Page 77 of The Key to My Heart

‘Carl says you should probably speak to Tom, as he’s your friend,’ says Jodie calmly. ‘But not tonight.’

‘It’s a huge family issue,’ Carl is saying in the background. ‘Nothing can be gained from causing drama and pain tonight. But, ultimately, it’s her choice. They do need to know. They’re Natalie’s friends, and it’s what she would want too, if it was the other way around.’

A wave of cheers sounds from inside, and I nod, in the darkness to nobody. I think about myself – and, of course, Edie and Russ sleeping together isnothingcompared to Shauna and Don – but it was the not knowing that hurt the most. The lie.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ calls the deep, sing-songy voice of the DJ from inside, ‘please welcome, one of many dances owed, and dances to come: Don and Shauna Madden on their thirtieth anniversary.’ A happy, upbeat swing song begins and there’s an eruption of applause.

‘Thank you,’ I say, down the phone. ‘I’ll take your advice. I think. God, I feel sick, Jodie.’

‘I bet you do,’ says Jodie. ‘What an absoluteshitthat husband is, as well.’

‘The worst.’

‘Are you going to be okay, Nat?’

‘Fine,’ I say, but my voice quivers, and I’m not sure I believe myself. ‘I’ll see you Monday. At the shop.’

‘And Carl says in the end, you should go with what feels right,’ adds Jodie. ‘You’ll know, when it comes to it. The right thing to do …’

An hour later, I find Tom sitting outside on the steps of the entrance, by the big, sweeping driveway, his phoneand camera beside him on the sandstone. The spotlights bordering the gravel drive casts a warm glow over the cold ground, and a few paces beyond, where the estate is and the acres of forest begin, is so dark, it’s as if someone has put a huge matte-black screen up, cutting us off from the rest of the world.

‘I’ve been looking for you,’ I say, moving through the entrance carefully, a drink in each hand. I’ve got a cocktail. I think I need it. I think even bloody Roy next door would agree that I need it, after tonight.

Tom looks around at me and smiles widely, and it hurts a little – like a small dagger in my chest. I hate that I know what I know.

‘I was looking for you too actually,’ says Tom. ‘Then I found you getting talked at by Jason and I had to leave you there, sorry. You looked positivelygrave. Didn’t want to inflict that on myself.’

I laugh, lower myself next to him on the cold steps. ‘Yeah, he is extremely drunk and talking about how he feels soulmates were invented by the illuminati.’ I hold out his drink. ‘Or Richard Curtis. One or the other. I wasn’t really paying attention.’

Tom laughs. ‘Is this a—’

‘Whisky sour, like at Avocado Clash,’ I smile. ‘And I … I have a margarita. Well, a non-alcoholic one. It’stradish.’

‘Thanks,’ he smiles. ‘Tradish, indeed.’

We sip quietly, nothing but the sound of distant, muffled music from inside. It’s silent really, out here, in the middle of the countryside. You could hear a pin drop. And it feels almost alien and wrong, not to tellhim, out in this silence, beneath the starry night sky, with so much space between us waiting to be filled.

‘So, come on, then. How do you think my toast went?’ Tom asks. ‘Not too bad, was it?’

‘I thought it was perfect,’ I say. ‘Seriously. Not a foot wrong. And your mum, oh mygosh—’

‘She loved it, didn’t she?’

‘Completely. I thought she was going to explode with happiness.’

Tom nods gently. ‘Yeah, I’m glad I did it,’ he says, and he tips his head to the sky. It’s one big navy silken sheet tonight, splattered with thousands and thousands of stars, the moon amongst them, like the centrepiece – beautiful and round, maple smudges blurring its edge. ‘So,’ he adds, ‘any music lately?’

‘Yep,’ I reply, ‘this week actually. Train-themed, which was funny.’

‘Interesting.’

‘And I’d never played it before, so that was also fun. And it sort of reminded me – I haven’t learned anything new in a while. It was nice just … getting to know a new song, hesitating over the notes, and then, boom, it finally clicks and you feel like – I dunno. The Jesus Christ of piano.’

Tom gives a deep chuckle. ‘Well, that’s cool, Foxes,’ he says softly. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

Distant headlights light up a strip of the dark, hazy grounds as a car enters the estate. Tom and I watch as it approaches, its wheels crunching on the gravel, and turns the corner, disappearing again behind the estate, into the car park.

‘That moon is something tonight,’ says Tom, and he slowly reaches for his camera, angles it and brings it to his face. ‘I’ve been so focused on getting ready for this exhibition that I’ve missed … this. Just – you know. Knee-jerk stuff. Justah, shit, what a shot, I’ve gotta get it.You know? Those moments that just arise. Perfect, random moments …’

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