Page 36 of The Last Train Home
‘Well …’ he starts slowly. ‘That was … romantic. Not in the way I thought it was going to be.’ He laughs at himself and I can’t help but chuckle in return. ‘I’ll admit gay cowboys was not where I saw that film going.’
‘You had no idea what it was about before you booked it, did you?’
‘Not a clue. I enjoyed it, though.’
‘Good. I loved it,’ I tell him, planting a quick kiss on his mouth as we enter the ever-manic throng of Leicester Square. ‘As our options were basicallyBrokeback MountainorChicken Little, I’m pleased you chose the first one.’
He nods. ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Although I’ve seen the trailer forChicken Littletwice and I laughed both times, so if you want to go see that too, just say the word.
‘Now?’ I tease.
‘No, not now,’ he says pulling me towards him and draping his arm around my shoulder, warming me on this cold February night. ‘We’ve got somewhere to be in about half an hour.’
‘Where?’ I ask excitedly. I am having the best time.
‘I’ve booked The Ivy.’
‘The Ivy?’ I squeak with even more excitement. ‘I’ve never been there.’
‘I know. You mentioned it about a thousand times when I told you I’d had a client dinner there. That’s why I booked it.’
‘Sean …’ I sigh happily. I’m smiling to myself as we walk hand-in-hand through Covent Garden, killing time and feeling like tourists. It’s still buzzing with crowds, entertainers, revellers, lovers. A flower seller is offering single-stem roses and Sean pulls out his wallet, pays for one and hands it to me.
‘You really are too cute,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’
He smiles and we move away from the flower seller, stand in the cobbled Piazza as the lights shine down on us and, despite the cold, I feel warm, cared for, appreciated, happy. I turn to Sean to tell him all of this, to tell him how happy hemakes me and how I hope I do the same for him. He’s smiling the whole way through, and when I finish my jubilant monologue he brushes his hand against my cold cheek, looks into my eyes and tells me he loves me.
Chapter 25
Tom
‘OK,’ I say, cradling my phone to my ear as I’m running. I’m on the phone to The Ivy. ‘If you get any cancellations, will you let me know? Even if it’s twenty minutes before, ten minutes before, call me and we’ll be there.’
Samantha and I are back together. I cannot believe the way my life has panned out over the last few months. Was it fate it all happened like this? I often think back to that night in my flat, Abbie and I … I shake the thought away because that’s not helpful now. Samantha and me: that’s what I need to think about. That’s what I need to focus on. Not Abbie and me. That’s gone. I ruined it. If only we hadn’t nearly … If I’d just not bloody kissed her, we might have managed to still be in each other’s lives. Because of that kiss and where it almost led. But it was the right thing we stopped – the right thing. Only now I don’t have her in my life.
Another thing I don’t have is a dinner reservation. I can’t believe I forgot it was Valentine’s Day. I’ve made a total hash of this. Samantha is not going to forgive me, and I need to rush to the florist and see what they’ve got left. I meant to go at lunch, but I got called into a meeting, ate a quick sandwichat my desk and all thoughts of Valentine’s Day went out the window.
The florist’s prices have gone up, I swear, but at least they’re still open. I buy twenty-four red roses and hand over the GDP of a small country in exchange for flowers and a lot of foliage. Even if the rest of the evening is me apologising for messing up tonight, these flowers are actually quite impressive and should go some way towards making her feel special.
I shouldn’t have held out for The Ivy to pick up their phone. I should have rung around a bit more.Of coursethey were going to be fully booked. Maybe I could try the Oxo instead.
I see Samantha in front of St Paul’s, her curly brown hair streaked with red. I raise my hand to wave, and the first thing she does is smile at me across the lanes of traffic. The next thing she does is tap her watch to indicate I’m late. I glance at my watch, before weaving through the slow-moving congestion on Cannon Street. I’m three minutes late.Three.
When I reach her I pull her into an embrace and give her a kiss. She sees the huge bunch of flowers and her face moves into a big smile.
‘Tom, these are massive,’ she says. ‘How many are there?’
‘Twenty-four,’ I say.
Her gaze darts across the roses, appreciating them, and then she says nothing.
‘What?’ I query.
‘There’s twenty-three, but it doesn’t matter.’
‘No, there’s not. I watched him count them out.’ I do a quick tally. ‘Shit, where’s the other one?’
She inhales, squeezes my arm. ‘Ah, shame they don’t smell, but they are still so, so gorgeous.’
