Chapter 26

Beth

By the time we’d made it off the London Eye, the sun had disappeared behind the clouds and the temperature had dropped. I was glad I had my jacket, which conveniently tucked away into a small bag that fitted easily into my backpack.

‘It’s getting chilly,’ Nick said, looking to the sky as if searching for answers about what it had planned for the rest of the day. ‘I should have brought a jacket. You’d think as a meteorologist who’s lived in London their whole life I’d know better.’

I had learned the hard way that Australia’s autumn and spring temperatures were not the same as those in London. My first trip to London was in an April, when I wrongly assumed light sweaters, T-shirts and jeans would suffice. After enduring the freezing elements for days, I finally relented and bought a woollen jumper, thick tights, a scarf and gloves to protect me from the elements.

‘My place isn’t far from Kensington Palace. Do you mind if we duck in quickly so I can grab my jacket?’ Nick asked, crossing his arms for warmth.

‘Of course not,’ I replied, happy to have an opportunity for a nosy at where he lived. ‘I can hang back, if you need to rush ahead to stash any dead bodies you’ve got lying around.’

‘No need,’ he replied with a coy grin. ‘The trash went out this morning.’

We took the tube, which offered some welcome respite from the plummeting air temperature, and then emerged from the underground station as big heavy raindrops started to tumble.

‘This way,’ Nick said dashing off up the street. ‘It’s not far.’

We arrived at his front door a few minutes later, both puffing but only slightly wet. Nick led me through a lovely light foyer and up the stars to his flat. We stepped into a large, light room, with a modern white marble kitchen on one side and a tastefully decorated lounge area on the other. The dark timber parquetry floor was stunning.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said, rushing to put a plate, which carried a scattering of toast crumbs, and an empty coffee cup in the dish drawer under the island bench. The rest of the room was immaculate. But it wasn’t just that it was tidy; there was a sense of precision and order that reminded me of my house. The few items stuck to the front of his fridge were arranged neatly and evenly spaced; it certainly wasn’t the haphazard jumble of mismatched fridge magnets and old electricity bills that my parents had. And I was impressed to see a whiteboard meal planner set his culinary intentions for the week. I tried not to smile when I saw ‘fried rice’ had been crossed off and replaced by a big circled star on the night we met at the pub.

‘I was in a hurry to get out the door this morning to come and see you, so I didn’t quite get to putting my breakfast dishes away.’

‘Are you kidding? I grew up in a house that could have been in an episode of Hoarders,’ I said. ‘This place is amazing.’

Apart from a large television mounted opposite a plush cream couch, the walls of the rooms were bare. A thriving fiddle-leaf fig occupied one corner of the room, while a bookshelf ran the length of the opposite wall. I moved towards it for a closer look; I have always thought you could tell everything you needed to know about a person by the books they kept.

The top two-thirds housed all the usual suspects: biographies of noted world leaders and sporting heroes, a couple of the classics, a number of New York Times bestsellers and an impressive collection of travel guides. The books were interspersed with a few framed photos and a selection of small ornaments. The bottom two rows were a block of sunflower yellow, created by what I immediately recognised as the spines of National Geographic magazines.

‘Have you lived here long?’ I asked.

‘Sort of,’ he replied, making his way through the lounge to one of two closed doors. ‘I’ve lived here for about five years. But it’s been in my family for a while. My family …’ He paused as if carefully selecting his words. ‘… has a few properties around the place.’

From what Gran had told me, it didn’t surprise me that his family would hold an extensive real estate portfolio. While he needn’t have downplayed his family’s wealth on my account, I appreciated he didn’t flash it around. In my experience, this spoke to how much they had.

Nick entered the room off the lounge, leaving the door open just enough for me to spot a bed with a light grey linen cover, which had been roughly pulled up over the mattress, and a stack of books on one of the bedside tables.

He appeared a few moments later with a jacket in hand and three scarves – one black, one grey and one blue-and-maroon striped.

‘Do you think you’ll want a scarf?’ he offered, holding out the selection of scarves for me to choose one.

I was touched by his thoughtfulness. I thanked him, took the black one and wrapped it around my neck. It was incredibly soft – a quick check of the label told me it was cashmere – and it carried the subtle spiced notes of his aftershave. I inhaled deeply. He draped the grey scarf across his shoulders.

‘Is that your soccer team?’ I asked, pointing to the blue-and-maroon scarf he’d placed on the arm of the couch with the amount of care that might be afforded to a sleeping baby or an unexploded ordnance.

‘Soccer? You mean football,’ he said with a smirk. ‘Yes. I’ve been a mad Aston Villa fan since … forever. I live for their games, actually.’

I nodded noncommittally. I knew nothing about soccer, but being Australian, I understood the hold that sports teams have on people.

‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom before we go?’

He directed me to the guest bathroom, which was as tastefully decorated as the rest of the apartment. His home was distinctly masculine. But unlike the shared houses I had experienced through Jarrah over the years, where ‘masculine’ was an adjective used to describe a space where giant pyramids were constructed out of beer cans, bongs doubled as vases, and milk crates were used for everything from coffee tables to bed bases, this apartment was the epitome of masculine sophistication.

