Everything I’d ever heard about the opera was true. It was dramatic and emotional and passionate, and if you didn’t have a clue what was going on, it was incredibly boring. For the first fifteen minutes, I sat patiently, waiting to get it. After that, I started looking around at the other boxes, frowning at the captivated looks on everyone else’s faces. What was wrong with me? Even Julia Roberts was moved to tears in Pretty Woman. Did I really have less emotional and cultural depth than a Hollywood Boulevard hooker?
On top of everything, it was nigh on impossible to pay proper attention to what was happening on stage when Nick had been holding on to my hand for fifty-six minutes exactly. Even though my shoulder was killing me, I was too scared to move more than an inch and every time Nick shifted in his seat, I felt a wave of warmth roll all the way over my body. It was like the lining of my dress had been replaced with a malfunctioning electric blanket. My mouth was dry but my palms were damp and I was terrified of sweating irreparably in my dress. I actually felt bad for the performers. No matter what else was happening, it was nothing compared to what wasn’t happening between Nick and me. Every breath, every movement, every time his eyelid flickered, I was aware of it all and it was all too much.
Halfway through a high note so impressive that I almost forgot to worry about whether or not I was ruining thousands of euros of borrowed silk with my mere existence, Nick suddenly pushed my hand away and shot up out of his seat. I watched, open-mouthed, as he fought with the velvet curtain for a moment before disappearing altogether. Well, I wasn’t the opera’s biggest fan either, but anyway you cut it, that was just rude. I flexed my suddenly cold, clammy hand and circled my shoulder in its socket. What had just happened? Where had he gone? Was he coming back? Amy and Kekipi seemed to be too busy giggling amongst themselves to have noticed anything and unless the occasional snore was how one was supposed to show proper appreciation for a well-presented aria, it looked like Al was fast asleep.
Fuck it! I was going after him.
The foyer was almost empty, presumably because everyone inside had spent an awful lot of money to come to the opera and they were going to stick it out until the bitter end whether they liked it or not. A bit like ordering a disappointing curry and making yourself finish it, even though every mouthful made you sad. Stepping out of my shoes, I padded around on the cool wooden floor for a moment, my feet sighing with relief as I looked for Nick. There wasn’t an overly dramatic man-child to be seen for miles.
‘Excuse me …’ I reached out to tap a passing gentleman on the arm and gave him what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘I don’t suppose you saw a man pass by just now? In a dinner jacket?’
I didn’t know if it was the language barrier or the fact that at least fifty per cent of people in the building were men wearing dinner jackets but he gave me a quick once-over and then followed up with the internationally recognized expression for ‘get off me, you mental’ and disappeared into one of the boxes. I glanced down at the black patent stilettos in my hand and reluctantly shoved them back onto my feet. If carrying your uncomfortable shoes made you an undesirable in Milan, I hoped that man never made it to Clapham on a Saturday night.
‘Because that’s likely,’ I muttered, heading for the exit and some fresh air.
But fresh air was hard to find when, right outside the exit, I found Nick pacing up and down and dragging deeply on an already half-smoked cigarette.
‘Since when do you smoke?’ I asked, hacking out a feeble cough.
‘I don’t.’ He threw his cigarette down and ground it out with his heel. ‘I quit.’
‘Looks like it,’ I said, tightening my grip on my bag in case I needed to use it as a weapon. ‘I’m so impressed by your willpower.’
‘I smoke when I’m stressed.’ Nick raked his fingers through his ashy blond hair, still pacing. ‘Is that all right?’
I shrugged, leaning against the archway that lead back inside to take the weight off my feet. ‘I’ll admit tonight wasn’t the captivating experience I was hoping for, but it’s hardly driven me to drugs.’
Nick stopped moving and stared at the ground. I followed his eyes, landing on the dying embers of his cigarette. The sun wasn’t quite set all the way but the theatre cast a shadow over the two of us and the tiny orange glow on the floor. I watched as it faded away into nothing.
‘I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,’ Nick said, finally.
Swallowing hard, I kept my eyes on the floor. ‘About what?’
