One Minute to Midnight

CHAPTER Nineteen



30 December 2011

I FIGHT WITH myself all the way back to the hotel. Part of me, a big part of me, possibly more than seventy-five per cent of me, wants to tell the cabbie to turn around, to drive as fast as he can back to the street corner where he picked me up, so that I can leap out of the car and run after Aidan and catch him at the last minute, just as he’s about to descend into the subway to head to who knows where, just as he’s about to disappear from my life again. Just like in a film.

The rational, cool-headed part of me says, ‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous. Say you did run after him, say by some miracle you did catch him. Then what? Then what happens? You go back to his apartment with him? You sleep with him, while your husband is waiting for you across town?’

The very thought makes me feel ill. I couldn’t do that, no matter how much I want to be with Aidan, no matter how much he means to me. I’m not that cold; I’m not that heartless. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Dom, sitting there in the hotel room, watching the clock, waiting for the woman he loves to come back to him. I want to be back at the hotel, I want to get back to safety. I want this taxi to go faster. Why doesn’t this driver lean on his horn?

When we finally get there, I leap out of the cab and run up the steps into the lobby, I press the button and wait for the lift to come. There is only one lift, which is ridiculous for a hotel this size. It takes ages, it takes for ever.

Back in our hotel room, Dom is sitting on the sofa, anxiously watching the door.

‘There you are,’ he says, that familiar note of irritation in his voice. ‘How long does it take to buy a dress for Christ’s sake? We’re supposed to be meeting Karl in half an hour.’

And just like that I wish I had gone back to find Aidan.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, though I don’t actually feel any remorse. ‘It took an age to find a cab, and then the traffic was appalling. And you know how indecisive I am when it comes to shopping.’ Ridiculously, given the fact that I am lying to him, I feel put out, as though he is being unreasonable. ‘I found a great dress though,’ I say, holding up my shopping bag. ‘Do you want to see?’

He shrugs. ‘Armani?’ he says, looking at the bag. ‘How much did that set us back?’

I sigh. ‘God, you really are determined to have a shit time, aren’t you? Maybe you wouldn’t be in such a crappy mood if you hadn’t spent all day cooped up in this hotel room. Seriously, is this what you came to New York to do? You haven’t left the room since we got here.’

‘I came to New York because you wanted to come, Nicole, and because I wanted to be with you,’ he says. ‘I always want to be with you. It’s just not very easy, you know? Because you’re always running out the door.’

I shower and change and we hurry back down to the lobby to grab a cab to Tribeca, where we’re due to meet Karl. We’re not exactly fighting, but we’re not exactly friends, either. We’re headed for the Macao Trading Company, which, according to Karl, serves amazing cocktails in the lounge bar.

Dom grumbles all the way, but we’re only ten minutes late in the end. We walk downstairs to a low-lit, high-ceilinged room flanked on one side by a long, candle-strewn bar above which are six or seven shelves of gleaming bottles. I spot Karl immediately, and start to tear up straight away. He looks wonderful. He has maintained his perfect gym-fit physique and alabaster skin, but he has grown a George Michaelesque beard, manicured to within an inch of its life, which makes him look terribly distinguished, as does the light dusting of grey at his temples. He’s sitting on a stool at the near end of the bar, legs crossed, reading the New Yorker.

‘Guten tag!’ I call out to him and he looks up, his handsome face breaking into a broad grin.

‘Nicole!’ he yells, leaping off his stool to the alarm of the drinkers around him. He takes a few steps towards us and grabs me, lifting me off the ground and swinging me around, bear-hugging me so tight I can barely breathe. ‘Oh Nicole, Nicole! It’s so good to see you, I’m so glad you’re here.’ He’s tearing up, too. He puts me down and we both wipe our eyes and laugh, he kisses me on both cheeks and then hugs Dom, with almost as much force and enthusiasm as he embraced me.

We choose cocktails. I opt for the Westside, lemon vodka and fresh lemon juice with soda, Karl goes for a rather camp blood peach Bellini, which consists of puréed blood peaches, Campari and prosecco. Dom, much more butch, chooses a Once Daily, rum with bourbon and ginger liqueur on the rocks, with a splash of Fernet Branca.

‘What the hell is Fernet Branca?’ I ask.

‘No idea,’ Dom replies, taking a sip of his drink, ‘but this is delicious.’

We find ourselves a table in the corner surrounded by assorted Chinoiserie: vases and puppets, faded pictures of beautiful Chinese girls, ancient tatty globes the very sight of which make my feet itch. Karl asks what we’ve been up to, we prattle on about Christmas and swap work tales. Karl’s gallery, which is just a few blocks away, he tells us, is doing quite well, recession notwithstanding.

