EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-NINE
‘It’s all right for
some,’ Nicky complained as Anthony gave a contented sigh and snuggled under the
duvet
‘Everyone’s entitled to annual leave,’ he mumbled.
Nicky looked around at the untidy bedroom. Although Anthony’s flat was smart,
tastefully furnished, and in a good area of Tunbridge Wells, it was too small
for two people. Nicky searched under piles of discarded clothing for her
handbag.
‘I can’t be late. And I can’t find my handbag amongst all this rubble.’
Anthony moved the duvet aside and sat up. ‘Rubble! How dare you refer to my
wardrobe as rubble.’
Ignoring him, Nicky walked into the living room. He heard her muffled reply.
‘It’s behind the sofa. What’s it doing there?’
‘Hiding,’ he replied.
She popped her head round the bedroom door. ‘I’ve got to dash. See you
tonight.’
He waved and smiled. ‘I’ll be here.’
She blew him a kiss, and seconds later he heard the door close. He sat staring
at the mess of his room, a mess that had suddenly overtaken him. He was so
fastidious, neat in everything he did. And now, as much as he loved Nicky, his
world had been turned upside down. If they were going to remain an item, he
decided, they would have to find somewhere bigger to live. Now that Nicky had
started her new job in London, working as a PA to the editor of a glossy magazine
devoted to the promotion of carpets and flooring, there was no real reason why
they couldn’t afford a reasonable size flat. Perhaps somewhere not so central,
which might bring the price down a bit. His
mind drifted lazily, day-dreaming and making plans, but the untidiness of the
bedroom intruded and he began to feel uncomfortable. He threw back the duvet,
grabbed his dressing gown, and began transforming the room, turning it back
into the smart space that he liked to think resembled the fine example you see
in a glossy magazine. As he hurled himself into this task, Nicky had already
reached Tunbridge Wells station. She dashed onto the crowded platform, managing
to catch the train with only seconds to spare.
She managed to find a seat and settled back contentedly to think about her
relationship with Anthony. She smiled as she thought about how loving and
thoughtful he was. He seemed so unlike any other young men she had known. He
loved to take her shopping, and make suggestions about what she should wear;
carefully choosing accessories and taking her in hand. And there was his
passion for speed and his motor bike. He was a very unusual man, full of
surprises she decided, not the sort you could make assumptions about.
As the train neared London Bridge, she smiled dreamily. She had spent the entire
journey thinking about him, so perhaps she was falling in love.
The train slowed to a halt. And it waited outside
London Bridge station. Five minutes went by. Then another five
minutes. People shuffled and sighed impatiently. This was all she needed. Only
two weeks into the job and she was going to be late. And then the public
announcement system crackled, and the guard gave them the bad news: there was a
bomb scare at Waterloo and Charing Cross, and the train would probably terminate at
London Bridge. Passengers furiously clicked their mobiles and began
blustering about their predicament. When Nicky got through to her boss, he was
very understanding, telling her that other staffs were delayed, and
London was in turmoil as nearly every mainline station was
sealed off.
Half an hour later the train crawled into London Bridge and everyone alighted. The almost unintelligible
platform announcements suggested a return home when possible, as streets near
stations were closed by police, and entrances to the underground stations had
been sealed off.
Nicky tried to telephone Anthony, but her pay-as-you-go mobile ran out of
credit. Oh well, she thought, if she could get a train back to Tunbridge Wells
within the next hour or so, she might be back by lunchtime and they could spend
the afternoon together. It would be a nice surprise.
*
Ivor was on his third pint of Guinness in The Royal Oak. When Mike entered, the
postman grinned sheepishly at him. As soon as Mike had got his pint of Stella,
he said, ‘So how was the second trip to the sex tourist country?’
Ivor blinked rapidly and licked the foam from his top lip. ‘It was fantastic.’
Mike grinned dirtily. ‘You do it again with her, you old dog you?’
The smile faded from Ivor’s face. ‘No, she wouldn’t.’
Mike gave him a puzzled frown. ‘But she slept with you before. She even got the
family to take photos of you in bed together – as proof.’
‘It’s like this, Mike,’ Ivor started to explain. ‘She said it would be wrong if
I’m not going to commit to marriage. She said not until we’re married this
time, and until the Home Office gives permission.’
‘You still thinking of going through with it?’
Ivor shook his head. ‘I’m having second thoughts. She said she’s got friends in
this country. I know what might happen. As soon as we’re married and she’s
settled down here, she’ll probably take off, and I’ll never see her again. I’m
not that stupid, Mike.’
‘You’re right, Ivor, to be wary. You don’t want to get conned.’
Mike tried not to sound too disappointed. He’d been looking forward to stories
about Ivor’s father picking up the bride-to-be at Gatwick in his Robin Reliant.
Welcome to the land of milk and honey. He could just picture her face.
*
Nicky arrived back at the flat just after two o’clock. As soon as she walked in the door she felt something
was wrong. There was a guilty silence hanging in the air; a quietness that was
unnatural, as if something or someone had been suddenly stifled into silence.
As soon as she walked into the bedroom she saw him standing facing her. He’d
obviously been posing at the full-length mirror until she had disturbed him by
entering unexpectedly. She couldn’t speak. Any exclamation caught in her
throat. She was frozen with shock. She wasn’t staring at Anthony, but at an
extremely beautiful young woman. A young woman who was wearing Nicky’s best
evening dress, and had probably spent hours making himself beautiful with her
make-up.