Authors: Lindsey Kelk
‘Sorry, everyone.’
A white-gloved hand pulled back the scarlet curtain to our box and bathed Al in the light of a tiny torch. He followed it down to the front row and took a seat beside Amy, brushing his hair down.
‘My mullet isn’t in the way, is it?’ he asked, turning towards Nick and me. I wasn’t sure whether it was the look on Nick’s face, the confusion on mine or just the fact that we were holding hands but something caused Al to slap his thigh and laugh out loud before turning back towards the stage.
‘Tell me you brought an old man a drink,’ he whispered to Kekipi as the orchestra started up. ‘You know I can’t get through one of these things without a nip of something.’
And with Nick’s cool hand still holding onto my sweaty one, I knew exactly how he felt.
Everything I’d ever heard about the opera was true. It was dramatic and emotional and passionate, and if you didn’t have a clue what was going on, it was incredibly boring. For the first fifteen minutes, I sat patiently, waiting to get it. After that, I started looking around at the other boxes, frowning at the captivated looks on everyone else’s faces. What was wrong with me? Even Julia Roberts was moved to tears in
Pretty Woman
. Did I really have less emotional and cultural depth than a Hollywood Boulevard hooker?
On top of everything, it was nigh on impossible to pay proper attention to what was happening on stage when Nick had been holding on to my hand for fifty-six minutes exactly. Even though my shoulder was killing me, I was too scared to move more than an inch and every time Nick shifted in his seat, I felt a wave of warmth roll all the way over my body. It was like the lining of my dress had been replaced with a malfunctioning electric blanket. My mouth was dry but my palms were damp and I was terrified of sweating irreparably in my dress. I actually felt bad for the performers. No matter what else was happening, it was nothing compared to what wasn’t happening between Nick and me. Every breath, every movement, every time his eyelid flickered, I was aware of it all and it was all too much.
Halfway through a high note so impressive that I almost forgot to worry about whether or not I was ruining thousands of euros of borrowed silk with my mere existence, Nick suddenly pushed my hand away and shot up out of his seat. I watched, open-mouthed, as he fought with the velvet curtain for a moment before disappearing altogether. Well, I wasn’t the opera’s biggest fan either, but anyway you cut it, that was just rude. I flexed my suddenly cold, clammy hand and circled my shoulder in its socket. What had just happened? Where had he gone? Was he coming back? Amy and Kekipi seemed to be too busy giggling amongst themselves to have noticed anything and unless the occasional snore was how one was supposed to show proper appreciation for a well-presented aria, it looked like Al was fast asleep.
Fuck it! I was going after him.
The foyer was almost empty, presumably because everyone inside had spent an awful lot of money to come to the opera and they were going to stick it out until the bitter end whether they liked it or not. A bit like ordering a disappointing curry and making yourself finish it, even though every mouthful made you sad. Stepping out of my shoes, I padded around on the cool wooden floor for a moment, my feet sighing with relief as I looked for Nick. There wasn’t an overly dramatic man-child to be seen for miles.
‘Excuse me …’ I reached out to tap a passing gentleman on the arm and gave him what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘I don’t suppose you saw a man pass by just now? In a dinner jacket?’
I didn’t know if it was the language barrier or the fact that at least fifty per cent of people in the building were men wearing dinner jackets but he gave me a quick once-over and then followed up with the internationally recognized expression for ‘get off me, you mental’ and disappeared into one of the boxes. I glanced down at the black patent stilettos in my hand and reluctantly shoved them back onto my feet. If carrying your uncomfortable shoes made you an undesirable in Milan, I hoped that man never made it to Clapham on a Saturday night.
‘Because
that’s
likely,’ I muttered, heading for the exit and some fresh air.
But fresh air was hard to find when, right outside the exit, I found Nick pacing up and down and dragging deeply on an already half-smoked cigarette.
‘Since when do you smoke?’ I asked, hacking out a feeble cough.
‘I don’t.’ He threw his cigarette down and ground it out with his heel. ‘I quit.’
‘Looks like it,’ I said, tightening my grip on my bag in case I needed to use it as a weapon. ‘I’m so impressed by your willpower.’
‘I smoke when I’m stressed.’ Nick raked his fingers through his ashy blond hair, still pacing. ‘Is that all right?’