‘Everything,’ he replied. ‘Work. Life. Everything.’
‘You’re doing this,’ I said, waving my hands around in the air. ‘For Al. This project.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘This is not what I do. I’m a journalist, I tell stories that need to be told. This is a trumped-up scrapbook, not a real job. I shouldn’t be here.’
‘Then why are you?’ I asked, wanting to know the answer and not wanting him to say another word in case it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
‘Because I cannot stop thinking about you!’ His voice cracked and creaked in all the right places and when I looked up, he was right in front of me. ‘I must have lost my fucking mind.’
I sucked in my bottom lip and bit down hard. ‘Just what every girl wants to hear.’
‘I promised myself, after all the shit with my ex, I wouldn’t get involved with another crazy bitch.’ Nick rolled his eyes upwards, as if he was giving his own brain a filthy look. He breathed out heavily, the air in his lungs still coloured with smoke. ‘And look at me; I’m in Milan, chasing a girl across the ocean, a girl who can’t even give me her real name. Nice work, Nick.’
His body was so close to mine, I could hear the tulle of my skirts rustling. So this was why there were never any pre-marital shenanigans in the olden days. You couldn’t get away with anything without half the house hearing it.
‘You know none of that had anything to do with you,’ I said, unexpected tears swelling against the rims of my eyes, my nose prickling. ‘And I’m not crazy or a bitch, thank you very much. But, tell me honestly, for the last time, are you going to keep beating me over the head with this? Because if you are, I don’t think I want to do this any more. This “professional” thing.’
To hell with Amy and her forbidden air quotes.
Nick reached his hand up to my face and held it, running his thumb along my cheekbone to wipe away the one wily tear that had escaped. My temper had dissolved into rapid breathing and I was coming dangerously close to hyperventilating. This dress was not designed for overly emotional situations; there was altogether too much boning. Which was ironic, when you thought about it.
‘Is this what you call being professional?’ Nick asked before pressing his lips to mine.
I gave in before I even knew, pressing my forearms against his chest, my hands wrapped around his neck. It was the closest I had ever come to a swoon in my life. With the cold stone of the opera house behind me and the solid warmth of Nick pushing up in front of me, I was completely trapped and I loved it. His kiss was softer than it had been before, still as insistent, still as passionate but altogether less certain. Through all the layers of fabric in my dress, I felt his thigh slip between mine and heard a tiny gasp escape my lips as he broke away to draw breath.
‘This is ridiculous.’ Nick pulled his arms away from me and loosened his tie, unfastening his top two buttons. I pressed a hand to my chest, holding my heart in place and putting something, even if it was one of my own limbs, between us. His skin smelled like cigarettes and shaving lotion and salt. He turned away, pulling a small white box out of his pocket and shaking out another cigarette.
‘I do wish you two would stop trying to lose us.’
Kekipi bounded down the steps like a bow-tie-wearing Labrador, breaking the painful tension between Nick and me. Amy followed him, a little less light on her feet than when we had arrived and, looking at her eyes, a lot less sober. Behind them, Al brought up the rear, scratching his head.
‘What’s wrong?’ I shifted my attention and was very thankful that ladyboners weren’t a real thing or I would have given myself away completely. ‘Is it over?’
‘It’s not over for another two hours,’ Kekipi declared with a shudder. ‘I couldn’t stand it for another second. Bored now.’
‘And we ran out of whisky,’ Amy added with a hiccup. ‘Which was a major problem.’
‘Yes, well …’ Al stuck his hands deep into his pockets and wrinkled his forehead. ‘It has been a while since I’ve attended the opera. Perhaps nostalgia has clouded my memory a little.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ I said. ‘I thought it was just me. It was really nice though, Al, getting dressed up and coming to the theatre and everything. It’s so beautiful inside.’
‘And you’re outside because?’ Amy raised a questioning eyebrow and flicked her eyes over towards Nick. ‘Bit of fresh air?’
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘God knows.’ God being Nick, obviously.
