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More giggles. A round of nice-to-meet-yous, large half-empty glasses of rosé wine held up in manicured fingers.
He left as quickly as he could. At their table, Naomi was scowling at him from behind the tealight. In his belly, a familiar pit of anxiety hardened.
‘Nice,’ she said. ‘Take your girlfriend out for dinner, then leave her sitting on her own for half an hour.’
‘It was only a minute or two,’ he whispered, not wanting the client to overhear. ‘Would’ve been rude not to say hi.’
‘Well, it felt like longer. You made me look like a right lemon. So humiliating.’
‘Sorry. I had to. She’s a good client.’
‘Client.’ Naomi rolled her eyes, picked up the menu, sighed heavily. ‘Not sure I’m even hungry anymore.’ She could do that, make something small grow so huge that whatever they were doing got lost in its shadow, the whole evening spent trying to claw his way back to where they had started.
‘Sam.’
Startled, he looks up. Naomi is standing in front of him, her smile tender. His breath catches; he has the urge to stand up and kiss the pale skin of her cheek, to plunge his face into her neck. Her hair is cut shorter than a year ago, making the black waves look even thicker. Her beauty is as overwhelming as it was the other day, as it always was. The feeling of confusion returns.
‘Naomi.’
Beside her, there is no child, no stroller, no one.
‘You’re having coffee,’ she says. ‘I thought we were eating.’
‘Oh. Sorry, I…’ He said coffee, he’s pretty sure, but he can’t exactly check the text thread while she’s standing there. And now he has drunk a large latte, which has killed his appetite. At least, something has. ‘You order,’ he offers. ‘I will too, I mean. You know me – I can always eat.’ He smiles, but Naomi’s face has closed a little.
‘No, it’s fine.’ Her mouth purses. ‘I can eat later.’
He has ruined things before they have begun.
‘Seriously,’ he tries, keen to rescue the situation. ‘I’ll have a bowl of chips or something. Please. Let me order you something, come on.’
Her shoulders lower a fraction. She sits down, unloops her long yellow scarf once, twice, unhooks a battered turquoise shoulder bag over her head. ‘I’ll have some cheesy chips then. And a vodka and Diet Coke if you’re having a drink.’
He isn’t. He’s driving. But he orders the vodka and Diet Coke for her, lime and soda for himself, and the chips. Pays for them up front so it won’t become embarrassing later. He is, he realises, afraid of how she’ll react to what he must ask her. He is afraid of her.
‘Sorry,’ he says, returning with the drinks. ‘About the coffee. I’ve ordered two bowls of cheesy chips. It’s cold, isn’t it? For April? Still, they’ve got the fire. At least it’s not raining. Chilly though.’
‘It is.’ She takes a swig, places her drink on the table.
‘I brought your album.’ He passes her the Frank Ocean. ‘Didn’t realise I’d taken it. Sorry about that.’
She takes the record, gives it a desultory glance before placing it on the chair beside her.
‘You wanted to see me.’ She is looking at him incredibly directly. ‘Or was it really just to give me my record back?’
‘Right.’ The wooden slats of the chair creak beneath him. ‘I did, yeah. I thought it might be nice to… y’know, catch up. Actually, I thought you might be with the baby. The baby you were with the other day. Tommy, was it?’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Oh God, this is harder than he thought it would be. Already he can feel his armpits prickling.
‘He’s at home,’ she says.
He nods, slowly, as if she has explained something to him. ‘Right. Right.’ His mouth has gone dry. He takes a sip of soda, another. ‘Everything’s so weird,’ he says. ‘All a bit post-apocalyptic, isn’t it?’
‘Post-apocalyptic.’ She shakes her head. ‘Only you, Sam.’
She asks after Joyce, he after her sister; she tells him Jo has split up with Pete and shaved all her hair off.
