Page 83 of The Key to My Heart

‘Love it.’ Roxanne laughed. ‘I’m Roxanne. Natalie’s friend.’ Then she’d turned to me and said, ‘And speaking of, where have you been, Mrs Fincher? Avoiding us?’ and before I could reply, she’d clopped off.

Luckily, we’ve been seated away from them at the other end of the table, and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’mrelieved. It’s not that I haven’t missed my friends. But I know Roxanne, and I know that look she gave me. She wanted to provoke something. She wanted excuses as to why I haven’t been in touch, and I am not in the mood tonight, to watch her listen to my excuses, looking for holes in them, like they’re alibis and she’s an ex-cop.

‘How did you explain by the way?’ says Tom now. ‘Our little arrangement in Avocado Clash.’

‘Oh, I didn’t. I just said we bumped into each other again and you apologised for standing me up. Think I told them you had a bad stomach bug.’

‘Great,’ he says. ‘What a glowing review.’

‘Well, if I tell them my ways, they’ll never believe me when they set me up again and then what’ll I do?’

‘You’ll have to start an apocalypse, I suppose, ensure all the men die,’ says Tom. ‘Or marry Joe. A marriage of convenience, you know? I think they’d lay off you then.’

I force a smile, but I feel cold at the mention of Joe. And it’s not just his lies. It’s the fact I fell for them – went along with his little ‘fixer’ ideas and was bounding around, grinning from ear to ear, saying to Priya, ‘Oh, he’s myfriend, Priya. Stop being such a worrier. Look! He bought me pasta! He sent me a photo of an aging Rockstar! He has nothing but a heart of gold.’ I should’ve listened to her, and I’m sure once I do tell her, she’ll say she knew that day in the shop, that something wasn’t quite right.

We all wait for Lucy now, chatting among ourselves and Tom and I move effortlessly into easy conversation. I was worried that it might feel different today, becauseof what I’m keeping from him, that he’d see it on my face like he always does, despite how hard I’m working tonight at portraying the act of‘Natalie is Fine’.But it’s like it normally is. Easy. Safe. Fun. We’re strangers who met in a bar. We met by accident. And yet, we talk like we’ve been perfectly wired to, just for each other. And, of course, as usual, he looks good tonight. Impeccably turned out and just … classically handsome. ‘Like something out of an M&S billboard,’ I’d said when I met him at the train station and he’d said, ‘Colin the Caterpillar, you mean?’

Lucy soon arrives and gives the best faux look of surprise I’ve ever seen. Of course, she knew about this. Lucy always knows everything. She probably even called ahead, oversaw the table settings. Nevertheless, she beams at us like we’ve just solved world hunger in her name. ‘You guys areamazing.And you.’ She smiles at me, bringing her hands together at her chest. ‘I’m so happyyou’rehere.’

‘Of course I am.’

‘No, I mean it. Anchor her to that chair, Tom.Don’tlet her out of it.’

And although everyone laughs, I know she means it. There’s a barbed tone to her voice. A barbed tone that says, ‘I’ll have my eye on you. Don’t let me down in front of everyone.’

We order food and drinks, and after a couple of drinks, I lean into the evening. And … maybe it’s going to be okay. Things might feel hard and uncertain right this second, but itwillbe okay. That’s one thing I’m learning.All the times I thought I wouldn’t be okay, I was. I’m still here. I’m at this table. Time has passed and I’m still here. And so will Tom be, so will Shauna, regardless of how hard times might get, for a little while. Then a hand lands on Tom’s arm from beside him.

‘Excuse me,’ she says. She’s beautiful, the woman sitting next to him, and I recognise her instantly. She’s Lucy’s work colleague – I’ve seen her on Instagram and Facebook posts. Gigi, I think her name is. She looks like the nanny from any movie (besides, perhaps, McPhee). The sort of nanny you’d fear for your marriage at the arrival of.

‘This might sound a bit weird, especially if I’m wrong, but did you do the Sanderson wedding? You know – the big, over-the-top do at—’

‘The British Library?’

‘Yes!’

‘That was me, indeed,’ smiles Tom, and Gigi gasps, presses a delicate hand to her heart.

‘Oh my God, I was there. You took the most amazing photo of me and my girlfriends.’

Girlfriends. I hate people who saygirlfriends.

‘Oh, wow, well – pleased to help. That wedding was …’ Tom looks into his glass as if he needs something stiff just to cope with the memory.

‘Ajoke?’ offers Gigi and I can see by Tom’s face that he’s slightly titillated. He likes this sort of thing. The sharp, out-of-nowhereness.

‘I was going to say full on, but I reckon I’m safe enough out of contract now to say I don’tagreewithyou, but I also don’t disagree.’ He laughs. Holds his hand out, just like he did to me at the bar, when we first met. ‘I’m Tom.’

‘Tom.’ She takes his hand and looks up at him, all glittery-eyed. ‘I’m Georgina. But people call me Gigi.’

‘Of course they fuckin’ do,’ I say under my breath, and Lucy’s auntie beside me says, ‘What’s that, love?’ and I say, ‘The potatoes. The potatoes here arelovely.’

Lucy’s auntie Val is wonderful, don’t get me wrong. She’s a dream. She’s kind and sweet, but she has talked endlessly aboutCoronation Streetfor the last half an hour, and to the side of me, Tom andGigihave not taken a single breath from the longest conversation ever recorded. Looking at them, it’s clear to see why it’s called chins wagging – their mouths haven’t stopped. It’s a mile a minute, and just when I think the conversation is coming to a close, they startagain.And they’ve discussed everything. Food, hairdressers, France, sodding micro-pigs, and all of it sounding so boring. I wonder if Tom’s thinking the same as me, as Gigi tells him about every single accommodation she lived in when working in France, from address, to initial deposit amount. Meanwhile, I … well, I’ve eaten about fifty-six tons of food just for something to do. The waiter keeps looking at me, with admiration, like I’m someone who has just broken the world record. I’m expecting a trophy soon, shaped like a giant chicken skewer.

Gigi stands, brushing a hand down the stomach of a tiny cream-coloured dress. ‘Need the loo.’ she smiles atTom. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

She slinks off into the bustle of the restaurant, and Tom turns to me.

I make a face, a huge cartoonish grimace, but he grins.

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