‘I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.’ Kekipi wrapped his arms around mine and Amy’s shoulders and directed me towards our waiting cars by the kerb. ‘Al, a nightcap?’
‘It’s seven-thirty,’ Al replied, looking at the cheap plastic watch under his dinner jacket. ‘I don’t think this counts as a nightcap.’
‘Fine. Al, lots of shots at a dirty dive bar I know?’
Al opened the door to the first car and jumped inside. ‘I think I’m going to pass,’ he said with a quick salute. ‘I don’t need to spend a second longer than necessary in this penguin suit. See you in the morning, gang.’
‘Should we not go home and get changed?’ I asked, concerned once again for my dress and potential new arsehole.
‘Hell, no.’ Kekipi took my hand and pushed me, bum first, into the car. ‘Tuesday nights are always more fun in formal wear. Are you joining us, Mr Miller?’
Nick still stood a way away from the action, inhaled on his cigarette once more and then threw it into the street. ‘Why not?’ he replied, striding over to the car. ‘I could use a drink.’
‘This should be fun!’ Amy quickly clambered into the car next to me before Nick could take his seat, forcing him round to the front. ‘Let’s get hammered.’
‘You know, I’m really tired,’ I whispered in her ear while Kekipi gave the driver directions in perfect Italian. ‘And there’s some weird stuff going on with Nick. I think we should just have one and then head back; we’ve got an early start in the morning.’
‘Totally,’ Amy agreed, patting my knee. ‘That’s exactly what we’ll do. One quick drink, in bed by ten.’
‘Perfect.’ I settled in and smiled, relieved. ‘I love it when you see sense.’
‘I love this song so much!’ I yelled, clinging to Kekipi’s neck and throwing back my shot. ‘I tried to get it for a commercial I was working on but they wouldn’t give the rights, the bastards.’
‘You’re so rock and roll, it hurts,’ he replied, handing me another miniature glass full of good times. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘So much fun,’ I nodded, before doing the second shot and banging the empty glass down on the bar. Or was it my third? Might have been my fourth. I couldn’t quite remember. ‘This place is great! Milan is great! Italy is great! Being a photographer is great!’
‘You’re great,’ he said while I clicked my invisible camera all around the bar. At Amy, dancing on a table; at my new friends Gino and Francesca, who I had met in the queue for the toilets; at the laughing bartenders; at the half-empty bottle of champagne in Kekipi’s hand. And at Nick, leaning against the bar, chatting to a random brunette. Hmm. Lowering my camera, I reached out for my champagne glass and sipped in the most ladylike fashion I could muster. Which wasn’t that ladylike.
‘Have you given any more thought to what you’ll do at the end of the week?’ Kekipi asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face. ‘To what you’re going to tell your friend?’
‘It’s haaaaaaard.’ I stretched out the ‘a’ as far as I could to make sure Kekipi knew I was serious. ‘Because I love advertising but I really love photography too.’
I stretched out the ‘ooooooo’ in love as well, just in case I wasn’t making myself completely clear.
‘I can see how the lure of sitting behind a desk and trying to negotiate the rights to Miley Cyrus songs could be just as creatively fulfilling as travelling the world and taking beautiful photographs,’ Kekipi nodded. ‘It must be a nightmare for you.’
‘No one understands,’ I said, shaking my head firmly from side to side. ‘I do love it. It’s good. It’s like, you get a brief or someone says “make my baked beans exciting” and no one thinks baked beans can be exciting but you find a way to make them the most exciting baked beans ever …’ I paused to give him a good poke in the chest. ‘Ever though, like the most exciting in the world. And you win! You win the job and then you see your ad on telly in the middle of Coronation Street and it’s brilliant and you know you’ve done a good job. I like knowing I’ve done a good job.’
‘Then explain to me,’ he removed the finger that was still jabbing him in the chest and pushed my arm back down to my side, ‘why you like photography so much.’
‘Because it’s good too.’ I took another tiny sip of champagne and hiccupped immediately. ‘Because it’s just the camera and me showing everyone else what we can see. It’s the same. But different.’
‘The same but different?’
