I’ve warmed up by the time I reach Union Square, so much so that when I go into Barnes & Noble, I have to take off my coat and hat and unwind my scarf. It’s busy in there, but quiet in the way bookshops often are – like libraries. It’s kind of comforting that people still get quiet around books.
I have a sudden flashback to Nick and me in the uni library. After we’d got together. I’d gone there to study, he’d come to find me and we ended up kissing pressed up against the shelving and only stopped when some books fell down and skittered across the floor. I can still remember the feel of the shelves pressed into my back and of Nick pressed into my front. He’d slipped his hand up under my top to stroke my boob and squeeze my nipple and from then on, even going to the library gave me the horn.
He liked that I was embarrassed, that I’d never done anything like that in public before. I hadn’t had a serious boyfriend in the time I’d known Nick – although I did get off with a guy on his other course after the end-of-term meal – but the boyfriend I had at school was strictly a bedroom-only kind of a guy. He wouldn’t even hold my hand in the street. (This – how he never wanted to be seen with me – was part of the reason we split up. Yes, only part of the reason. I was an idiot.)
I wander the bookshelves, trying to trick my brain into thinking I live here. I’ve got a tiny apartment nearby and I’ve just popped out to get a book for … a friend’s birthday present. A friend I’ve made in New York. Maybe someone who lives in my building. Do I live in one of those brownstones? Yes, I do. And she lives downstairs. She’s the landlady – she won the place in her divorce from … some celebrity. An American football star. And she lost her celebrity friends too, so when I moved in we really hit it off. And it’s her birthday and she loves … I turn a full circle, looking at the shelves. Art. She wanted to be an artist, but she married young and forgot her dreams. I wander over to the art books and lift a few down off the shelves. Just as I’m looking at a book of photographs of dogs underwater – not quite suitable for my imaginary art-loving landlady/best friend – my phone buzzes. It’s Nick.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Where are you?’
‘Barnes & Noble. I’m looking at a book of photographs of dogs underwater.’
‘The dogs are underwater or you are?’
‘The dogs are. I’m sitting on a sofa.’
‘Good to know. And why?’
‘Because it’s comfortable?’
‘Why are you looking at a book of photos of dogs underwater?’
‘Oh. Just, you know, because … ’
‘I don’t think I do know, no. My meetings are finished and I was going to come and meet you, but if you’re busy … ’
‘Shut up,’ I say. ‘Where are you now? Where do you want to meet?’
I hate walking into a bar – or anywhere else for that matter – I don’t know and haven’t been before. So I pretend I live here – just a few doors down, this is my local – and I walk in confidently, my stomach only fluttering a little because of nerves about seeing Nick again. The bar is fantastic – a very Nick kind of place, unsurprisingly. It’s dark and bright at the same time with yellow, green and orange walls and strings of multicoloured paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Nick is sitting in a purple velvet booth and waves and grins when he sees me. My stomach gives a little flip and I feel the thump of the pulse between my legs. I slide in opposite him and he says, ‘Did you buy it?’
‘What?’ I realise I probably should have kissed him – I meant to kiss him – but it’s too late now. I’m too far away.
‘The drowned dog book.’
‘They weren’t drowned, they were swimming. And, no, I didn’t buy it.’
‘Shame. I was looking forward to seeing it.’ He grins. ‘I’ve ordered you a margarita. Actually I’ve ordered us a jug.’
A waiter arrives with the jug, two glasses with the rims crusted with salt and a dish of something that looks like dried broad beans.
‘How did your meeting go?’ I ask, once the waiter’s gone.
‘It was great,’ Nick said. ‘All going very well.’
‘What is it you do again?’ I ask. ‘Something with design?’
He gives me an odd look. ‘I’m a Project Designer for –’
I pretend to fall asleep, dropping my head back onto the back of the seat and snoring.
He laughs. ‘I can’t believe I fell for that.’
I grin. ‘I can’t either. God, you got me with it so many times.’
‘Yeah, because you always wanted to talk about the course. In the pub!’
I slide my margarita towards me and pick it up. ‘Not always. I just wanted to, you know, get a degree.’
‘Silly wabbit,’ he says.
‘Do you regret it?’ I ask and take a sip of my margarita. Which is a mistake, because he’s not sure what I’m asking him and I see various emotions flicker across his face.
In my eagerness to clarify the question, I swallow my drink too quickly and it catches the back of my throat and sets off a coughing fit. It’s a distraction, anyway. The waiter rushes over with a glass of tap water and Nick passes me a napkin for my streaming eyes. Once I’ve stopped, I say, ‘I meant leaving uni. Do you regret leaving uni?’