‘You should drop by tomorrow before the party, or the next day, whenever – we have this great Franko B exhibition …’ Dom and I look at him blankly. ‘Fabulous Italian artist, he’s a painter but he also does performance, installations, that kind of thing. He’s very interesting.’ We both nod dutifully; Karl laughs. ‘Philistines!’ he says. ‘How long are you here for?’

‘Just until Monday.’

‘Okay then, well apart from visiting my fabulous gallery, you must go to MoMA …’

‘MoMA?’ Dom asks.

‘The Museum of Modern Art, Dom, even I know that.’

‘You should go ice-skating at the Rockefeller Center, and while you’re there you should go to the Top of the Rock – it’s actually better than the Empire State because there are fewer people – and of course you can actually see the Empire State. And you must have pork rolls at Momofuku – they are absolutely to die for – and you should walk the High Line …’

‘The High Line?’ Dom asks, and I don’t listen to Karl’s answer because I’m jolted back to that afternoon and I get a pure sense memory, the sensation of Aidan’s lips on mine, my stomach flips.

‘You okay, Nic?’ Dom asks me. ‘You look flushed.’

I go to the loo and splash my face with water. I fish my mobile from my handbag and check the call log. There’s nothing from Aidan. I did tell him that it was time to say goodbye, so why am I so disappointed that, less than three hours since I saw him, he hasn’t been in touch? I reapply my make-up and return to our table. Dom is at the bar, ordering another round.

As I sit down, Karl takes my hand and smiles at me.

‘You look good,’ he says. ‘Really good.’

‘So do you,’ I say, reaching up to touch his face. ‘I like the beard.’

He laughs. ‘Not my idea …’

‘Oh no?’ I say, an eyebrow raised.

‘No, a friend suggested it, he thought it would look nice.’

‘A friend, eh? And who is this friend?’

Dom sits back down and hands us our drinks.

‘I actually wanted to talk to you about him, about us. I wanted to see you before the party, before the … uh … official announcement. I wanted to tell you the news first of all.’

‘What news is that?’ Dom asks and I try to ignore the sinking feeling I’m getting.

‘I’m getting married!’ Karl announces raising his glass to us both.

‘Bloody hell!’ Dom splutters, crashing his glass against Karl’s delicate champagne flute, ‘Congratulations! That’s fantastic, Karl. Who’s the lucky guy?’

‘His name’s Sean, he’s great, you’ll really like him …’

‘So when is this happening?’ Dom asks him. ‘Are you doing it here in New York?’

‘We’re not sure yet. When Sean first asked me it wasn’t even possible because they hadn’t legalised it here yet, so we were thinking Vermont or something like that, or even Germany, because you can get a civil partnership there, but now we’re not so sure …’

I’m aware that I haven’t said a word since Karl dropped his bombshell, and now they are, too, they both turn and look at me.

‘Nic?’ Dom says, placing his hand on my arm. ‘Isn’t this great?’ I look up at Karl, he’s looking back at me, hopeful, and so I give him the brightest smile I can and say, ‘Yes, it’s … really great. Congratulations.’ All of a sudden I’m desperate to be out of there, I don’t want Karl to see how upset I am, so I get to my feet and say, ‘I’m really sorry, I’m not feeling very well. I have to go.’

I don’t look at them as I pull my coat on, I can’t bear to see the look on Karl’s face. I push through the noisy crowd of drinkers and hurry up the stairs, out onto the street, into another snowstorm. I hurry along the street, half-blinded by white, looking desperately this way and that for a taxi.

‘Nicole!’ I hear Dom’s voice behind me, ‘Wait!’ He catches up with me and grabs my arm, spinning me around roughly. ‘What the hell are you doing? That was awful what you did back there.’

‘I know, I’m sorry …’ I stammer.

‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry. That was f*cking cruel. He doesn’t deserve that. He of all people does not deserve that. Jesus Christ, I know you think your pain is greater than most people’s, but do you really think it’s greater than his? Do you honestly think he’s suffered less than you have?’ He lets go of my arm; no, he throws my arm back against my chest. ‘He doesn’t deserve to be happy, is that it?’ He’s yelling at me now, furious. ‘Because you can’t be happy, because you can’t move on, because you’re stuck in your bubble of grief, that means everybody else should be f*cking miserable too, is that it?’

I feel ashamed, and not just because our unseemly little domestic is being witnessed by the hipsters waiting for their tables at Macao. He’s right, what I did was awful and I can’t take it back now: my first reaction to the news that Karl is getting married will always be an unkind one, there’s nothing I can do about it. I turn away from Dom and walk slowly down the street, into the wind.