I shrugged, leaning against the archway that lead back inside to take the weight off my feet. ‘I’ll admit tonight wasn’t the captivating experience I was hoping for, but it’s hardly driven me to drugs.’
Nick stopped moving and stared at the ground. I followed his eyes, landing on the dying embers of his cigarette. The sun wasn’t quite set all the way but the theatre cast a shadow over the two of us and the tiny orange glow on the floor. I watched as it faded away into nothing.
‘I’ve got no idea what I’m doing,’ Nick said, finally.
Swallowing hard, I kept my eyes on the floor. ‘About what?’
‘Everything,’ he replied. ‘Work. Life. Everything.’
‘You’re doing this,’ I said, waving my hands around in the air. ‘For Al. This project.’
‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘This is not what I do. I’m a journalist, I tell stories that need to be told. This is a trumped-up scrapbook, not a real job. I shouldn’t be here.’
‘Then why are you?’ I asked, wanting to know the answer and not wanting him to say another word in case it wasn’t what I wanted to hear.
‘Because I cannot stop thinking about you!’ His voice cracked and creaked in all the right places and when I looked up, he was right in front of me. ‘I must have lost my fucking mind.’
I sucked in my bottom lip and bit down hard. ‘Just what every girl wants to hear.’
‘I promised myself, after all the shit with my ex, I wouldn’t get involved with another crazy bitch.’ Nick rolled his eyes upwards, as if he was giving his own brain a filthy look. He breathed out heavily, the air in his lungs still coloured with smoke. ‘And look at me; I’m in Milan, chasing a girl across the ocean, a girl who can’t even give me her real name. Nice work, Nick.’
His body was so close to mine, I could hear the tulle of my skirts rustling. So this was why there were never any pre-marital shenanigans in the olden days. You couldn’t get away with anything without half the house hearing it.
‘You know none of that had anything to do with you,’ I said, unexpected tears swelling against the rims of my eyes, my nose prickling. ‘And I’m not crazy or a bitch, thank you very much. But, tell me honestly, for the last time, are you going to keep beating me over the head with this? Because if you are, I don’t think I want to do this any more. This “professional” thing.’
To hell with Amy and her forbidden air quotes.
Nick reached his hand up to my face and held it, running his thumb along my cheekbone to wipe away the one wily tear that had escaped. My temper had dissolved into rapid breathing and I was coming dangerously close to hyperventilating. This dress was not designed for overly emotional situations; there was altogether too much boning. Which was ironic, when you thought about it.
‘Is this what you call being professional?’ Nick asked before pressing his lips to mine.
I gave in before I even knew, pressing my forearms against his chest, my hands wrapped around his neck. It was the closest I had ever come to a swoon in my life. With the cold stone of the opera house behind me and the solid warmth of Nick pushing up in front of me, I was completely trapped and I loved it. His kiss was softer than it had been before, still as insistent, still as passionate but altogether less certain. Through all the layers of fabric in my dress, I felt his thigh slip between mine and heard a tiny gasp escape my lips as he broke away to draw breath.
‘This is ridiculous.’ Nick pulled his arms away from me and loosened his tie, unfastening his top two buttons. I pressed a hand to my chest, holding my heart in place and putting something, even if it was one of my own limbs, between us. His skin smelled like cigarettes and shaving lotion and salt. He turned away, pulling a small white box out of his pocket and shaking out another cigarette.
‘I do wish you two would stop trying to lose us.’
Kekipi bounded down the steps like a bow-tie-wearing Labrador, breaking the painful tension between Nick and me. Amy followed him, a little less light on her feet than when we had arrived and, looking at her eyes, a lot less sober. Behind them, Al brought up the rear, scratching his head.
‘What’s wrong?’ I shifted my attention and was very thankful that ladyboners weren’t a real thing or I would have given myself away completely. ‘Is it over?’
‘It’s not over for another two hours,’ Kekipi declared with a shudder. ‘I couldn’t stand it for another second. Bored now.’
‘And we ran out of whisky,’ Amy added with a hiccup. ‘Which was a major problem.’
‘Yes, well …’ Al stuck his hands deep into his pockets and wrinkled his forehead. ‘It has been a while since I’ve attended the opera. Perhaps nostalgia has clouded my memory a little.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ I said. ‘I thought it was just me. It was really nice though, Al, getting dressed up and coming to the theatre and everything. It’s so beautiful inside.’
