Somewhere Only We Know (12 page)

Alex laughed. “I don’t disapprove of you. But I do disapprove of walking backwards, as a rule. Mind out, I doubt he’ll move out of the way for you!” Alex gestured at the street entertainer just a few feet away from them, a long-suffering living statue, staring glassily out across the Thames to where the heart of the city began its sprawl, apparently heedless of the small child attempting to climb up his trouser leg as her parents snapped photos on their iPhones.

“Fair enough.” Nadia span on the ball of one foot and fell into step with him, leaving Alex with just her profile, and a better idea of what she meant by how it was nicer seeing someone’s whole face. “So. Arms or legs? Pick one. No more stalling.”

“I’m not stalling, I’m thinking,” Alex protested. “It’s a big decision. Look at these guys.” He slowed, pulling Nadia out of the flow of people to lean against a railing, shadowed by the buildings above and pleasantly cool against his skin. In front of them a pocket of teenagers were making full use of the tiny skate park tucked underneath the overhang of the theatre, crouching low as they flew from one ramp to the next, hardly anything more than black blurs against the riot of colourful graffiti covering every surface. “
They
clearly need both.”

“True,” Nadia agreed. “And
he’d
be a pretty niche living statue if he lost half his limbs,” she nodded at the nearby entertainer.

“And those guys,” Alex pointed at the people who had paused in their walk along the Southbank to mill around the tables of used books set under the shade of the next bridge over. “Wandering from table to table.” Alex patted his thigh. “Flipping through a nice paperback.” He held his palms out and wiggled his fingers. “How could anyone choose?”

“We could always get you a Kindle,” Nadia pointed out.

“Ah, but, how would I get it to change the page?” Alex asked, sagely.

Nadia laughed, hooking her arm into his and pulling him on. “We’ll set the text up really big and you can learn to operate it with your toes.”

Nadia

Nadia’s answer to the old “which would you rather lose?” conundrum changed depending on her mood, but that day she probably would have chosen to keep her legs. They walked until her shoulders and her collarbones pinked in the sun and the balls of her feet ached in her flimsy gladiator sandals. They stopped for lunch: over-stuffed and inauthentic burritos sold out of a van and ran for coveted free space on a river-facing bench, where they sat and ate in companionable silence before getting back up and walking some more.

She hadn’t walked the South Bank for years; the snaking queue out from below the London Eye and the parade of chain restaurants usually depressed her. But it turned out not to be as bad as she’d remembered.

Alex was already so much more at ease with her, a building settling on its foundations, a favourite old tee loosening at the neck. His slightly awkward stop-start conversation had matured into an easy chatter. And it turned out that he was quick and he was funny (albeit in that terribly British sarcastic and self-deprecating way) and the way that he always laughed when he made her laugh made her laugh again in turn.

Nadia had always given her friendship cheaply. She sensed that Alex was the opposite, which made his unfettered acceptance of her all the more important. What a waste. Such a rare gift, the honest friendship of a guy like Alex Bradley. And she might be gone before winter arrived. Another little piece of herself that Nadia would have to wrench off and leave behind. Another friend to disappoint.

As if he sensed her sudden dip in mood, Alex paused.

"What are you doing later?" he asked her. "If you're free, maybe we can tackle some of those 'must-watch' films." They'd had a long conversation about how each couldn't believe the other had never seen particular films, Alex being particularly fond of cult 80s classics with terrible CGI and Nadia loving anything that had her crying by the end.

Nadia laughed. "Sounds like a plan. But we're going to my place, and we're starting with
The Notebook
."

Alex

Usually he remembered to take his phone out of his pocket before he sat on the floor, and for good reason. For once Rory was beating him, but Alex blamed this blip entirely on the fact that his mobile was pressed up against the back of his thigh, jauntily vibrating every twenty seconds, distracting him horribly from the gaming task at hand.

Round four finished and the weapon selection menu up, Rory took a long drink from his pint of Coke and turned to Alex with a triumphant grin.

“Last round. And how would you like your arse handed to you today, good sir? By hand? Or on a plate, as is traditional?” Alex ignored him, twisting so he could slip his offending phone out of his jeans pocket. “And what the hell’s going on with your phone?”

