feel a lot better now. And I just wanted to hear your voice. Because I miss you. And you’re my boyfriend.’
‘And you’re drunk.’ He laughed.
‘I might be. A little. Did you say you were reading?’
‘Yup. A novel.’
‘Really? I thought you didn’t read fiction.’
‘Oh, Katie got it for me. Insisted I’d enjoy it. I can’t face the endless inquisitions if I keep not reading it.’
‘She’s buying you books?’ I pushed myself upright, my good mood suddenly dissipating.
‘Why? What does buying me a book mean?’ He sounded half amused.
‘It means she fancies you.’
‘It does not.’
‘It totally does.’ Alcohol had loosened my inhibitions. I felt the words coming before I could stop them. ‘If women try to make you read something it’s because they fancy you. They want to be in your head. They want to make you think of stuff.’
I heard him chuckle. ‘And what if it’s a motorcycle repair manual?’
‘Still counts. Because then she’d be trying to show you what a cool, sexy, motorbike-loving kind of chick she is.’
‘Well, this isn’t about motorbikes. It’s some French thing.’
