Page 25 of Crazy in Love at the Lonely Hearts Bookshop
‘But you don’t have to get married to be happy,’ Nina said equally forcefully, whereupon eight-year-old Rosie burst into tears.
‘I want to get married so I can wear a pretty dress and eat cake,’ she sobbed, because Nina could even alienate the prepubescent members of the O’Kelly clan.
‘Rosie, sweetheart, you can get married if you want to,’ Nina said, getting up so she could hurry over to Rosie and put her arm around her. ‘And you can also wear a pretty dress and eat cake without getting married if you want to.’
‘Although no one will want to marry you if you eat too much cake and get fat,’ Alison said firmly and though she swore that she wasn’t talking about Nina and her non-married size fourteen to sixteen depending on where she was in her menstrual cycle, it sure felt like she was.
Nina left quite soon after that; refusing pudding, coffee or a lift to the station and taking her raspberry meringue layer cake with her. When she got home, she’d change straight into her pyjamas and eat the whole damn cake while she caught up on her reading or watched a trashy film.
She gave an angry snort as she got to the station, realised that the Waterloo train was pulling in and then had to run, in heels, in a tight dress, carrying a collapsible meringue cake in a Tupperware container.
She made it with seconds to spare. The doors slid shut behind her and Nina leaned against them to get her breath back and cast her eye around the carriage.
It was early Sunday afternoon, that strange lull when most people were still lingering over lunch, so there were lots of empty seats. Nina could have a whole four-seater to herself if she wanted and she did want. Didn’t want to have to look, or worse, talk to another human being for a good few hours. This must be how introverted Verity felt when she was overloaded at the end of a busy day.
Nina levered herself upright and tottered along to the middle of the carriage and the cluster of four-seaters. There was a man just sitting down in one of them. Nina hoped he wouldn’t tell her off for putting her feet up but God help him if he did.
Then she got nearer and she saw his face and he raised his eyes from his iPad screen as if he could sense Nina’s scrutiny and they both gazed blankly at each other for a very long moment.
It was Noah. Of course it was Noah because this was the day from hell.
‘I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.’
Noah lifted his hand in a half-hearted gesture and Nina could absolutely style this out. Wave back and carry on walking to the end of the carriage.
Or she could just act like a grown-up and sit down opposite Noah. ‘Well, this is a coincidence!’ Of course it wasn’t a coincidence when his parents lived five streets away from hers; God would smite her for all the lying she was about to do. ‘So anyway this is already awkward enough without us ignoring each other all the way to Waterloo, but if you want some quiet time, I can just shove off?’
He shook his head. ‘No, you’re all right.’
Noah really knew how to make a girl feel special. ‘So, where do you live anyway?’ Nina asked.
‘Bermondsey.’ He seemed a little awkward, but Nina was used to working a tough crowd. She hadjustsurvived a family dinner, after all.
‘Cool. By the Tate Modern?’ she asked and this feigned interest in the face of zero encouragement was actually a lot like being on a bad date.
‘Nearer to Borough Market.’
‘There’s a stall in Borough Market that sells this salted caramel chocolate tart that makes me want to cry even thinking about it.’ Nina closed her eyes at the memory of said salted caramel chocolate tart, then opened them again to see Noah looking at her. He quickly averted his gaze. ‘Mattie must never know that I’m having impure thoughts about someone else’s French patisserie,’ she added and she wasn’t even joking, though Hallelujah! Was that the tiniest of smiles breaking through the stormy look on Noah’s face?
‘I’ll take your secret to the grave,’ he promised solemnly, then gestured at the Tupperware container on Nina’s lap. ‘Where’ve you been then?’
‘My parents’ house. Sunday lunch once a month is a bit of a ritual slash torment now that I live up town.’ Nina sighed. ‘At least, it was meant to be for Sunday lunch but then World War Three broke out between me and my mother.’
Noah raised his eyebrows. ‘That bad, eh?’
‘Yeah, but we’ll leave it a week then she’ll phone, it’s her turn to phone after we’ve had a row, I did it last time, and neither of us will mention it. It’s our way.’ Nina shook her head at the utter trainwreck that was her relationship with her mother. ‘What about you?’ She just about stopped herself from asking if he’d seen his folks too – after all, they were strangers and she couldn’t know that his family were from Worcester Park too.
Noah had a small collection of Tupperware next to him on the seat. He gave it a look of repulsion. ‘Yeah, same as you, visiting the parents. No World War Three but a few minor skirmishes,’ he confessed in a tired voice. Then he rubbed his eyes like his own trip to the bosom of his loving family had exhausted him.
Nina could empathise. ‘Well, at least you got leftovers out of it,’ she pointed out, because she wanted to turn Noah’s frown upside down. And though she hadn’t been directly involved, she still felt guilty about the rotten time he’d had as a kid. ‘Who doesn’t love a cold roast potato?’
‘I love cold roast potatoes,’ Noah said dreamily then fixed grave green eyes on Nina. ‘There are no cold roast potatoes in any of these containers though. It’s all high-fibre vegan food.’
Her mother had said something about Noah’s parents being hippies with funny ideas, but then as far as Alison was concerned anyone who wore Birkenstocks or didn’t eat meat was a hippy with funny ideas. Nina didn’t share her mother’s viewpoint. In fact, she even willingly went meat-free a few days each week because she cared about the planet and yeah, admittedly, sometimes dinner was just a bowl of cheesy chips from The Midnight Bell. ‘Yum. Some of my happiest moments have involved stuffing my face with a black-lentil dal.’
‘I hear you,’ Noah said morosely. ‘Unfortunately, my parents’ vegan cooking hasn’t moved beyond the nut roasts they learned to make when they were students, though they have got with the times and added chia seeds to them now.’ He rubbed his eyes again. ‘Today’s nut roast was so dry that it’s sucked every last drop of moisture out of my body. Or maybe it was the mung-bean bake.’
Nina had once lived with a militant vegan who’d left bowls of soaking mung beans everywhere so she could empathise.