He gives me that intense stare again and I’m worried for a second that he’s going to go the other way, that he’s going to tell me about the other thing that I might think he has cause to regret. If he wants to talk about Rebecca I need to be drinking directly from the jug, not this titchy glass.
‘Never,’ he says. ‘I miss it. But I’m doing the kind of job I always wanted to do.’
‘And you’re flying to New York business class for meetings.’
‘That helps,’ he says. ‘But that’s just a perk, really.’
I pull a face.
‘No, really. The best thing is I’m doing what I love. I don’t get that Sunday night feeling, you know. In fact, sometimes I look forward to Mondays.’
I laugh. ‘As if. I know you’re one of those “work hard play hard” tossers.’ I drink some more of my margarita, raising my eyebrows at him over the rim of the glass.
‘There’s a bit of that,’ he says. ‘But –’
I put my glass down and lean towards him. ‘If you’re about to tell me how you’re successful, but lonely, you’ll be wearing this drink!’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah. But.’
I frown.
‘But … I miss you. I do.’
I shake my head. ‘Nick. You fucked it up. You.’
He slides along the bench seat as if he’s going to get out and I slide the other way towards the wall. He walks around the table and sits next to me.
‘It wasn’t just me,’ he says.
‘Go back to your side,’ I say. I swing my feet up onto the seat so my legs are between us, but he gently pushes them back down again and slides right up next to me.
‘Are we going to talk about it?’ he says, his mouth next to my ear.
‘No,’ I say. He’s too close. I can’t think straight.
He lets his lips drift down my neck and I hook one leg over his thigh.
‘We need to talk about it,’ he says.
‘You don’t want to,’ I say, pulling away from him so fast that I bang my head on the wall. I put my hands on his chest and shove him gently. ‘If you really wanted to talk about it, you’d have stayed over that side.’
He grins.
‘We both know you came over here to distract me,’ I say.
‘And it worked,’ he says, grinning that stupid charming grin.
I roll my eyes. ‘Charm-bomb. Makes me vom.’
He laughs. ‘You didn’t kiss me when you got here.’
I widen my eyes. ‘You noticed that, did you?’
He nods. ‘I’d been thinking about it all day. I was distracted in the meetings. I kept picturing you on top of me last night.’
I shush him. There are people in the next booth! It’s a mistake because he leans closer. ‘I kept thinking about you in the shower when I went to get the takeaway. I nearly got run over on the way to get the takeaway cos I was thinking about you in the shower.’
I drink.
‘So all day I’ve been looking forward to kissing you and touching you and you walked in here all business-like and sat down there without even coming near me.’ He slips one hand under my top. ‘So now I’m going to touch you. OK?’
I turn towards him just a little and drop my head down onto his shoulder. His hand slides up my ribs and across my breasts. I cross my legs and clasp my thighs together. He kisses along my jaw and then his mouth is on mine and I feel his tongue slip between my lips. I tip my head back and slide my hand up to hold the back of his head. He tastes of lime and tequila and salt and I slide up the seat and press closer to him and his thumb rubs across my nipple. I start to feel like I’m losing control and so I push him away.
‘That’s enough,’ I say. My voice sounds wobbly. ‘Let’s get some food.’
‘Why don’t we go back and eat at the hotel,’ he says, staring at my mouth.
I shake my head. ‘No. I want to eat here.’ I give him another little shove and he slides to the end of the seat.
‘Go on,’ I say, flapping my hands at him.
‘I can’t just yet,’ he says and flaps his hand at his crotch.
I think about getting up and taking his hand and going straight back to the hotel, but instead I take a gulp of my margarita and pour myself a fresh glass.
‘That was part of it,’ Nick says.
‘Hmm?’ I say without looking at him. He’s still sitting on my side of the table.
‘You always … pull back,’ he says.
I do look at him then. ‘I don’t,’ I say. ‘We’re in a restaurant. I know you’d totally just do it on the seat and get arrested, but I –’
‘You hold back,’ he says. ‘You always did. I never felt like you were really with me, you know?’
‘Bullshit,’ I say.
He gets up and goes back to his own seat.
‘You’re telling me it was my fault you shagged Rebecca?’ My hands are shaking. I sit on them.
‘God, no. No. I just thought if we’re doing this then we should, you know, talk about what went wrong.’
‘What went wrong was that you shagged someone else.’
