Meet me over the arch in Bermondsey Street at 8:00 pm, tonight.
PS Bring this note with you.
D
I stared at it until the words blurred.
***
Is this how the affair started? Why the railway station?
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m too jittery to sleep. I want to find out as much as possible, the sooner I do this, the sooner I’ll get to move on with my life. I pour myself a shot of vodka and pass several glances at the computer as if it’s poison. I need to find a way to hand this over to the police, but I don’t want to worry about that right now.
***
Lottie’s Recordings. Clip fifteen
I headed over to the arch on Bermondsey Street; it was spooky meeting him there. He was leaning against the brick wall. He’s so beautiful and I had him for a while.
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Hi.’
He didn’t lean over to kiss me; I was hoping he would.
‘Did you bring the note?’ he asked.
I took it out from my jacket pocket and handed it to him. He took it and shoved it in his pocket.
‘What is this about?’
‘We need to talk.’
‘I suppose we do,’ I said.
We walked side by side, not talking. How can a man and a woman share such passion, such intensity and fire, and dissolve into nothing? Like the dying of a flame. There was a gang of young people talking too loudly, too absorbed in themselves, to pay any attention to us. He hailed a taxi. We didn’t talk in there either. I wanted him to take me to his place and repeat what happened before. The drive, however, was to a restaurant.
Did he and Melissa break up?
Candles and flowers sat on the ivory tablecloths. A man in a tuxedo walked over, offering to take our coats. A warning would have been nice to dress more appropriately instead of office clothes. We were ushered to a table in the far back where the lights were dimmer. The man gave us the menu and asked if we’d like to order drinks. A glass of champagne, perhaps? I didn’t know why, but it sounded so offensive. A glass of champagne would have been nice in a different situation, on a different occasion, but this wasn’t a cause for celebration.
‘Water is fine...’ Davian paused and glanced at me. ‘Still or sparkling?’
‘Anything, it's fine,’ I replied.
‘Still, please,’ Davian said.
‘Room temperature or cold?’ the man asked.
For a moment, I thought the man was going to hover there and ask us, do we want it from the tap? From the bottle? What sort plastic or glass? Evian or San Pellegrino? I wanted the man to go away so I would discover the reason for this dinner. Why such a fancy place? Why not in a casual restaurant? Is this what Davian liked? Dining in swanky restaurants that cost a fortune? We were so different, him and I. Davian sure liked his luxury. He dined like a fine gentleman, spent another fortune on his hair and clothes. Is this what he and Melissa did together? It seemed so dull, so pedestrian. We were worlds apart. I wrinkled my nose as if something had begun to stink. I couldn’t see why he was going to this trouble. We didn’t have to sit there for three hours sipping on expensive wine and eat fluffy food to establish our relationship.
‘That was some apology,’ he said.
My cheeks coloured.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, blushing. ‘How are you?’
What was he apologising for? The sex or for what he’d said. How am I? I couldn’t stop thinking about him.
‘I’m... okay.’
His eyes went back to the menu. ‘You didn’t hear from him?’
‘Who?’
‘Abdel.’
I lowered my head. ‘No, I haven’t. You know it’s over. Don’t ask me that.’
The man returned with our water. We stayed silent until he poured it in our glasses.
‘How is Melissa?’ I asked after the waiter left.
He played with the napkin. ‘She’s fine...’
‘So, you two are still together?’
He glanced at me sharply. ‘What makes you think we aren’t?’
‘I don’t know, I suppose that we had sex and I assumed that...’ I sighed, dropping the menu on the table. ‘I don’t know what I thought.’
I took a quick glance at him. I couldn’t read his expression. Of course, he and Melissa were still together - what made me think they weren’t? He wasn’t going to leave her for me. Why would he? I was the convenient shag that he felt a need to treat to a romantic meal because he felt sorry for me, or about the situation, or both. I knew why he’d brought me to this beautiful, intimate restaurant: to tell me that it was a mistake, we shouldn’t do something like that ever again. It was stupid. Blah, blah, blah. Somehow, sitting there, it felt offensive; the chandelier was offensive, the tablecloths and the soft music were offensive. The water and the overpriced menu were offensive. Everything about this place was.
We should have skipped the calories and fucked. But there we were. His aloofness didn’t help either. He was so snotty. I hated him. I hated this menu, I hated this fancy restaurant and I hated myself. I stood pushing back the chair.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Um... where is the bathroom?’
A waiter rushed to our table. ‘Is the lady all right?’ he asked.
Why was he referring to me in the third person? ‘The bathroom?’ I asked the waiter.
‘Straight to the right,’ the waiter said.
I reached for my bag and as I pulled it, the chair moved, making a loud scraping noise, and a few heads turned. Talk about being discreet. He shouldn’t have brought me here if he wanted secrecy - what if someone saw him? Not my problem, and I didn’t worry about what Melissa had to say, apart from the fact that she would kick my arse, which I’ll deserve. Occupied men don’t bring their... office shags to public places. The bathroom made my modest white-tiled bathroom look like a tatty public toilet by comparison. The feature wall was white with a black flowery pattern, and the rest of the walls were black with golden stripes. I rested my hand on the sink to steady myself and caught my reflection in the mirror. The thought of slipping out crossed my mind, but to do that, I had to walk past our table. Davian wasn’t the kind of man you walk out on when he takes you out for dinner.
The wine sat in a bucket, two glasses already poured. I took a large gulp of wine while Davian watched me closely.
‘I know you find this odd, but I‘m not the kind of person who opens up easily.’
‘That I noticed,’ I said.
‘The reason I asked you to meet me is to explain myself, since you walked out so abruptly.’
‘I was confused,’ I said.
‘Why you didn’t stop me?’ he said.
‘Stop you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why you didn’t restrain yourself?’
He reached for the wine glass and took a large gulp. I waited for him to go on.
‘You were upset and I... didn’t mean to say those things to you. To hurt you. I don’t think you’re weak and stupid. When I saw you, I got angry and I... didn’t plan for that to happen but it did and we are where we are.’
What was he trying to say?