As I entered the bathroom, I noticed his copy of Toilet Paper Origami was perched on the edge of the vanity. I immediately looked to the current toilet paper roll and saw the next few sheets had been folded several times to create an impressive origami swan. Despite it being a waterbird, it seemed such a shame to send it down the waterways, so I reached for one of the spare rolls in the basket next to the toilet instead.

‘Impressive swan,’ I said as I emerged from the bathroom. ‘It’s great to see the universe’s plan for you to become a renowned toilet paper artist is really working out.’

‘Oh yes, thanks,’ he replied coyly. ‘I’m glad you appreciate it. I went thought half a roll perfecting that.’

As we emerged from his building we found the rain has stopped, but it felt like the temperature had taken another dive. We continued towards Kensington Palace, hands in our pockets, and chatted about everything from Meghan Markle to his attempt at the London Marathon (which robbed him of eight of his toenails and the ability to walk up or down stairs for a fortnight). I had become accustomed to people searching the room for someone more interesting with whom to speak, or becoming distracted by other things, but he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.

Apart from the thirty minutes he’d spent with his eyes clenched shut on the London Eye, Nick looked at me when I spoke. Directly at me. Even if it meant craning his neck, or turning backwards. I enjoyed the feeling of being seen and heard.

A trio of men, all wearing broad grins and duplicates of the blue-and-maroon scarf Nick had left at his apartment, were making their way towards us.

‘Hello mate,’ said one of the men.

I looked to Nick, who was shaking his head and smiling in warm recognition. ‘Hello, lads. Fancy seeing you here.’

Nick extended his hand to the man who’d first greeted us. They joined hands and pulled each other into a quick man-style hug. He repeated the ritual with the other two.

I felt an all-too-familiar itch of self-consciousness and instinctively held back. I assumed Nick wouldn’t want to introduce me to his friends or, if he did, it would only be to make it clear that I was just the granddaughter of his great-aunt’s lover and nothing else.

‘Beth,’ Nick said motioning towards me instead. ‘Come and meet these three renegades. This is Chris, Simon and Anil. We went to school together, and they’ve been making my life a nightmare ever since.’

‘Mate! You don’t know how good you’ve got it,’ Simon said, giving Nick a wry smile and moving towards me with his hand out.

‘You alright?’ he said, shaking my hand. ‘I’ve heard lots about you.’

I looked to Nick for clarification, assuming he was mistaking me for someone else.

‘Yes, it’s nice to meet you, Beth,’ Anil said, reaching in to shake my hand. ‘He’s filled our group chat with details about what you’ve been up to since you arrived.’

‘He has?’ I said, flummoxed that Nick had been talking to his friends about me.

‘I hope he’s been a gracious tour guide,’ Chris said, taking his turn to shake my hand. ‘It sounds like you might be returning the favour before too long, if Nick gets his way. I think he’s already started to pack his bags.’

Nick glared at him theatrically to indicate it was in good humour. ‘Yeah, well, I do hope to get to Australia someday. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’

I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I spotted a tinge of warmth to his cheeks. Could he have been blushing?

‘What are you two doing today that meant you couldn’t come and watch the game with us?’ Anil asked, flapping his blue-and-maroon scarf provocatively.

‘This would be the first game you’ve missed in … how long?’ asked Simon.

Nick laughed awkwardly. ‘I’ll catch the replay later. Beth has a soft spot for the royal family, so we’re headed to Kensington Palace for a tour around the gardens.’

‘Nice one,’ Anil said. ‘Well, meet up with us for a drink afterwards, if you’re keen. You too, Beth. We’d love a chance to get to know the person who has captured the attention of this one for the past few days.’

He elbowed Nick’s arm.

‘Sod off, you lot,’ Nick said playfully.

‘If we don’t see you later, Beth, it was really nice to meet you,’ Anil said. ‘I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay.’

‘Sorry about all that,’ Nick said after we’d said goodbye. ‘They can be a bit much sometimes.’

‘They seemed really nice,’ I said. ‘You’re lucky to have such good friends.’

He nodded in agreement.

‘I hope I’m not keeping you from watching the game. Please don’t feel like you’ve got to hang out with me if you’ve got other things to do,’ I continued, a sense of self-consciousness prickling at me that he might see me as a burden.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m enjoying spending time with you.’

‘Yes, but …’ I started, unable to recall a time when anyone had said that to me.

Nick grabbed my hand and stopped walking. It was the second time that day he had held my hand, but this time felt tender, not like on the London Eye when he had been hanging on as though his life depended on it.

‘I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Beth,’ he said, looking directly into my eyes. ‘It’s true that Aunt Gerry asked me to take you out that first night to show you around. But I assure you, the other times have been because I enjoy your company.’

‘Well, as long as you’re sure,’ I said, comforted by his unwavering gaze. ‘I’m enjoying spending time with you too.’

We resumed our walk towards Kensington Palace, our hands still clasped. I wondered if he’d forgotten that they were, while I could think of nothing else.