‘It’s telling stories,’ I said. ‘It’s all telling stories.’
‘And speaking of stories,’ Kekipi unfastened his bow tie and began wrapping it around his fingers into a tidy bundle before popping it into his jacket pocket, ‘what on earth happened with you and Mr Miller last night?’
‘I am still very angry about that.’ I resumed pointing. And then drinking. And then pointing. ‘That was a shitty thing to do.’
‘Amy and I consulted and we felt that a conversation needed to occur.’ He pushed my arm back down again. ‘I apologize for my devious nature – just this once. But seriously, dish. What happened?’
‘He went mental.’ I looked back across the bar to see Nick still talking to the random brunette. She was far too pretty for me to be OK with the situation. Very long legs. Really good tits. Clearly the devil.
‘Expand?’
‘He’s angry that I lied to him.’ I forced my eyes back to my big gay bestie and away from Nick’s Sophia Loren-lookalike. ‘And he said he could never be with me. But then tonight, outside the opera …’
‘Go on?’
‘We had a bit of a snog-type thing,’ I admitted to a round of delighted applause. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. Can I have another drink?’
‘You can have two.’ He filled my champagne glass until the bubbles overflowed and trickled down my fingers. ‘It’s quite obvious what’s going on here: he’s punishing you. He’s hurt, his ego is in tatters and he’s punishing you. Straight men are so cliché.’
‘You think?’ I puckered up my lips to meet the champagne glass as early as possible and still managed to spill it down the front of my dress. Thankfully, Kekipi had his eyes on Nick and Sophia.
‘Honey,’ he topped off his own champers and smiled, ‘I told you once that you were my hero; you’re playing this just right.’
‘Wasn’t that the time I kicked that awful man in the balls and then threw up in my hair?’
‘He was a terrible homophobe,’ Kekipi reasoned. ‘You threw up in your hair? I’m sure you just had half a McChicken sandwich in there.’
‘Either way …’ I stared at the champagne flute in my hand, glanced over at Amy on the tabletop and suddenly realized this was all a huge mistake.
‘No, you’ve been perfect until now,’ Kekipi continued. ‘You stay detached and distant, show how much you don’t care, and it’ll drive him crazy. Don’t give an inch.’
‘But I passed out in a garden last night and woke up without my shoes,’ I stage-whispered over the music. ‘I think maybe I do care.’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t need to know that, does he?’ he said with a sigh. ‘You’re so lucky you found me. Now drink that drink and get your bestie off that table before she breaks her neck and kills herself. Or worse, tears her dress.’
Taking my orders, I marched across the bar, only bashing my hip against two chairs as I went. The bar was already dark and tiny and aside from our awkward foursome, Gino, Francesca and Sophia Loren, the only other patrons were three older Italian gentlemen who really didn’t look to me like they cared for random English girls dancing on their tables. Or gay Hawaiian men paying the bartender two hundred euros to play music from his iPhone. They just did not come off as Miley Cyrus fans.
‘Amy!’ I shouted, holding on to the back of a chair so that I didn’t fall down when I looked up. My centre of gravity was seriously compromised by my heels. And the shots. And the champagne. ‘Get down, you’re going to break your neck.’
‘Fuck off, Mum,’ she shouted back, kicking in the general direction of my face and thankfully missing. ‘I’m having fun.’
‘Please?’
‘No.’
‘For me?’
‘No.’
‘Kekipi wants to tell us some stories about secret gay celebrities.’
Scrambling to her knees and then down onto her bum and finally her feet, Amy grabbed her handbag from underneath the table and gripped my arm as though it was about to fall off.
‘Tell me it’s neither of the Ryans?’ she pleaded with big blue eyes.
I gave her an elaborate and dramatic shrug and watched her scuttle across the bar as fast as her feet would carry her. Which was, to be fair, much faster than mine would, even out of heels.