‘Where are you going?’ Dom yells, he pushes past me, blocks my path. ‘You’re leaving? You’re not even going to go back and say sorry?’

‘I can’t now, Dom. Please let me go, I’ll talk to him tomorrow or I’ll call him later on …’

I carry on down the street, heading north, almost blinded by snow. Dom stops me again, he grabs my arm again.

‘Nicole, for god’s sake, you can’t do this. Come back inside, please. Come on – you and me, we’ll go back in there, you’ll apologise, we’ll have a nice drink and behave like civilised human beings.’

He’s right, he’s right. I know he’s right. If I go back there now, I can at least try to make things better. But I can’t do it if Dom’s there beside me, steering me back into the bar – it’ll look like he’s dragged me back to apologise. Which of course he has, but I don’t want Karl to see that.

‘I’ll go, Dom. I think it’s better if I go and talk to him on my own. Okay?’

It is not okay.

‘For f*ck’s sake!’ he yells at me. ‘I am so bloody sick of this.’

‘What?’

‘You, running away from me. This isn’t a partnership any more, Nicole, this isn’t a marriage. This is you, in your own little world, running off to see your father, disappearing to god knows where in the middle of the night, snapping shut your laptop the second I walk into the room, having secret telephone conversations …’ He stops, throws his hands up in the air, a gesture of resignation. ‘Do you think I don’t notice the way you’re constantly disappearing, the way you’re always sneaking around? Do you think I don’t care? Did you honestly expect me to believe, for example, that you were just “walking around” last night until two-thirty in the morning?’

I did, actually.

‘Where were you? Go on, just tell the truth. Just for once. Give it a try – see how it feels.’ His voice drips venom. ‘Were you with Aidan?’

There’s an awning up ahead, a red plastic awning which affords a half yard or so’s protection from the snow. I shelter underneath it, waiting for Dom to join me, but he doesn’t move, he just stands there, his question hanging in the air.

‘I went to see Alex,’ I say. ‘We talked for a while, then we went out for a drink at a bar near where she lives. Then I came back.’ His shoulders slump a little, I can sense his relief, which makes what’s coming a hundred times worse. ‘But I have seen Aidan. I was with him today. I bumped into him outside his office …’

‘You bumped into him?’ Dom asks, incredulous. ‘How f*cking stupid do you think I am, Nicole? You bumped into him …’ he laughs mirthlessly.

‘It’s the truth, I swear, I was shopping near where he works, I saw him in the street …’

‘And then what? Then what? You were with him all afternoon? Did you go to bed with him?’

‘No! Jesus, Dom, of course not. I would never do that. Believe me, please, we just walked around …’

‘You know what?’ he interrupts me. ‘Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. I’m really not interested in listening to your excuses. I’ve had enough of this. It has to stop. You have to make a choice between life with me and life with … them. All the others. Aidan, Alex, Julian’s ghost … the life you had before. I’m going back to the hotel now, I’m going to get on the first flight that I can and I’m going back to London. If you’re at all interested in saving this marriage, you can come with me. If not, well … There’s nothing more I can do, Nicole.’

I stand there for a bit, under my sad little red plastic awning, wishing I had a cigarette. Wishing I hadn’t told Dom that I’d seen Aidan, wishing I hadn’t overreacted to Karl’s wedding announcement, wishing I could go back in time, to this morning, to sex and breakfast in bed.

I have a choice to make: I can run after Dominic and beg him not to leave, beg him to let us stay here for a couple more days, beg him to go to the party like we planned, to go ice skating at the Rockefeller Center and have cocktails at the Met, or I can go and find Karl and apologise for running out on him.

I choose Karl. I go back to Macao, but our table is empty. I search the bar for five or ten minutes, but it’s obvious that he’s gone. Back upstairs on the pavement, I call him from my mobile.

‘Nicole?’

‘I’m so sorry, Karl, I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s okay …’

‘It’s not okay, I don’t know what came over me.’

‘Are you at your hotel?’

‘No, I’m outside the bar.’

‘Come to my place. It’s very close by. You just walk one block east and two blocks south, and you’ll find me. Warren Street, number thirty-five. Apartment seven. Okay?’

‘I’ll be there in a minute.’

Ten minutes later I am standing outside Karl’s apartment, feeling like an idiot. I press the buzzer and take the lift to the fourth floor, where he greets me as I step through the doors, embracing me as though I hadn’t seen him for years, let alone run out on him twenty minutes earlier.

‘I’m sorry, Karl, you took me by surprise …’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘It does, I feel so stupid.’

‘Don’t feel stupid.’

