Page 96 of The Key to My Heart

‘Hi, Nat,’ she says, and her eyes are shining before I’ve even got to the bottom step. She’s wearing a huge faux-fur coat, her long hair flowing from the edges of a bright purple beanie hat. And I know she’s been waiting for me.

‘Hi, Edie,’ I say.

‘I’m sorry for just standing here like this. But I could hear you,’ she says, feebly, as if she’s already prepared herself to be shot down. ‘I was on my way out, but I heard you. I heard you playing. I heard your voice. And – well, forgive me, but it’s been such a long time, that I just had to stand and listen.’

I feel my own eyes shimmer with tears. ‘I just wrote a song,’ I say.

‘Oh.’ Edie smiles, her hands moving up to her chest, one on top of the other. Her fingers, still covered, as they always were, in rings. ‘Oh, Nat, that’s amazing.’

‘My first one. Since …’

Edie stares at me across the carpeted lobby, silence, except for a rumble of tyres out in the car park. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, breathlessly. ‘Gosh, Natalie, I am so, so, so sorry.’

‘I know,’ I say, and my voice cracks then.

‘And I know you might never forgive me, and I understand that. I really do. But – please. Please let me talkto you. Just – ten minutes of your time?Five.I’ll … I’ll take anything.’

And without saying a word, I wrap my arms around Edie, as, in the distance, someone starts to play piano, and a woman starts to sing.

Tom:Hi Natalie. My exhibition is on Friday. Here’s the invite. Show it on the door. I really hope to see you there. x

Chapter Thirty-Two

Tom’s exhibition is being held in a gallery in Shoreditch, in a place called Zetland House, and I’m late. Super late actually. And not because I wanted to be – to make a sweeping, statement entrance. It’s because I couldnotget my ancient laptop to work, to transfer over Tom’s gift to a USB stick. I’d called Nick in the end, who came over on his moped, and did it in approximately two seconds.

‘Not being able to do this, Auntie Nat,’he’d said,‘has proper Boomer vibes. But you look nice. Saved yourself there.’

And I’ve seen Tom countless times in the last year, but tonight feels different. Because it’s the first time I’m going to see Tom, while knowing, without any doubt, how I feel about him. That I’m … well, about to be fucked, the minute I stop falling and hit the floor, apparently. (According to Joe.)

In a small white-lit booth, a security guard sits. He has gelled, ginger spikes and is wearing a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Good evening,’ he says, cheerily. ‘How can I help?’

‘Oh. Tom Madden’s exhibition?’

‘Do you have the invite?’

‘Oh. Yes. On my phone – hang on.’

I riffle through my handbag – a black hole, that’s what Russ used to call my handbag. Things go in, they never come out. My keys and make-up bag hit the floor. Well.Somethingalways comes out, just not the thing you want.

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I just … I can’t find my phone— Oh! Oh, I’ve got it. Hang on.’

The security guard nods patiently, as I scoop up the fallen items.

‘I’m a bit nervous,’ I tell him. ‘Sweating actually. I’m about to tell a guy I really like him.’

‘I see,’ says the security guard, and he eyes my screen, just once, as I shove it in his face. ‘Well, good to know,’ he adds with a laugh. ‘And I suppose – good luck?’

The walls are bare brick here, and the windows like those from an old factory. It’s trendy.Painfullytrendy, as Joe would probably say, and I can hear the hubbub of the exhibition the closer I get. Voices and glasses chinking, muffled laughter. When I get to the top of the stairs, I’m shocked at how many people are here. There are tonnes of them, two hundred perhaps, and I feel so happy for him. Already, I could burst with pride, all over the wine and canapés. I just wish I could see a single photo – there are so many people, I can barely see the edge of one. But I see Shauna almost instantly, in the crowds. She looks amazing. She’s wearing a chiffon blue dress and earrings that are like stained-glass kites, and she isbeaming.Like if you were to pierce her with a pin, the room would be flooded with light.

‘Oh, my doll,’ she says when she sees me, her arms outstretched. ‘What a sight you are. Here, come here.Have some wine. Have some posh doughballs. These ones – they’re filled with something red but it’sdelicious.’

Shauna hugs me, then leaves an arm around me, pulls me into the little crowd she’s in.

‘These are my boys,’ she says and I’m faced with the same four huge strapping lads I saw on the stage, at the anniversary party. They all look like Tom and Shauna mashed together. Handsome, tall, two with a beard, two without. (And, of course, there’s a smattering of Don to be seen in them too, but we don’t talk about him. Except when discussing the ‘dirty shites’ of the globe.)

‘So,’ I grin. ‘The brotherhood, eh?’

Tom’s brothers laugh, a big deep chorus of manly laughter, and Shauna introduces them to me, one by one. Laurie, Tom’s (unidentical) twin, keeps looking at me, and it’s like he knows. He knows what gift I’ve got in my handbag. He knows I like his brother. Does twin-tuition still count if it’s not actually the twin, but the person who would very much like to bury her face into the sexy neck of the twin?

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