Page 90 of The Key to My Heart

‘I like him. Tom. Really like him. Like – think I might be falling levels of like.’

Roxanne pulls away from me, as if to get a good look at my face, and her eyes widen. ‘Oh my God. Like – properly? Like – don’t want him to date anyone else properly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like, you wanna shag his brains out properly?’

I pause. ‘God,yes.’

‘Oh myGod,’ Lucy squeals, bouncing on her heels that clop on the hard kitchen floor. ‘I said to Carlie, I said “That Tom idolises our Natalie.” I could just see it. The way he was with you at my dinner.’

I scoff. ‘Idolises.’

‘He couldn’t take his eyes off you,’ beams Lucy. ‘I think he loves you.’

‘He’s been leaving me music. I don’t know if Priya updated you –’

They both nod, a wordless ‘duh, of course she did’.

‘Well, you know it stopped?’ From the kitchen counter behind me, I pick up the envelope. ‘Well, long story short, it was Joe. The guy I met at therapy. Then he stopped. But then it was Tom – Tom carried it on. Because he knew how happy it made me.’

‘For the spark,’ reads Roxanne. ‘Holy moly.’

I cover my face with my hands and, to my surprise, tears fall like a dam breaking, as both of my friendsgather around the envelope, holding the papers and photos in their hands, as if they’re gold bars.

‘Oh, Nat,’ Lucy says. ‘This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life.’

‘Shit me,’ adds Roxanne, ‘and now I’m going to cry.Me.’

And I feel, one by one, their arms envelop me, tightly, like we’re one knitted ball.

‘I really like him,’ I say, my mouth pressed against a mystery shoulder. ‘And there’s a part of me that feels like shit about it.’

‘Because of—’ starts Lucy and then Roxanne says, ‘Russ.’

‘No. No, you mustn’t,’ says Lucy, and then she strides back, standing like that same detective again who’s now cracked the case and is about to announce it in front of the whole town. ‘And you know what I’m going to say.’

‘What?’

‘A feather in the hand is much better than a bird in the air,’ she says, and she says it as if to a packed audience at the Harold Pinter Theatre.

‘The … the fortune cookie,’ I laugh. ‘Really?’

‘I knew it would come good,’ says Lucy, earnestly. ‘And I reckon Tom, is the feather.’

Me:Four words.

Me:I am so sorry.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Today when I play, people crowd me. And it’s like they know. They know it’s the last time. And, of course, never say never. But it feels like the right time. I think I’m finally ready not to be here every Thursday and Tuesday. I’m ready for something new. A new start.

The girls stayed with me in the shop for an hour, on Saturday. Roxanne went to get us some lunch, and Lucy took over at the counter for a while, educating me, every now and then, on the best way to smile at a customer, that is ‘equal parts friendly, equal parts boundaried’.

‘Tell him,’ she’d also said about Tom, although Roxanne said, ‘Errr, maybe make him wait a bit,’ which, I could tell, really meant ‘absolutely tell him, and do it with fireworks’. And the truth is, I don’t know what I’ll do. Because Tom wanted space, and that’s what I’m giving him. But I miss him. I miss him so much that, sometimes, it physically hurts.

The song I’m playing today is Tom’s. The final song he printed for me: ‘Moonlight Drive’. And I play for him, and hope, by some small chance, that he’s here somewhere. Grabbing coffee. Jogging for a train to his studio. Waiting for me outside Goode’s, all lopsidedsmiles and ‘Yo, Foxes.’ But I also play for everyone else – the station, these people, these shops – and when I finish today, there is applause. I stand, and beneath the glass ceiling, I allow myself the smallest of bows.Thank you,I say silently, as I do.Thank you for saving me.

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