‘And you’re outside because?’ Amy raised a questioning eyebrow and flicked her eyes over towards Nick. ‘Bit of fresh air?’
‘Something like that,’ I said. ‘God knows.’ God being Nick, obviously.
‘I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.’ Kekipi wrapped his arms around mine and Amy’s shoulders and directed me towards our waiting cars by the kerb. ‘Al, a nightcap?’
‘It’s seven-thirty,’ Al replied, looking at the cheap plastic watch under his dinner jacket. ‘I don’t think this counts as a nightcap.’
‘Fine. Al, lots of shots at a dirty dive bar I know?’
Al opened the door to the first car and jumped inside. ‘I think I’m going to pass,’ he said with a quick salute. ‘I don’t need to spend a second longer than necessary in this penguin suit. See you in the morning, gang.’
‘Should we not go home and get changed?’ I asked, concerned once again for my dress and potential new arsehole.
‘Hell, no.’ Kekipi took my hand and pushed me, bum first, into the car. ‘Tuesday nights are always more fun in formal wear. Are you joining us, Mr Miller?’
Nick still stood a way away from the action, inhaled on his cigarette once more and then threw it into the street. ‘Why not?’ he replied, striding over to the car. ‘I could use a drink.’
‘This should be fun!’ Amy quickly clambered into the car next to me before Nick could take his seat, forcing him round to the front. ‘Let’s get hammered.’
‘You know, I’m really tired,’ I whispered in her ear while Kekipi gave the driver directions in perfect Italian. ‘And there’s some weird stuff going on with Nick. I think we should just have one and then head back; we’ve got an early start in the morning.’
‘Totally,’ Amy agreed, patting my knee. ‘That’s exactly what we’ll do. One quick drink, in bed by ten.’
‘Perfect.’ I settled in and smiled, relieved. ‘I love it when you see sense.’
‘I love this song so much!’ I yelled, clinging to Kekipi’s neck and throwing back my shot. ‘I tried to get it for a commercial I was working on but they wouldn’t give the rights, the bastards.’
‘You’re so rock and roll, it hurts,’ he replied, handing me another miniature glass full of good times. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘So much fun,’ I nodded, before doing the second shot and banging the empty glass down on the bar. Or was it my third? Might have been my fourth. I couldn’t quite remember. ‘This place is great! Milan is great! Italy is great! Being a photographer is great!’
‘You’re great,’ he said while I clicked my invisible camera all around the bar. At Amy, dancing on a table; at my new friends Gino and Francesca, who I had met in the queue for the toilets; at the laughing bartenders; at the half-empty bottle of champagne in Kekipi’s hand. And at Nick, leaning against the bar, chatting to a random brunette. Hmm. Lowering my camera, I reached out for my champagne glass and sipped in the most ladylike fashion I could muster. Which wasn’t that ladylike.
‘Have you given any more thought to what you’ll do at the end of the week?’ Kekipi asked, snapping his fingers in front of my face. ‘To what you’re going to tell your friend?’
‘It’s haaaaaaard.’ I stretched out the ‘a’ as far as I could to make sure Kekipi knew I was serious. ‘Because I love advertising but I really love photography too.’
I stretched out the ‘ooooooo’ in love as well, just in case I wasn’t making myself completely clear.
‘I can see how the lure of sitting behind a desk and trying to negotiate the rights to Miley Cyrus songs could be just as creatively fulfilling as travelling the world and taking beautiful photographs,’ Kekipi nodded. ‘It must be a nightmare for you.’
‘No one understands,’ I said, shaking my head firmly from side to side. ‘I
do
love it. It’s good. It’s like, you get a brief or someone says “make my baked beans exciting” and no one thinks baked beans can be exciting but you find a way to make them the most exciting baked beans ever …’ I paused to give him a good poke in the chest. ‘
Ever
though, like the most exciting in the world. And you win! You win the job and then you see your ad on telly in the middle of
Coronation
Street
and it’s brilliant and you know you’ve done a good job. I like knowing I’ve done a good job.’
‘Then explain to me,’ he removed the finger that was still jabbing him in the chest and pushed my arm back down to my side, ‘why you like photography so much.’
‘Because it’s good too.’ I took another tiny sip of champagne and hiccupped immediately. ‘Because it’s just the camera and me showing everyone else what we can see. It’s the same. But different.’