Читать книгу We Met in December - Rosie Curtis - Страница 11

‘What’s with you and the whole Instagram thing?’ Alex asks.

He’s walking behind me on a narrow pavement in Covent Garden when I stop dead. He almost crashes into the back of me. I turn around, before he’s stepped back, and we’re so close we’re almost touching. I stumble backwards, knocking into the wooden shutter of the cheese shop.

‘Sorry,’ I say, but he’s laughing.

‘It’s fine. I just … What’re you even taking a photo of?’

I motion to the alleyway to our left. ‘I love stuff like that. Little hidden doorways and things.’

‘Right.’

‘Let me just …’ I fiddle with the phone then hit share. ‘Sorry. Done now.’

‘Shall we stop for lunch?’ he asks.

‘Yeah.’ I point to the sign that beckons us through the little alleyway. ‘There’s a café upstairs there, in Neal’s Yard.’

We climb the stairs, which are rainbowed with a million postcards and posters, advertising everything from toddler gymnastics to Chakra Rebalancing.

‘D’you get your chakras rebalanced often?’ Alex grins.

‘Never. That’s probably why I’m so clumsy.’

‘Maybe they should start offering it on the NHS.’

The café’s cramped and the staff seem slightly frazzled, which feels at odds with the whole hippy Zen vibe it’s giving off from the signs outside. We find an empty table. The uneven walls are painted with thick white paint, and woven hangings are displayed on a rail with price tags underneath. I lean forward, thinking I must have read it wrong, but no.

‘They want £120 for that?’ I nudge Alex and his eyes widen in surprise. He passes me a menu. We both look at it in silence for a moment.

‘Hi, people,’ says a tall woman with her braids tied back in a thick ponytail. ‘Do you need time to have a think, or are you ready to order?’

I catch Alex’s eye and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh, because the menu is – well, it’s not Starbucks, that’s for sure.

‘Can we have a couple of moments?’

‘Sure. I’ll leave you some of this for now. It’s rose-quartz-infused water.’

She puts a carafe down on the table. There’s a pink crystal sitting at the bottom of it. We both contemplate it for a moment before Alex drops his head in his hands.

‘If we weren’t so bloody British, we’d get up and leave,’ he says.

‘I know.’

‘Instead, we’re going to have to have a rice milk latte and a—’ he looks down at the menu and frowns ‘—spiralised courgette and carrot hummus open sandwich on pressed raw grain bread?’

‘I dunno, I quite fancy the radish and sprout salad,’ I say.

‘I want a cinnamon and raisin bagel, and a large bucket of coffee.’

I groan at the thought of it. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a bacon roll.’

‘Maybe we could get one on the way back.’

‘Ready to order?’ The woman has returned, and – being too polite to leave – we request our food, then sit back and look at the clientele. There’s a woman with two scruffy-haired children who’ve been freed from their pushchair. They’re climbing over the cushions on the bench to draw pictures with thick crayons.

‘Cute.’ Alex looks over at them.

‘I bet they’re called Hephzibah and Moon Unit, or something.’ I take a look at them, trying not to catch their eye in case they come over and start making conversation. I find small children slightly alarming.

‘No way.’ Alex shakes his head. ‘Myrtle and Theodore, and they go to a Steiner school and her husband earns shitloads working as an investment banker.’

‘Like the ones next door to us? You reckon?’

‘Totally.’

We’ve seen the family from next door going in and out a few times. They’ve got two nannies, I think, and a gardener, and a fleet of cleaning people who come in every morning. The children go off to school wearing the kind of expensive-looking woollen coats and hats that suggest they’re at a posh private school.

‘They must think we’re lowering the tone, don’t you think?’

Alex grins. ‘What, Becky and her random collection of low-rent waifs and strays?’

After the waitress brings our food, Alex takes a bite of his open-topped sandwich and makes a face. ‘God, this is disgusting.’

‘It is a bit weird,’ I say, picking a radish off the top of mine and biting into it. It’s got some sort of lime dressing on it. I steer the conversation back to Becky and the house. ‘I don’t think Becky knows what to do with the house, so it seemed like the easiest thing to do.’

‘Have you looked at the price of houses on our street?’ Alex raises an eyebrow.

I nod. ‘Have you?’

‘She’s like – literally beyond your wildest dreams rich. She could sell that and give up work forever.’ He sits back, giving up on the sandwich.

‘Not if she wanted to live in London.’ I carry on dissecting my food.

‘True. Anyway we better not go putting ideas in her head when we’ve just signed a lease, or we’ll be screwed. There’s no way I could afford a place in central London on what I’ve got.’

‘Me neither.’

We sit back in silence, watching the children as they try and climb out of their chairs and escape.

It’s only been a week, but Alex and I have got into a bit of a routine with our Exploring London walks. He’s had some time off, and it’s been nice to wander about and find my bearings a bit. I still reckon I could get lost quite easily, but I’m beginning to join bits of the city up and make sense of it. My first day is next Monday – and I’m being extremely noble about the fact that there’s something going on with him and Emma. Although I’m not sure what that something is – I haven’t heard any more nocturnal happenings but I can’t be sure. I’m just repressing all thoughts about how gorgeous he is.

He gets up to use the loo, climbing out of the tiny space in the corner where our table’s situated. A woman with a baby in a backpack asks him to help reach the highchair that is hanging folded on the wall behind us, and I try very hard not to notice as he reaches up, showing a strip of slightly tanned skin and the edge of his boxers peeking out underneath his jeans. Okay, I’ve repressed almost all thoughts. I am human, after all, and living with the nicest man you could imagine who just happens to be sleeping – on the quiet – with one of your other housemates isn’t quite as easy as you’d think. I grit my teeth and make a face, surprising the waitress, who looks at me with a confused expression.