Page 67 of The Key to My Heart

Joe gives a reluctant smile, and when we hug goodbye, he holds on longer than I expect and, for a second, I feel suffocated.

By the time I’m outside, I feel totally sad. Like I’m a deflated balloon of a woman, bobbing along the pavement with a handbag and a nice (but agonising) pair of shoes. I don’t know why. There’s too much spinning around in my head, too many things I feel that I don’t know how to articulate, to form in an orderly sentence—

‘Natalie?’

I stop on the pavement and turn. Tom is jogging across the road to me, in the dark. The Underworld is lit up behind him, buzzing with excited, smiling people, smoking outside, chatting, laughing. It’s like being on the other side of the glass, looking into a kingdom I don’t have the keys to.

‘Are you off already?’

My heart jumpstarts as Tom steps forward, and a part of me wants to fall into him. To have him put his arms around me, which is ridiculous, because a moment ago, a hug made me feel like I was stuck under water.

‘I don’t feel very well,’ I lie.

‘Ah, shit, do you want me to … I dunno, we could jump in a cab—’

‘Tom, you’re on adate—’

‘So?’ Tom shrugs, holds his palms out at his side. ‘You’re my mate. Right?’

Words stay jammed in my mouth, queuing but stuck, like on a broken conveyor belt, and I don’t reply. I suddenly feel overwhelmed. The city, the bustle of a Saturday night. Joe inside. Tom, out here, a beautiful date, waiting for him on the other side of the street. It’s a wave, that just crashed over me, on that sticky, sweaty floor. It didn’t feel like it used to in there. And then I saw Tom and I felt lifted. Then … Amy. Was it Amy? Did Amy make me feel like this?Oh, God, I’m so confused.

‘Look, why don’t we go and grab a cup of coffee or something somewhere.’

‘I just want to go home, Tom.’

‘Maybe it was all too much. Maybe we can just—’

‘I don’t need you,’ I blurt. As soon as I’ve said it, I regret it. But it shoots out of me like a bullet, and it feels like a release. It feels like protection.

‘I wasn’t—’

‘I don’t need you to look after me,’ I say, and my voice wobbles. ‘I don’t need your advice. On houses. On music. On … on … my life.’

Tom says nothing. His broad chest rises with a deep breath and he looks down at his feet. ‘Natalie, I wasn’t trying to … I just wanted to know you were okay.’

‘I don’t want it,’ I say, and as I do, a group of women thunder by us in a gust of perfume and heels, chattering and giggling. They’re in Grease fancy dress, and one ofthem has styled their hair like Kenickie’s and is wearing a leather jacket with ‘T-Bird’ on the back.

And my heart, right there, sinks. I’m here. I’m here and I’mstuckhere, and everyone else is outthere. Joe brought me here tonight. Joe, who I like being with. And yet, here I still am, unable to move my feet from this fucking mud I’m stuck in. And what? I’m jealous of …Amy?

‘Seriously. Please just go.’

Tom quietly brings a hand to his chin, rubs it with his thumb and forefinger. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘You want me to go?’

‘Yes. I do. Go back to your date.’

Tom hesitates, then turns, and I’m surprised, in a way, although relieved, when he starts to cross the road, back to the club. I watch him walk away, with every beat of my heart thumping and thumping like a slow drum, and turn, head for the tube station. I feel sorry for him. I feel sorry forme.What am I doing?

I scan my Oyster card and enter the hot, gassy tube station, and let the escalator take me down, swallow me up. On the busy platform, I wait. Six minutes for the next tube to Tottenham Hale. I start to shiver then, and pull my jacket tighter around me, although it isn’t from the temperature. I’m just lost. I’m so lost, and it’s freezing me to the bone. Everything I feel.

My ears whoosh from the music, and my head throbs. Maybe you can’t go back. Maybe Tom is right.

More and more commuters drift through the entrance, slowly crowding the platform, tight minidresses andsuits. People going home, ending their night, people only just starting theirs. Someone in the crowd starts shouting, singing, and someone tells him to be quiet, and they all erupt into laughter. Two people a few paces away kiss, their hands gripping one another’s at their thighs. I imagine that’s me. I imagine that’s Joe with his hands on me. I imagine it’s—

‘Tom?’

Tom appears next to me, on the squashed, crowded platform.

‘Had to grab my jacket,’ he says, breathlessly, and I know he must’ve run here.

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