Page 19 of The Last Train Home
And then the server ruins it all by shouting out our order to alert us it’s ready.
‘I can’t believe you’ve never had a Happy Meal,’ I say as we collect our food.
‘That’s because I’m twenty-seven.’
‘Ha-ha,’ I reply. ‘I meant when you were a kid.’
But Tom doesn’t reply, just shrugs, clutching the paper bag full of food while I hold our milkshakes.
We walk back towards St Paul’s to find somewhere to sit in the churchyard, choosing a patch of grass in the shadow of Wren’s masterpiece. I glance at my watch, surprised to discover it’s half eleven. I wonder if Natasha’s home from her client dinner yet. Either way, I’ve got her spare key. I’m getting colder, now the heat of the club has shaken itself free of me. I shiver and Tom automatically takes off his suit jacket and puts it round my shoulders, leaving his hands on me for a fraction, before removing them from my arms.
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘You’re quite the gentleman.’
‘I try.’
I take the lid off my milkshake and dip one of my chips in and Tom stares at me.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ he baulks.
‘It’s really good – try it. There’s something about the saltiness of the fries and the sweetness of the milkshake combined together.’
‘Is this one of your quirks, like how cigarettes smell better than they taste?’
‘I was wrong about that one,’ I confess.
Tom dips a chip in his milkshake and then eats it. He frowns. I can’t tell if he wants to admit I’m right or rejoice in telling me I’m wrong. He does neither.
I continue and he looks at me with increasing amusement while I watch the traffic on Cannon Street come and go. The traffic’s light at this time of night, with only the occasional cyclist and a few black cabs passing by, mostly with their ‘For hire’ lights off, with inebriated passengers curled up inside being whisked to a mainline station or home.
Across the road, by the glass Tourist Information Centre, a man is drunkenly yelling into his phone that he’s on his way home.
‘That’ll be us one day,’ I say and Tom stares at me. ‘Not us as inus… but us as in real grown-ups, adults – apologising for coming home late, missing dinner, hoping your other half will still love you and hold you at night.’
‘Even if they’re pissed off that we’ve let our dinner go cold and haven’t rung until half eleven,’ he plays along.
‘Exactly. That would be nice,’ I think out loud. ‘To have someone to love, someone to … be with.’ I’m aware of Tom’s presence next to me, his shoulder near mine, our hands close together as we reach into the greasy paper bag for the food.
‘Yeah,’ he says when the taxi’s pulled away. ‘It would be.’ He looks at me and I at him, and then he breaks eye contact as he tucks into his cheeseburger. Because Tom is a gentleman, we share the chicken nuggets and extra chips too. Alcohol makes me ravenous and I wish I’d got a bigger milkshake as well now.
‘Kids’ meals sounded quite funny, but the downside is all-out hunger if you’re an adult,’ Tom says with booze-laced wisdom.
‘The upside is the toy, though,’ I tell him and I dive into our Happy Meal boxes and pull out the same toy from each: a grey Beanie Babies bear.
I hand him one and position mine so it’s sitting upright on the grass.
He looks at his thoughtfully. ‘Kinda cute,’ he says and then puts his next to mine while we finish our food.
I lie down on the grass and he lies next to me. I’m aware we look like drunkards sleeping in a churchyard with our fast-food packets piled up next to us, but even so it’s nice, quiet, companionable.
‘How are you getting home?’ he asks me gently, but directs his voice towards the clouds.
‘I’m not staying at home tonight,’ I reply, turning on my side to face him. ‘I’ve already organised to stay at my best friend Natasha’s.’
‘Where does she live?’ he asks.
‘Docklands.’
‘Nice,’ he replies, turning on his side to face me. The grass is cold even through Tom’s suit jacket. Our Beanie Babies sit in the space between us, but I have this desire to move closer to Tom, close the gap. Just a little.