“Facebook notifications,” Alex mumbled, noticing the many, many little boxed F icons at the top of his phone’s screen.

Rory raised his eyebrows. “Wow. In demand, much?”

“Apparently so.” Alex swiped his thumb to see what exactly he was being notified about.
Nadia Osipova has tagged you in nineteen photos
his Facebook app informed him. He felt his face lift in a smile.

There were only thirty or so photos uploaded in the new album, a mash of images that would probably seem totally bewildering to an outsider. But for once, Alex wasn’t an outsider – there he was, in over half the pictures. He was tucking his arm behind his back to emulate Nelson in front of the column; puckering up to blow the Queen Elizabeth I portrait in Charing Cross station a cheeky kiss; up onstage at Closet looking like a frightened rabbit as a statuesque drag queen wrapped a feather boa around his neck; looping his arms in a giant O above his head, mirroring the huge arch of the London Eye in the background; picture after picture of him, cycling through happy, embarrassed, mildly annoyed and back to happy, ones on his own and ones where Nadia too was squeezed into the frame, her arm stretching out of shot to snap the selfies.

Was it really only just a month ago that he’d glanced, uninterested, at Nadia’s application form? Alex felt a stab of guilt at how easily he’d written her off. But then again, who could ever have foretold that in the space of a few weeks, a stranger would be fast becoming one of his best friends?

“Hey,” Rory called, pulling Alex out of his thoughts. “You ready?” When Alex looked at him blankly, Rory gestured with the PlayStation controller.

“Er, hang on a second. I’m going to make a cup of tea,” Alex said, as he lifted himself to his feet.

“Tea?” Rory’s incredulous tone followed Alex out of the room. “Mate, it’s a hundred degrees out there. Also not 1864, by the way.”

Alex ignored him, moving into the kitchen and, once he’d checked the water level in the kettle, setting it to boil. He leant with the small of his back against the edge of the countertop and flicked through Nadia’s pictures again. There was one he quite liked – a recent one – from one evening earlier that week when they’d gone to a grotty old man pub in Camberwell. He meant “old man pub” quite literally; every single other person in there, including the barman, must have had at least sixty years on them. Most of them brazenly ignored the smoking ban, one even puffing on an acrid-smelling pipe, their only deference to the summer heat rolling up their shirt sleeves to their elbows.

The reason Nadia had this pub on her list, it transpired, was that it boasted a collection of retro board games, which patrons were encouraged to play while they enjoyed a drink. Alex and Nadia had rifled through shelf upon shelf of mouldy, battered boxes, played hours and hours of Frustration and Scattergories and Tri-Ominos, eking out a single bottle of wine, until the ancient barman rang the bell for last orders and it was suddenly time to go home again.

That last picture was of Nadia and Alex sitting together on an upholstered bench; it wasn’t a selfie, the barman had taken it – being surprisingly sure-fingered with a smartphone for someone of his age, Alex remembered – and, as a result, it was the only full-body picture of the pair of them yet taken. Nadia still had one hand on the board on the table to the side of them, loosely holding a few Tri-Ominos tiles. She’d been wearing pale-blossom pink – she always seemed to be wearing the colours of spring – and the curve of her body looped around Alex’s, who was staring confidently into the camera with an easy smile on his face. Alex liked the picture. It didn’t really look like him, but he liked it. It reminded him of pictures taken back during uni; pictures with Alice.

Before he fell into the trap of over-analysing it, Alex clicked the necessary options to make the photo his Facebook Profile Picture. The kettle came to the boil.

“Come ON in there, Mr Darcy,” Rory shouted from the living room. “You’re just delaying the inevitable!”

“Care for a spot of tea, Ror?” Alex called back sarcastically, and only got a loud scoff in response.

Nadia

“I know I’m running the risk of coming across as desperate here, but I’ve gotta ask. Do you have any hot, single, non-dickhead friends you could set me up with?”

Matt gave Holly an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid I think in the case of my friends, it would be a ‘pick any two attributes’ scenario.”

Holly sighed dramatically, pulling her bare feet up underneath her on the sofa. “The rumours are true; there are no eligible single men left in London any more.”