Sinking into the nearest seat, I couldn’t stop myself from staring over at Nick. There he was, all smiles and charm, still talking to the Italian woman. He had taken off his tie in the car and the top three buttons of his shirt were undone and even though I couldn’t see it, I knew the woman he was talking to was being treated to flashes of his toned, tanned skin and the light scattering of blond hair across his chest and it made me crazy.
Just admit it, the voice in my head was back again. You’re gagging for it.
‘Where is the rubber duck when you need him?’ I said, wishing I’d brought my drink with me, even though the room was already starting to spin. ‘I am so not gagging for it.’
And I wasn’t. I was in so much deeper than that. Every second that I sat there, watching Nick chat up another woman, I could feel myself getting darker and darker. I couldn’t bear it. It was making my skin crawl. I had sat in student unions, in bars, in restaurants, at weddings, at work and even slept in the same room as Charlie and his assorted girlfriends over the years and it had made me sad. I’d been disappointed. But did I do anything? No. I threw myself into my work and ignored it, hoping it wouldn’t last long. It never did. But this … this was terrifying. I felt a hair’s breadth away from frenzy. If that woman touched so much as a hair on Nick’s head, I didn’t know what I would do. And in that moment, it was all so clear. I saw him, I saw myself, I saw everything.
The woman leaned over and rested her hand on Nick’s arm and, laughing like a madwoman while I stared like a psycho, I was on my feet before I even knew where my feet were.
‘Right, that’s it!’ I shouted, kicking my shoes across the room. ‘Get off him. Get right off!’
Since there were only thirteen people in the bar, including the staff, it wasn’t hard to get everyone’s attention, even over Miley. In fact, she probably could have walked through the door and twerked herself silly and no one would have noticed.
‘Scusi?’ The woman looked appropriately startled as I threw myself in between her and Nick, elbowing him backwards to make room. ‘Nick, this is your friend?’
‘No,’ I answered for him. ‘I’m not his bloody friend.’
‘She’s not,’ he confirmed. ‘Definitely not. Tess, what are you doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ I could hear myself slurring and couldn’t quite work out why. Everything sounded fine in my head. ‘But I know what I’m not doing. I’m not sitting over there while you stand here, being all Mr Charming Arse and flirting with this woman!’
I patted her on the shoulder and smiled as apologetically as I could.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘This is a whole big thing. It’s not your fault you’re the sea witch.’
‘The sea witch?’ She was confused. It was sad.
‘Yeah, it’s this whole Disney thing,’ I explained, waving my arms around in the air. Was it me or had my hair got bigger? ‘Amy will explain it to you.’
‘Amy?’
‘Really, this doesn’t concern you,’ I said, turning my attention to Nick. ‘It concerns you. And your “I’m not interested but I am interested but I’m not interested” bollocks.’
‘Are we really going to do this now?’ Nick asked through gritted teeth. ‘Because I’d really rather not.’
‘I don’t give two shits about what you’d rather do,’ I wailed. ‘I waited for someone to make his mind up for ten years, Nick. Ten years. And now I’m supposed to sit there like some twat and wait for you to decide what you want? No way. Forget that.’
Somewhere in the bar, I heard Amy cheering.
‘You told me how you felt and I listened and I’ve gone along with your hot-and-cold headfuck of an attitude until now but enough is enough!’ I stamped my bare foot on the bar floor to prove my point. ‘I like you. I more than like you. Actually, I think I probably might that other word you, but I can’t say it here and I’m not going to say it because you’re awful and you can’t make your mind up and you’re just messing with me and my foot hurts.’
I looked down at the floor, trying to pick up my foot and bend down to check it out, all at the same time. First mistake. The second was grabbing hold of the front of Sophia Loren’s dress to stop myself from falling when I inevitably went over.
‘Oh shit,’ I yelped as we both toppled to the floor, me with a handful of frock, her with both boobs popping out as we went.
‘I think that’s our cue to leave.’
On my hands and knees, surrounded by too much tulle, my own blood and an empty bottle of limoncello I faintly recognized, I felt at least one pair of tiny fists beating me around the head while two bigger hands grabbed me around my waist and yanked me upwards.
