Page 62 of The Key to My Heart

The customer looks totally made up, like a proud cat, and gives a nod, before shutting the curtain again.

Priya turns to me again. ‘I just want to make sure that you get what you deserve,’ she says. ‘Maybe I’m just feeling a bit … maternal. Mama-bear style. Protective. You’re my best friend, Nat.’

Something sinks a little then, inside of me. Priya is always happy-go-lucky. Priya thinks most things – except those sexist musicians she’d see off with garlic and crucifixes in our old bar job – are great. She’s always optimistic; sunshiney. So, this doubt, this ever-so-slightly negative questioning, feels … upsetting, I suppose. Becauseshe’sbeen the one who’s been excited about Joe, while I’ve been apprehensive to call it anything at all. And nowI’mexcited about meeting Joe, about this new person in my life who totally understands me,she’scoming along with the apprehension, plus added suspicion. Irritation prickles up my back, like tiny needles.You wanted me to meet someone new, I want to say,and now I have, you’re questioning it.

‘He’s got a surprise for me tomorrow apparently,’ I say instead, and just like that, I sound like a sulky child.

‘Does he?’

‘Yep,’ I say. ‘See.Friends.Whatfriendsdo.’

‘I just love you,’ blurts Priya. ‘You’re one of the most important people in my life and I love you. I just wanted to check in to see that Hot Notebook Joe is as lovely as we thought. That’s all. Heart in the right place. You know?’

I stop, ugly blouse half-hooked into a hanger. ‘I love you, too, Pree, you know that,’ I say. ‘But I’m fine. And – balls of steel remember? Last time I checked, I still had them. I won’t be taken for a ride by anyone.’

‘Good.’ Priya smiles softly. ‘And maybe I was always going to be like this when you liked someone. It’s a step, isn’t it? A big one.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘But, Priya, I don’t even know what it is yet. I’m just happy how it is right now.’ And maybe it’ll move – move from this, to butterflies and heat and stomach sizzles and cheek-aching giggly smiles and not being able to take my eyes off him because,God, I want to sink my teeth into his jaw. But I likebeingwith Joe, and maybe that’s a start. Right?

‘Anyway. So, what do we think? Somewhere like Dishoom for Lucy’s birthday? And, Christ, will you hurry up with these bloody tops. My arms can’t take it. I swear, you’d think Jodie would have a better system. I doubtZaraworkers have to deal with this.’

‘Dishoom?’ I say. ‘Lucy’s weird though, isn’t she, with food that has actual flavour. What about the restaurant with the thing? The bandstand in the middle?’

‘The Ned. Oh, please don’t make me book The Ned. Lucy always puts on a voice when we go to The Ned.’

‘Oh,yah, what a fetching table clawth, darling. We have these back at the estaaaate, but Father thinks they’re just wretched.’

Priya and I giggle, and a sour-faced customer who has been browsing the sale rail for half an hour looks across at us over her glasses.

‘And you don’t have to book anywhere,’ I say. ‘Maybe we can just go to yours. Or mine. Order pizza. Talk about all of Lucy’s crushes and exes and our bad haircuts,’ and Priya cackles, like my suggestion is a hilarious joke. But I’m not really joking. It’s the pressure that I feel at these things that makes me not want to go. The uniformed, formal thing of couples turning up armed with gifts, in perfect outfits, and ordering three courses, and just the right amount of drinks to justify that bill split. I used to enjoy them. Not quite so much anymore. I feel like the sore-thumb. I feel like I stand out, alone. Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve seen Lucy and Roxanne. I keep making excuses. That bloody open mic night thing hangs over me like a heavy, cartoon cloud, following me around. But just us, blankets and sofas and gossip. It’s been so long.

‘I think I’m just going to bite the bullet and book Dishoom,’ says Priya.

I nod, defeated. ‘Sounds good to me,’ I reply. (‘I’ll just spend the next few weeks dreading it then, and hoping for a touch of the norovirus, that’ll be fun,’ I don’t say.)

‘Talking of Axl Rose by the way,’ adds Priya as she passes me another Bee Gees blouse, ‘the man down the road, at the bookmakers. He looks a bit like him. Doesn’t he?’

‘Does he?’

‘Yep.’ Then she leans to me and whispers, ‘Had a sleep-gasm about him. Intense-o. I’d even say the best one so far.’

Chapter Twenty

‘Now, I refuse to be held responsible when it comes to howgoodthey actually are,’ Joe had said under the stark, bright lights of the tube station entrance, ‘but a girl at work recommended themandyou said you used to see everything and everyone in between so … I thought, okay, Char and the Heart it is.’

‘Char and the Heart?’

‘I’ve not heard of them either. But if the worst comes to worst, we can have a good time hating them together? Plus, it’s them, plus another band, so, if we hate them, maybe we’ll like the other one? Straw clutching, here.’

Joe’s surprise for me is a live gig at The Underworld. We’d arranged to meet at Camden tube station at seven, and the second I saw the queue snaking around the venue, I found myself hoping it wasn’t the surprise, and hoping that it was, all at once. I haven’t been to a live show in years. And I haven’t been to one without Russ since before we even met. And the thought of stepping inside, to loud music and dark rooms, thrills and scares me all at once.

‘So, what do you really think?’ asks Joe now with a grimace, as we stand on the pavement on the other sideof the street, and I realise I’ve barely said anything since we joined the busy, noisy queue.

‘It’s … it’s great,’ I say.

‘Yeah? It’s just you’re a little quiet.’

‘I know. Sorry, Joe, it’s just … been a while since I’ve done this. That’s all. I’m nervous.’

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