“Nope,” Matt agreed with a grin, placing his arm proprietarily around Nadia’s shoulders. “Guess I was the last one.” Nadia and Holly groaned in unison at his bad joke.

“Come on, Hols, you know that we’re just… in between windows right now,” Nadia assured her.

“I guess,” Holly agreed, morosely.

“Windows?” Matt echoed, confused.

“You know, windows of opportunity.” Nadia turned slightly to face him to better explain. “There’s always an abundance of single guys in their early twenties, because people have left university and, you know how it is, broken off student relationships that weren’t going anywhere.”

“And similarly there’s always more single guys in, like, their mid-thirties, because that’s the sort of age you either break up or get married,” Holly added. “Unfortunately, I’m looking for a guy in his late twenties or early thirties, maybe; right in between the windows.”

“And, just for future reference,” Nadia continued, mischievously, “another window opens up around fifty.”

“Bitter divorcees,” Holly explained, laughing. “And then finally – of course – you have the final stage. Widowers!”

Thankfully, Matt laughed too. “Wow, you women really have all this figured out, don’t you?” he teased.

“At least one of the genders has to,” Nadia teased back.

“The literal survival of the human race depends on it,” Holly pointed out.

“Okay, fair enough,” Matt laughed, clapping his palms to his knees. “Time to leave you two old romantics to your own devices. Holly, nice to see you again,” Matt continued as he started to make his exit.

“You too, Matt,” Holly smiled. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon!” she teased.

“I hope so!” Matt called as he moved out towards the flat door. At the last moment he spun on his heel and grabbed the trailing Nadia gently but purposefully by the back of her neck, his fingers digging into the curve of her messy fishtail plait as he kissed her goodbye.

“I had a really great weekend,” Matt murmured as the kiss broke apart. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Nadia replied automatically.

“Hey, do you want to go to the cinema this week? We could do
two-for-one
?”

“Sorry, I’m busy…”

“Doing what?”

“Seeing a friend.” And she was really looking forward to it. It was one of her favourite things, and Alex was going to love it.

“Well, can’t you see them on a day that isn’t two-for-one day?” Matt beseeched.

Nadia looked at him. “Sorry, it’s all arranged. Maybe next week?” Matt looked dejected – there was no other word for it – and Nadia suddenly felt like a giant bitch. She trailed her fingers up and through his hair at the curve of his ear, mirroring how he was still holding her, trying to recreate the intimacy of the previous night. “But how are you fixed for Tuesday? I could cook us dinner!”

Matt smiled and looked himself again, dropping his hands to take her at her waist. “Tuesday it is. But, just so you know,” he winked, “I don’t really like borscht.”

Nadia huffed indignantly as she moved to close the door behind him. “I was actually going to make spaghetti bolognese.”

Chapter 9

Alex

“You should know,” Alex called out as he approached, “that I’m really not up for helping you move a body or anything like that!”

Nadia laughed as she turned from where she was sitting on the bottom of the steps leading down to the shoreline. “What are you on about?”

“This whole very dodgy and mysterious rendezvous,” Alex teased as he descended the worn concrete steps. “Meet me underneath Blackfriars Bridge, 8pm. Dress down; wear comfortable shoes…” Alex imitated the content of Nadia’s earlier text message using his creepiest voice, wriggling his fingers in a dastardly fashion for good measure. He came to a stop on the step in front of Nadia just as she had got to her feet. The steps were old and steep – it made Alex tower over Nadia, her face below his was close enough that Alex noticed the pale ghosts of freckles trailing across the top of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose underneath her makeup.

Nadia stepped back almost immediately, giving Alex the opportunity to join her on the stony “beach” of the Thames, which was flowing mulishly a few metres from his feet.

“We’re just going for a walk!” Nadia assured him. “Besides,” she teased, her eyes flashing, “I’m the sort of girl who could handle a dead body on her own – trust me!”

“Oh, I believe you!” Alex laughed. It was the coolest evening they’d had for weeks – Nadia was even wearing a cardigan – and the slowly purpling sky was traced across all over with the beginnings of rain clouds, heavy with promise. “So, a walk?”