‘I am stupid. I want you to be happy. I’m happy you’re happy.’

‘I know you are,’ he says. ‘Come on, come inside. I want you to meet Sean.’

‘Oh god, he’s here? Karl …’ I’m mortified, but short of running away again, there’s nothing I can do now.

The apartment is large by New York standards, the front door opening up into an elegant hallway which leads into a living room with floor to ceiling windows looking out onto the street. The walls are covered with large, colourful paintings, some of which I recognise as Karl’s own. On the left, above the open fireplace, is a stark black and white photograph, little boys, dressed in white, playing football in a dusty street. It’s one of Julian’s.

Karl takes my coat. While he’s hanging it up in the hallway closet a slight, grey-haired man wearing jeans, a brightly printed shirt and a pair of heavy-framed specs appears from the kitchen, carrying a bottle of champagne in one hand and four flutes in the other. They were obviously expecting Dom to come with me.

‘Hello,’ he says, giving me a warm smile. ‘Would you like a glass of sparkle?’

‘I’d love one,’ I say. I stand there awkwardly while the man, who has clearly opened many a champagne bottle in his life, silently and expertly removes the cork and pours us each a glass, leaving one empty.

‘It’s nice to meet you, Nicole,’ he says, handing me one of the flutes. ‘I’m Sean, by the way.’

‘I guessed as much,’ I said. ‘It’s lovely to meet you, too. Congratulations.’

‘Oh yes, finally getting him down the aisle,’ he said with a laugh.

‘I’m sure he didn’t need too much persuasion. He always was a sucker for weddings.’

Karl comes back into the living room and picks up a glass.

‘What can I say? I am an old romantic.’ The three of us clink glasses and Sean invites me to sit. He is not what I expected; he has a good ten to fifteen years on Karl, not at all the twenty-something gym-bunny I imagined in my head. Why I imagined that I’ve no idea, but I’m oddly relieved that Karl is with someone older, someone to look after him. I feel like I ought to say something about my earlier behaviour, and I start to explain, but Sean waves away my apologies.

‘Don’t give it a moment’s thought,’ he says. ‘I understand completely.’

‘So,’ I say brightly, sipping my champagne, ‘tell me about your wedding plans. Germany, Karl said?’

Sean pulled a face. ‘I’d rather do it in the States. I’m pushing for Cape Cod. Cape Cod in the spring, don’t you think that would be great? Would you come over if we did it in the spring?’

‘Of course, I would,’ I say. ‘And I’d pick Cape Cod over Germany, too.’

‘What’s wrong with Germany?’ Karl asks. Sean and I exchange a look. I like him already.

‘And how did you guys meet?’

‘Sean’s a sculptor,’ Karl says, beaming at him proudly. ‘A very good one. That’s one of his,’ he says, pointing to a striking bronze figure standing on a low-slung bookcase to my left. It stands next to a large framed photograph of Julian, tanned and happy, laughing at the camera. I love that he’s here in the room with us. ‘Sean had a show at my gallery last year and … well. You know.’ They smile at each other, they’re almost coy. It’s so lovely to see Karl like this again.

‘And what about you?’ Sean asks me. ‘I was expecting to meet your husband.’

‘Oh, well,’ I mumble. I can feel myself colouring. ‘Um … he went back to the hotel. He was a bit pissed off with me about … earlier. I behaved badly at the bar.’

‘Nonsense,’ Karl says.

‘Call him,’ Sean says, refilling my glass, ‘tell him to come over and join us.’

‘Oh, I don’t know … He was in a bit of a bad mood.’

‘He’ll get over it,’ Karl says. You don’t know the half of it, I want to say, not even the quarter, but I fish my phone out of my handbag. Just as I’m about to dial it starts to ring.

‘There you go!’ Sean says with a laugh, ‘serendipity!’

‘Hi, Dom,’ I say, getting to my feet and walking over to the window. This may not be a conversation I want others to hear. ‘I’m at Karl’s. We were just wondering if you wanted to come over?’ I bite my lip, steeling myself for a stream of bitter invective.

‘No, Nic, you need to come back.’

‘Please, Dom. We can talk about that other stuff later …’

‘No, Nicole …’

‘I want to talk about it, I do, we need to talk—’

‘Nicole, forget about that. You need to come back to the hotel, okay?’ His voice sounds odd, he doesn’t sound angry, he sounds worried.

‘Dom, what is it?’

‘Your mum rang.’

‘Oh, Jesus, is she all right? Is Charles all right? What’s wrong?’ My heart is suddenly hammering in my chest.

‘She’s fine, Nic, she and Charles are fine. It’s your dad.’