‘Sorry,’ I shouted as I was hoisted onto someone’s shoulder and carried towards the door. ‘Mi scusi. Ciao Ciao!’
The cold night air was a shock. It had been so hot in the bar, and from my unconventional upside-down view, I could see it had rained while we had been inside. No wonder it was so lovely and fresh. With blood rushing to my ears, it was hard to follow the exact conversation but there were definitely two male voices involved and whatever they were discussing, we were not standing still to do it.
‘Could you please put me down, please?’ I asked, the contents of my stomach, almost entirely liquid, beginning to churn.
‘No.’
‘But I might do a sick.’
Without another word, I was immediately turned the right way round.
‘I need Amy to hold my hair,’ I said, brushing my hair out of my face and laughing as it sprang right back. ‘She holds my hair best.’
‘Amy is still in the bar, retrieving your shoes and Kekipi’s phone,’ Nick said, turning a corner and finally setting me down on the damp ground. ‘What the fuck just happened in there?’
I pouted and shrugged.
‘I got the shoes!’ I heard Amy and looked over to see her holding my heels over her head triumphantly. Altogether less triumphant was the huge red stain in the middle of her chest. Kekipi’s jaw dropped as we all stared at her. ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t been shot – that chick threw a glass of red wine at me. Probably fair.’
‘The dress!’ Kekipi reached out to lean one hand against the wall. ‘I think I’m going to faint.’
‘I’m definitely going to be sick,’ I said, kneeling down and gathering my hair behind my head.
‘They wouldn’t give me your phone,’ Amy told Kekipi, rummaging in her own tiny evening bag. ‘And I think I’ve forgotten mine.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered to Nick as he took hold of my handheld ponytail as I leaned over and threw up delicately in the gutter. Wiping my mouth on the sleeve of my dress I smiled at him. ‘I love you.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Nick crouched in front of me, his hands still holding my hair, not quite beaming back. ‘Have you got your phone to call the car?’
‘Yeah,’ I muttered, sitting up straight and pawing through my purse. ‘Here.’
Nick passed my phone to Kekipi and sighed.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ he asked. ‘What was that?’
‘You’re supposed to say “I love you” back,’ I pointed out, trying not to throw up again. My body did not care for lemon-flavoured liqueurs. ‘Or at least give me a thumbs up.’
‘No, you’re not supposed to give someone a thumbs up when they tell you they love you,’ Nick replied. ‘Not ever.’
‘Now you tell me,’ I said, taking my phone back and holding it in my hand. Squeezing the hard, sharp brick helped me focus. ‘Can we go home?’
‘The car will be here in two minutes,’ Kekipi said, bending down to rest his hand against my forehead. ‘We’ll be home in fifteen, sweetcheeks. I really do have to stop getting you drunk, don’t I?’
‘No,’ I said with much seriousness. ‘I think my tolerance is improving.’
‘You really are my hero,’ he smiled back at me. ‘Come on, let’s get you to your feet.’
It felt like we waited forever for the car to arrive but I put that down to the fact that everyone else seemed very concerned that the people from the bar were going to hunt us down and kill us. Once we were safely inside and motoring through he streets of Milan, I pulled out my phone, remembering the weird emoji-filled text from Charlie.
Not for the first time, my phone did not want to play fair. It took forever to open up the conversation and even longer before it allowed me to scan up to my last sent message. ‘Oh, fuck off,’ I muttered, pulling my hair into my face so I couldn’t see my phone. It was the perfect plan.
‘What’s wrong?’ Nick asked, stroking my hair away from my head. ‘Are you going to be sick again? Do we need to stop?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ I promised, lying through my back teeth. ‘It’s nothing.’
Impressively, I had lied twice in that short sentence. I was absolutely going to be sick again and it really wasn’t fine. Lying on the backseat of the car, resting my head in Nick’s lap, I flashed back to the night before, back to my secret garden. The reason Charlie had sent me a text message full of smiley-faced emojis was because he was happy. And the reason he was happy was because I had sent him a text message of my own.
A text message that said “I love you too” and there was not a single thumbs up emoji to be seen.