‘It’s a special time.’
I’m suddenly still. ‘Special?’
‘The last day of the millennium.’ I don’t know what that means, but I’m given a boiled sweet. ‘Get something warm on. It’s cold out.’
I pull on my coat, zipping up the hood tight around my face like I’m always made to, and we go through the lengthy process of getting outside. I’m led by the arm. The freezing night air burns my lungs and I screw up my eyes as we walk, stumbling along the lane, across fields. We keep going for ages and I wonder if I should scream out. Last time I did that I got gagged with a scarf.
My feet are freezing and soaking from the long icy grass. My teeth are chattering and my cheeks sting from the bitter breeze. I can’t help laughing loudly, hysterically, as we come to a stop. I feel so free.
‘What do you think?’
‘It’s amazing. Beautiful!’ I want to cry when I see it but can’t because my tears are all used up. I sit down on the blue tarpaulin and wrap myself up in the rug. A storm lamp is lit and a picnic of Scotch eggs, Crunchie bars, vodka and bananas is revealed. We’re in the middle of a field with the dark skeletons of trees looming around us. ‘Thank you, thank you!’ I say, grabbing all the food I can. The cold and the wet don’t matter any more.
‘There’s more to come.’ I smell the cigarette smoke, and then I’m given the vodka bottle. Before I can even bring it to my lips, our faces are lit up by colourful flashes of crazy light sparkling across the dome of the black sky. I squeal in delight. My mind is flooded with so many memories I can hardly breathe… toffee apples and woolly gloves… Goose the dog shivering under my bed… the melting mask of the guy… Daddy lighting the touchpapers and Mummy’s hot chocolate…
‘Is it Bonfire Night?’ I stuff a chocolate bar in my mouth.
‘I told you already. It’s the new millennium.’ Then more vodka. ‘It’s auspicious.’ But I don’t know what that means.
‘It looks like the fireworks are coming out of the sea,’ I say, pointing to the horizon. The reflection in the water makes it doubly good. We lie back on the grass to get a better view.
It goes on forever, like the heavens are raining jewels on me. I suddenly feel so special, the most cherished person in the world. This is all for me! And I hardly realise I’m even doing it as I slowly, oh so slowly, unfurl my legs from the knot of rug and flex my feet. I can smell the alcohol and I know what it does. Even more slowly, I peel the rug from my shoulders, slide myself away a little. The cold air bites at my neck.
‘Want a chocolate bar?’ I say but get nothing back – just that droopy vodka stare. I stuff the chocolate in my pocket instead. ‘More drink?’ I hold out the bottle and it’s snatched from my hand as fireworks crackle along the coast. ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ I say, but there’s just a mumble in reply now. The empty bottle drops onto the tarpaulin.
Slowly, I ease myself up so I’m sitting, then into a crouching position. I barely breathe, glancing behind me, the way we came. Our footprints look like black stitches sewn across the iced grass. My mouth is dry, and my knees hurt but I spring up, tripping a little as my shoe strap gets caught in the rug.
I run.
My legs don’t work properly, and my lungs feel as if I’ve swallowed a firework. I have no idea where I’m going. I just keep running, stumbling, my arms flailing, my hair caught in my mouth, my heart firing bullets.
Then I’m flat on my face. A hand is around my ankle.
Chapter Nineteen
Everything Nick owned was going into this project. It was his final chance.
‘The thing about kitchens,’ he said, looking at his watch, ‘is that they have to work.’ He was finding it hard to explain, especially when other things, other people, were on his mind. ‘It’s not about just making sure it all fits and wiring up appliances.’ Nick paced about, thinking hard. ‘You sure you don’t need me to stay on-site, Trev?’
The builder folded his arms. ‘Mate, if you don’t get your arse out of this building, I’m going to kick it all the way to Land’s End.’ He gave Nick a playful shove on the shoulder.
Trevor had come highly recommended and, over the last couple of months, they’d become something like friends, enjoying the occasional after-work beer together. Nick reckoned he could trust him, but was still uneasy about leaving the project at such a crucial stage. There was hardly any spare cash or time to undo mistakes, and while he reckoned Trev would keep quiet about the basement, it was still a risk.
He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed the rubble-covered floor. He nodded in agreement and took one last look around the site that, in a couple of months, would be opening its doors to some of the fiercest reviewers in the trade. He felt anticipation and fear, as well as utter emptiness. Jess had always been by his side.
* * *
In the car, he switched between radio stations but couldn’t find anything decent. He shuffled randomly through playlists, and when the tune blared out he felt like he’d been punched in the guts. He gripped the wheel tightly, driving through the pain. Jess had chosen all these songs for him – her favourites, some old, some new. This was the song playing when they’d had their first kiss. He was sentimental like that. Now he wanted to smash things if he heard it.
Life had to be recalibrated.
He skipped to the next track, trying not to think. He swerved suddenly as a horn blared, narrowly missing a van.
Shit.
He overrode the satnav and, instead of taking the M4 towards Bristol, he left London on the M3, veering off after Basingstoke. He didn’t think it would take much longer and it would give him time to think. Think about her.
The last time he’d seen her was at Revel. He’d had no idea she was coming in. They’d met once or twice over the years, trying to keep in touch, trying to do the right thing, even though seeing her always filled him with a sense of loss, of what might have been.
That day, towards the end of a busy lunchtime service, one of the waitresses had handed him a note written on a napkin. His first thoughts were that it was from an undercover critic – there’d been a spate the last few weeks – so Nick wiped the sweat off his face and went to table eight as requested. There was only a handful of diners left, mainly business customers, plus a woman sitting alone, straight-backed, hair the colour of apricot glaze. She was staring out of the window.
‘Was everything OK with your meal?’ Nick said from behind.
She turned around, making him freeze. His heart waited for his mind to catch up.
Her face broke into a broad smile. ‘Hey, Nick…’ She stood up, those green eyes taking his breath away.
‘My God. Claire Lucas!’ They hugged briefly, awkwardly. He couldn’t help the grin. ‘It’s been ages. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
‘Because I didn’t know, that’s why.’ They both sat down. ‘I was in London for the day. A friend suggested we eat here, but just as I arrived she had to cancel.’ Claire swept her hair off her face. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I spotted your name as chef on the menu. Do you have a few minutes?’
‘Of course,’ he said, thinking she looked even more beautiful than he remembered.
‘And it’s Claire Rodway now. Did you forget? We’re in the Old Stables now, next door to Mum and Dad. You remember it, right? Took years for Callum and me to renovate… Not that we did the actual work ourselves, Callum’s far too busy for that but…’
Nick nodded, trying to listen, to take it all in, but all he could manage was to focus on her lips, watch them move around words he didn’t want to hear. Of course he knew she was married. He’d received an invite to the wedding but didn’t go.
‘That’s great.’ His eyes were drawn to the cluster of freckles on her nose, the small gap between her front teeth that, when she smiled, made him feel eighteen again.