Page 22 of The Winter We Met
‘It’s certainly very fashionable – I’m not sure I fit. My flat in Sydney is colourful and cluttered – with French doors opening onto a balcony full of flowerpots and bees sneaking in. The only orderly part of it is my dark room. Whereas this is all streamlined appliances and oatmeal furnishings and artificial carefully placed plastic plants. I wish I could be more on trend but I never seem able to muster the enthusiasm.’
‘Me neither.’
A cosy, cluttered feeling filled my chest – cluttered with thoughts about how Nik and I were so much alike. Life right at this moment, just for this second, would have been pretty much perfect if it wasn’t for the recent arguments with Oliver. When I returned to my flat every night, it felt like home, not just because of my belongings but because he and Buddy were there, even though he left his wet towel on the bathroom floor and always forgot to put the extractor fan on when he fried meat. And he’d always leave the cutlery drawer open and put empty jars back in the fridge. That last one really niggled. It was something Mum used to do.
The clouds were kind and held onto their rain as if to annoy the forecasters who’d said it would be torrential today. We chatted non-stop and within the hour were walking on the Albert Embankment, along the south side of the River Thames, with Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament across the other side, in the distance. It felt romantic which was ridiculous. Nik was a visitor, soon to return to the other side of the planet. A trader walked past, pushing a trolley selling plastic snowmen that danced when you wound them up. I’d told Nik about how the last couple of years there’d been scaffolding around the clock, meaning it didn’t look its best.
‘But it’s the flaws that are more interesting in life, don’t you think?’ he said, those blue eyes mesmerising me. ‘Back home, I love taking snaps of people. Those at the two ends of life – kids and oldies… their faces are the most natural. Everyone else in between is trying too hard to look their best. There’s nothing like a close up of someone utterly relaxed with who they are.’
I slipped my arm through his and shivered as he pulled me close whilst we walked past a living statue – there were many along the Embankment, in between the plane trees planted there, I’d read, because they are especially good at soaking up pollution. This one was dressed in a suit, with a top hat and glasses. He stood on a plinth that said Scrooge. His skin and the whole outfit were sprayed to look like bronze and it was hard to tell he was human.
I looked up at Nik as we walked and chatted more about his photography, how he found a bare winter tree as fascinating as one in full bloom. How ruins were far more interesting than shiny skyscrapers. From anyone else those comments would have sounded pretentious, but there was something so genuine about him.
It felt special, a friendship where you plunged straight into deep conversation. I’d only ever had that with Gran – and Oliver.
We stopped by a rough sleeper and both put change in the takeaway coffee cup in front of him, on the damp pavement. Nik reached into his rucksack and took out a bar of chocolate. He broke off a chunk for me and himself and then handed the rest to the man. Nik took out his camera and photographed the Houses of Parliament and then shots of me holding onto the elegant dolphin lamppost near us,Singin’ in the Rainstyle. He shook his head and muttered the wordbeautiful.The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.
We walked further along the Thames past a small group of political protestors, who were claiming several recent aeroplane crashes around the world had been orchestrated.
‘As you might remember, Alf loves conspiracy theories, including the Flat Earth ones,’ I said.
‘Yes – what was that about not believing Australia exists?’
‘The idea was once mooted that creating the idea of your country was a hoax to cover up the biggest mass murder of all time, namely that British convicts supposedly sent there were actually drowned. And that pilots are in on it and fly people to other islands that are nearby, telling them it’s Australia.’
Near to St Thomas’s hospital now, we sat down on one of the swan benches, featuring cast iron swan panels and arms. The clouds finally broke.
‘Alf really gets passionate about his conspiracy obsessions, arguing for and against the evidence. I reckon it keeps him going. His heart failure can make him very tired, but just the mention of the Illuminati or Elvis supposedly having been spotted is enough to get him firing on all cylinders.’
‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with people believing in things that can’t be explained, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone,’ said Nik. ‘Not even if he believes my country doesn’t exist!’
‘I think Alf’s got over that one – especially as he’s just as keen onNeighboursas Gran. But he’s always coming out with a new one he’s discovered, about real events or mythical creatures… do you have the tooth fairy in Australia?’
‘Sure do. So, has Alf got reservations about Santa, like Glenda?’
‘Yes but he’s like a kid who’s just worked out Santa isn’t real but doesn’t want to admit it and spoil the magic. He loves Christmas, especially the rich food which is a shame as he’s only allowed to eat a little of it. Talking of which, let’s find somewhere for lunch.’
Nik pointed to a takeaway stand to our left. ‘How about we stay out here and eat fish and chips? I can’t go back home without trying them.’
‘Aren’t you cold outside, what with being used to warmer climes?’
‘No. Must be my Finnish genes. Of course, if you’d rather eat indoors then—’
‘I think it’s a great idea.’ Insisting on paying, I headed over. The fried, savoury smell wafting my way from the stand was mouthwatering. I stood for a moment once I’d paid, holding two cones of fries and cod goujons. That smell… I felt warm and fuzzy inside for a second, but it was tinged with sadness. The fried aroma reminded me of fish and chips with Mum, eaten on the village bench when I was little, just the two of us – one of rare times I got her full attention.
Nik wolfed his down and patted his stomach. ‘I could do with losing a few kilos but not on holiday. Not in England.’
I couldn’t see what he was worrying about. I found his solid frame appealing. What with that and his white streaked hair and sherry habits, he was nothing like the type of man I usually went for. When we finished he threw the containers into a bin. Back on the bench he slipped an arm around my shoulder. We sat in silence, for a moment, admiring the riverside view, away from stresses and strains. I could have sat there for days.
‘Was your job in the toy industry your first?’ he asked.
‘Apart from a paper round, yes. Same for you, I imagine, what with it being the family business?’
He nodded.
‘Was it always your lifelong goal? Is there anything else you’d love to do?’
‘No. I’m pretty much perfectly happy.’
