And suddenly I realise that my answer is easy.
‘I love you too,’ I say.
And then we just sit and beam at each other.
EPILOGUE
NADIA
It’s the longest day of the year and I’m under the clock at Waterloo. Carole’s here too, and we’re waiting for Bea, Ruth and Tom.
It’s exactly three years since we first met and we’re going back to the tapas place as we do every year on this date.
Tom moved into my flat last year – we took things slowly for a while, until I suddenly realised that ofcoursehe really does long-term love me and we were just both missing out on a lot of very nice intimacy, basically, and we started dating properly.
We didn’t come here together today, though. He’s been watching cricket with his cousins while I had lunch with Marisa (who immediately entirely forgave me for the fake dating when I owned up after I started real-dating Tom) and then met a new client whose fiftieth I’m going to sing at (I’m now really enjoying working two days a week as a singer – weddings and other events – and three days in my accounting job).
‘I see Bea and Ruth.’ Carole’s pointing and we stand together and watch them walking towards us holding hands. They’re seventy-nine now, but are still both in very good health, thank goodness, and are planning a joint eightieth extravaganza for later in the year.
When they reach us – we stay where we are rather than going over to meet them halfway, because we have this tacit agreement that it’s actuallyunderthe clock that we have to reconvene – we all share hugs.
It’s so nice now between us – it’s only been three years but it feels as though we’re very old friends – but, even though it’s only seven or eight hours since I last saw him, I really want Tom to be here to complete us. To completeme.
‘Oh, there’s Tom.’ Bea points and we all turn to watch him hurry towards us.
‘Hey.’ He hugs the other three and then plants a quick kiss on my lips and gives me a very squeezy hug, not entirely letting go of me when we pull apart, which I love. ‘How is everyone?’
Amidst the chat that follows, I catch Tom looking slightly oddly at me and then at the others.
‘You okay?’ I mouth at him.
He shakes his head, as though he’s clearing it, and says, ‘Yes, yes, definitely,’ which makes me frown a little, because if you’re completely okay aren’t you actually just a bit surprised if someone seems concerned about you?
He’s a bit quiet on the walk to the restaurant but finally seems back to his usual self by the time we go inside. Maybe the cricket was disappointing or something. I hope it isn’t worse than that; it’s very unusual for him to be like this. I hope he hasn’t had bad news of any kind that he doesn’t want to tell me about in front of the others.
Oddly, as soon as we’re through the restaurant door, he first has a secretive word with a couple of the waiters, and then, on his way to the loo, stops for a little word with the guitar player on his platform. If it weren’t for the fact that he seems kind of odd – a bit distant, like his thoughts are elsewhere – I’d think he had an anniversary surprise like a cake or something planned for us all.
As soon as he’s back from the loo, Carole taps the table with her cutlery and says, ‘I have news. I’ve met someone.’
Tom is as effusive and interested as the rest of us; whatever had him on edge (I’m guessing itmusthave been something like organising a cake) must be sorted now.
‘Well,’ Carole says in response to our chorus of questions, ‘I went on a tennis holiday with my kids – I’ve always wanted to play and never had time so I had beginner’s lessons – and I met him there. His name’s Patrick. I’ve kept it quiet because I didn’t want to jinx it or rush it after the Roger shit. But it’s been nine months now and he seems very nice and I’m finally ready to believe that it’s going to work out. So, yes, I’m just quietly happy.’
She gives a big cackle of laughter as we all laugh at the idea of Carole doing anything quietly, and then we all laugh more.
It’s a lovely dinner.
Bea and Ruth fill us in on what they’ve been up to. (I really want to be like them when they’re seventy-nine; I know the wordinspirationis overused, and can be patronising, but theyarean inspiration. As is Carole.)
‘I love you all so much,’ I tell them as we finish the champagne that Carole insisted on ordering to toast us all. ‘Happy Waterloo Five meeting anniversary to all of us.’
‘I think our taxi’s here,’ Ruth says eventually, and we all stand up.
Weirdly, no anniversary cake has materialised. Maybe it was something to do with Bea’s dairy intolerance, which interferes a lot with her pudding choices; perhaps that’s why Tom seemed a little odd, maybe disappointed.
Carole’s going back with Bea and Ruth to stay over at theirs for the night, as has become tradition, and Tom and I are going back to Waterloo together, as has also become tradition. Not least because we do live together now.
‘Want to go for a walk by the river before we get the train?’ Tom asks.