‘Yes. But even before that, it wasn’t right. Was it? Were you happy?’
‘Yes,’ I lie.
He shakes his head. ‘I know you. You were scared. You talk about me running away, but you ran away too. You just didn’t … go anywhere.’
‘Thanks, Dr Phil,’ I say. ‘Can we get some food now?’
We order a pile of Mexican food – chimichangas and nachos and tacos.
Nick says, ‘We should get the mole. It’s an aphrodisiac.’
I laugh. ‘If there’s one thing we don’t need.’
He orders it anyway.
While we wait for the food, he tells me about his job. About how much he loves it and how he wants to set up on his own one day. The company is actually owned by the brother of someone Nick knew at uni who dropped out to set up this business after doing it part time during his degree.
‘Are you enjoying the course?’ he asks me. ‘You’re third year now, right? Got exams in May?’
I nod. ‘It’s fine, you know. Same as when you were there really.’
‘When’s half-term?’ He frowns. ‘Didn’t we have exams in February?’
I shake my head. ‘I had a big essay, but that’s all.’
‘So do you know what you’re going to do when you graduate?’
The waiter brings some of our food and I think about how to answer.
‘No,’ I say once the waiter’s left and the table is covered with plates of steaming and amazing-smelling Mexican food. ‘I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I’ve thought about it, obviously, but I haven’t come to any conclusions.’
‘You used to say you wanted to travel,’ Nick says, piling the mole onto his plate.
We used to spend so much time planning the trips we were going to take together. We talked about backpacking in Asia, working in Australia, interrailing. All the usual shite.
I nod. ‘Yeah. Maybe. It depends if I’ve got the money.’
‘You don’t need a lot of money,’ he says, his eyes bright and his face flushed from the steam coming off the food. ‘Remember Marcus? He’s been travelling for ages now. He –’
My phone is buzzing in the front pocket of my jeans. I must have forgotten to turn it off after Nick phoned. What an idiot. I can’t ignore it because after the buzzing it will start playing music. Man or Muppet, in fact, if it’s Adam. I’ve got to change that.
Nick’s talking about Skype-ing with Marcus – Marcus who, when me and Nick were together, once put his hand down the back of my jeans to see what kind of knickers I was wearing. I hate Marcus.
‘Excuse me,’ I say. I take my phone out and see Adam’s name.
‘Hey,’ I say.
‘Hi!’ he says. ‘God, I was starting to worry.’
I mime ‘I’m taking this outside’ to Nick and head out of the bar. It’s got much more crowded since we arrived and, as I walk through, I can hear Adam talking but not what he’s saying. I step out onto the street and the cold hits me like a physical thing. Like I’ve walked into a sheet of glass. Really cold fucking glass.
‘Hang on, Ad,’ I say. ‘It’s freezing out here.’
I start shivering pretty much immediately and look around for somewhere to shelter. To the right there’s another bar with people sitting outside, smoking. There’s a doorway a couple of buildings down in the other direction, which should give me a bit of shelter, so I step in and press back as far as I can, snuggling in to myself, the phone tight against my ear.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say. ‘It was too noisy in the bar and it’s really cold out here.’
‘What bar are you in?’ he asks. Shit.
‘Oh just the hotel bar. It’s rubbish, but really busy.’
‘Oh, I didn’t even know it had a bar,’ he says. ‘Cool.’
Right. The hotel I’m meant to be staying in doesn’t have a bar. By the look of it online it barely had a reception.
‘It’s not really in the hotel, it’s just a bar you can use, you know. Like the pool in Spain.’
He laughs, as I knew he would. ‘Are you as cold now as you were in that pool?’
‘Colder, if you can believe that.’
We went away last summer – our one and only holiday together – and stayed in really shitty apartments that had use of the next door hotel’s pool. Which, despite the weather being perfect, was so cold we were constantly surprised not to have to chip ice off the top to get in.
‘But you’re having a good time?’ Adam asks.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I am.’ I picture him sitting on his sofa, his laptop balanced on the arm and a pile of uni books on the seat next to him.
‘How’s your dissertation going?’ I say.
Adam gets as far as ‘It’s OK, I think I –’ when Nick appears in front of me. He’s holding my coat and I step forward and put one arm in and then, swapping sides with the phone, the other. He winks at me and goes back to the restaurant. What was I saying when he appeared? What was the last thing I said? What might he have heard? I asked Adam about his dissertation so he’s going to know it was Adam. But that’s all. I slump against the wall.