Page 59 of Birds of a Feather

‘I hope I’m not keeping you from watching the game. Please don’t feel like you’ve got to hang out with me if you’ve got other things to do,’ I continued, a sense of self-consciousness prickling at me that he might see me as a burden.

‘Don’t be silly,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m enjoying spending time with you.’

‘Yes, but …’ I started, unable to recall a time when anyone had said that to me.

Nick grabbed my hand and stopped walking. It was the second time that day he had held my hand, but this time felt tender, not like on the London Eye when he had been hanging on as though his life depended on it.

‘I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, Beth,’ he said, looking directly into my eyes. ‘It’s true that Aunt Gerry asked me to take you out that first night to show you around. But I assure you, the other times have been because I enjoy your company.’

‘Well, as long as you’re sure,’ I said, comforted by his unwavering gaze. ‘I’m enjoying spending time with you too.’

We resumed our walk towards Kensington Palace, our hands still clasped. I wondered if he’d forgotten that they were, while I could think of nothing else.

Chapter 27

Beth

After we walked through the gardens of Kensington Palace, Nick happily agreed to accompany me to the Tower of London. The sky was as grey as the bluestone bricks of the ancient building and, partway through our visit, the heavens opened.

As tourists retreated inside to seek refuge from the weather, their wet footprints made the tiny spiral staircases and narrow corridors slippery underfoot.

‘I think I’m done here,’ I said after we’d filed past the Crown Jewels, thoroughly examining them for evidence of their authenticity, and I had tired of the jostling and vying of the other visitors.

Heading into the inclement weather was a welcome reprieve; the comparatively empty London streets provided respite from the crowds.

‘You’re welcome to go and meet up with your friends,’ I said as we sheltered under the eaves of a tube entrance where generations of pigeons had made their homes in the rafters and coloured the facade white with their guano. ‘I’ll be fine to do some exploring by myself. Honestly.’

Despite his reassurances, I had been feeling guilty that he was missing the game ever since we’d bumped into his friends.

‘I can catch up with them any time,’ he said sincerely. ‘Besides, the game’s over now anyway.’

He checked his watch.

‘But …’ he said slowly with an eager smile. ‘If you were interested in watching the replay and getting out of this weather, we could head back to my flat, order takeaway and watch it on the telly.’

Something about the way he smiled caused a flutter in my stomach. He wanted to spend more time with me? At his flat? I wondered if he intended for me to interpret his invitation as a suggestion of something more than just takeaway and soccer re-runs.

I couldn’t ignore that getting out of the cold that was burrowing into my bones wasn’t the only reason the idea seemed appealing, but then thoughts of my unruly bikini line and unshaven legs populated my consciousness. I wracked my brain to remember what underwear I was wearing and then cringed when I recalled I was wearing the pair of knickers that promised an invisible panty line, but looked like something I’d found in Gran’s suitcase.

We hailed a cab, opting for the quickest, driest route, and arrived at his house a few minutes later. Normally, I would have resisted paying for transport when a walk would suffice, but this seemed like a good time to make an exception.

Once inside, Nick brought up the game on the television and produced two bottles of beer from the fridge.

I had thoughtlessly perched myself in the middle of the three-seater sofa, which meant, when he sat down, we were positioned unintentionally close to each other. I would usually have scurried away to the furthest corner of the couch, but I felt anchored to the spot with an unshakable reluctance to increase the distance between us.

Nick asked me about AFL and explained the nuances of his version of football. In between animated shouts and jeers at the television, he told me that much of the limited time his father had spent with him as a child was focused on playing or watching the game.

‘We really only spoke when we were kicking a ball between us, or watching others do it on telly,’ he explained. ‘But I guess that’s the thing about sport; it’s a universal uniter of people, even if they don’t connect in other ways.’

‘Do you get along now?’ I asked, immediately regretting the question and worrying that he might think I was prying; I hated when people asked about my family.

‘There’s no animosity at all,’ he answered matter-of-factly. ‘We’re just not very close, I suppose.’

Over my second beer, and in spite of myself, I told Nick about Jarrah’s willowy beauty and Elijah’s perpetual coolness, and how I had always felt ‘vanilla’, while my siblings were chocolate and strawberry covered in sprinkles with a cherry on top.

‘You know, for what it’s worth, my favourite flavour is vanilla,’ he said earnestly.

I felt my cheeks flush. I had never enjoyed receiving compliments. They made me so uncomfortable, and something about hearing it from him made me doubly bashful.

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