Page 10 of Big Nick Energy
‘Nothing exceptional. No sparks, a little dull. A little tiring, truth be told. There are a lot of weirdos out there. I had a man tell me about an ingrown hair on his back. When they pulled it out, it had coiled and measured six centimetres. He showed me a picture that he’d kept on his phone.’
Davinia sits there laughing, adjusting the patterned scarf around her neck. ‘Please tell me you didn’t sleep with that man.’
I shake my head. The fact is I did because I hoped there’d be something; I craved spark, I thought it might ignite in the bedroom and, I’ll be frank, I’d spent a lot of money on waxing that I didn’t want to waste. Let’s just say the sex was like a box of damp matches.
‘And there’s no one else?’
Again, I shake my head. I do have the occasional play on Tinder, there have been one-month flings that haven’t really stood the test of time, but sometimes I wonder if it’s better to not chase it, to let it come to me. The chasing is tiring, confusing and, in a city like London, bloody expensive.
Davinia sits back in her chair and studies my expression, but mostly my hair. People do this; it’s auburn and wild and sometimes I don’t have the strength or energy to control it. ‘Oh, my beautiful Kay. I want you to have some fun. You’re in your twenties in London. You’re on the precipice of greatness and the rest of your life. I don’t want to hear that you’re just OK.’
‘Define fun then. I have no real urge to get a tattoo,’ I say.
‘Let go. I know it’s been stressful with your grandmother but you’re so very young. I see a girl in there who needs to let go, experience real joy, get into the bones of this city.’
‘Bones?’ I say.
‘In both senses of the word,’ she cackles. ‘God, if I was your age again, I would spend a lot more time embracing my freedomand sleeping with handsome strangers. Don’t get me wrong; I love being married, but I’m likely going to go home now, talk to my husband about turkeys, and then we’ll fall asleep together, me listening to a podcast and his orchestral flatulence.’
I laugh, but there is a smidgeon of truth there. After university I did go travelling and loved the wild freedom of it. But maybe, in recent years, I have been preoccupied by my commitment to Nana, writing and trying to build a career. Maybe I’ve got the balance all wrong.
‘Well, when you find where all the handsome strangers hang out then please let me know.’
‘I will keep my eyes open. I will send you co-ordinates when I find them.’ She smiles. ‘When I see you next, I want to hear about a lusty encounter, filled to the brim with knowing looks and moments of intense longing.’
‘Alright, Mills and Boon. Remember, I write books about bears, for kids.’
Davinia chuckles and looks at her watch. ‘Right, as much as I love you, I need to go and scour the shops and find something for my mother-in-law.’
‘Does she like kombucha?’
She laughs as we both move out of our seats, putting on our coats and heading towards the door. ‘See… beautiful and funny.’ I blush at the compliment as we walk out into the biting cold, which forces me to hide my face in my scarf. ‘Maybe the season will provide. Santa will send you the perfect gift. I can feel it, Kay,’ she says, looking up to the blue sky above bustling Covent Garden.
I look up too, wondering if a handsome stranger will just fall out of the sky. ‘That would be far easier, you know, if the perfect man came down my chimney this Christmas.’
‘If you’re into that then let him, my dear,’ she replies.
‘Davinia!’ I shriek, linking arms with her, our laughter misting the air.
‘Have an exceptional Christmas, lovely girl. Remember: fun…’ She goes in for the customary double kiss.
‘And bones.’
‘Indeed,’ she says as she walks down the street away from me. ‘Have a walk around. It’s the best city to be in at this time of year. Saint Nick will deliver, trust me.’
I pause for a moment, thinking about when I last heard those words, and look up at the sky again, waiting, wondering.
‘Pardon me,’ a voice sounds, as someone barges past my shoulder.
I turn instantly. ‘Santa?’ It’s a man dressed in an admirably high-quality red velour suit with what appears to be his own white fuzzy beard, though the Nike rucksack and the Asics ruin the illusion somewhat. ‘I’m so sorry, I should have looked where I was going.’
‘No harm done. I won’t report you to my elves,’ he says, wagging a finger. We both laugh. I think it’s because we know from the flush in our cheeks that we’ve both indulged in a bit of festive daytime drinking. But there’s also a childish sense of glee in meeting Santa, whatever your age. He salutes me with his gloved hand and tucks his thumbs under his rucksack straps. ‘Merry Christmas, young lady.’
‘You too, Santa.’ I watch him as he skips away, thinking about what Davinia said. Maybe I need to follow the magic and see where it takes me. I just hope Saint Nick doesn’t think I’m interested and stalking him. He’s cute, but he’s three times my age.
FIVE
‘I’m going to countdown from ten,’ the street performer says to the crowd, ‘and then when I get to one, I’m going to jump through this hoop, over these people, spin five times in the air and then land, right there. I call this move the Nutcracker because if it doesn’t go well…’
