Page 68 of The Key to My Heart

‘What are you—’

‘Anyone ever tell you you’re a bit of a dickhead?’ he says.

I stare at him. ‘W-what?’

‘You heard. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bit of a dickhead?’

A laugh – a strangled scoff falls from my mouth, but tears still film my eyes. ‘I … well, I—’

‘Because you are. I mean, most of the time you’re an angel, but, right now, Natalie.’ He cocks his head to the side. ‘Bit of a dickhead.’

I stare at Tom beside me on the tube platform, more and more people arriving, joining us, like lemmings.

The sign above our heads changes toTottenham Hale: 3 minutes.

‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ I say, and, suddenly, it rushes through me. This – feeling. The warm, zingy feeling. It rushes through me like a wave. And I stride, close thetiny gap between us, put my arms around him tightly, around his warm neck. He brings his arms around my body, pulling me into him. His body, warm, firm, strong. And it feels so nice to be held by him. Proverbially. Literally. ‘Thank you,’ I say into his chest.

Tom draws back and looks down at me, a tiny smile on his lips. ‘For telling you you’re a dickhead?’

‘For coming after me.’

‘Yeah, well,’ he says, with a lift of his shoulder. ‘Just Tom. Remember?’

The distant rumble of the tube approaches and I let go of Tom, step back. A voice on the tannoy advises,Stand clear of the doors, as a rush of wind lifts my hair from my shoulders.

‘You okay from here?’ he says. ‘I can ride with you, if you like.’

‘No, I’m good.’

‘Really,really?’

‘Really.’

‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Safe journey, then.’

The tube pulls in, people spill out, and I watch him as he walks away. Then I call his name. He stops and turns.

‘Sorry,’ I say, across the platform.

Someone eyes me, like I might be about to cause a public scene, as he squeezes by me to get on the train.

‘Do you like Dishoom?’ I call out.

The corner of his mouth twitches. ‘Who doesn’t?’

‘I have this thing. In a few weeks. A thirtieth. I really don’t want to go.’

Stand clear of the doors.

Tom smiles and looks momentarily down at his feet. ‘I’ll be there,’ he calls back, and as I turn away, the tube doors bleeping, Tom shouts my name. ‘Mum’s anniversary,’ he says. ‘I’ve got to make a toast and—’

‘I’ll be there,’ I say.

And as I slide through the closing gap of the doors, a girl with her arms inside her boyfriend’s jacket sticks her leg through the gap, causing the doors to stay open for me.

‘Thank you,’ I say, and she smiles.

I watch Tom disappear from the platform through the window, a little spark, there and then gone.

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