Lines We Forget (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Anna

December 22
nd
2008

Picking at the loose embroidery on her shirt, Anna really wishes that Charlie had told her they were coming to such a fancy place for dinner. Given her a heads-up at least.

Still in her work clothes, she’d rushed from the station to meet him with minutes to spare. Her hair down and knotted, face and hands chalky red from the blast of cold air out on the street. Charlie took her under his arm and they walked down towards the part of town she so often admires but never dares spend long in.

The cool, exhaustingly trendy sought-after part of the city with great pop-up restaurants and shops, museums and elegant, brightly lit cocktail bars doesn’t quite fit her budget and Anna wonders why he’s slowing down his pace, eyes busy scanning the shop fronts until he nods and leads her to a small entrance. The door’s heavy and wooden, and he pushes it like a gentleman, letting her go in first as the back of his hand rests gently on her spine.

“Really? Here?” She’s sure he’s got the wrong place.

“Hi, table for two. Under the name Charlie,” he says to a smartly dressed waitress, who nods and picks up menus.

The restaurant is filled with young professionals and the sound of wine glasses clinking, while soft music plays in the background. Barrels of aged whiskey hang on rotation above them and it’s all so pretentious yet thrilling too.

“Charlie, this place is ridiculous. Amazing,” she says, eyes wide in pleasant shock. It’s definitely the nicest restaurant she’s ever been to—grown-up and glistening in candlelight with high ceilings. It smells like money. Which she’s more than aware he doesn’t have a lot of, certainly not enough to cover the bill at a place so glitzy. Still, she pushes the thought of how he’ll manage to pay to the back of her mind.

“Thought it would be nice to have a proper romantic meal before you leave tomorrow.”

Anna knows he’s talking about her going home for the holidays, and he’s pretty bummed out about it. Acting like she’s going to be leaving him for good, as if the fresh air and ocean waves will plot to steal her away forever. She’s already told him it’s nonsense and she’ll be back before he even realises, but she can tell he thinks it’s a real possibility.

“Blimey, you’ve really pulled out all the stops, haven’t you?” she giggles as a waiter brings water and a basket of something that resembles French bread, except it’s dusted in what looks like gold foil flakes.

Even the complimentary starter looks too expensive to eat, she thinks as Charlie holds her hand across the table.

“I love it all. All of this, don’t get me wrong.” She gestures above at the barrels and rustic exposed brickwork. “But the menu doesn’t even have any prices on it and we all know what that means.” She rubs her thumb and forefinger together. “Everything costs more than a week’s rent…”

“Don’t worry about it. Not tonight. I got paid and it’s rare that I’m able to treat you or do something nice, so let’s not think about it and just eat and drink. Be merry.”

Anna smiles. “Thank you, babe.” Not sure when exactly she’s consciously started to call him that—
babe
. An affectionate term her mum used with her dad a lot. Yet somehow it feels right. Charlie is a babe after all, kind-hearted and wonderfully warm. It’s a good fit.

After another glass of wine is set down on the table and once she’s nitpicked her way through the sparse menu, a waiter interrupts. On a tray he carries two cocktail glasses. One is filled with blood red crushed ice and dusted with a rim of sugar.

“We didn’t order any of those, I’m afraid,” Charlie says politely even though he looks a bit scared of being charged with something else to add to the no doubt soon to be extortionate bill.

“I know, sir. These have been sent over to your table by request,” the waiter explains. “For the lady, a strawberry daiquiri, and for you, sir, our signature bitter old fashioned.”

Anna frowns at the drinks whilst the waiter puts them on the table, as does Charlie.

“Are you sure you haven’t got the wrong table?” she asks, trying to rectify the puzzling situation.

“No, madam. They were sent from the bar, by that gentleman.” He points to the chromed bar top, where said man sits dressed in a sharp grey suit, hair slick, shoes shiny. Anna’s breathing speeds up.

It’s Mark. Cocky banker, dodgy sideburns, and previous disastrous love interest Mark in all his glory. Beside him a slender and skinny blonde perches on a stool, flicking a cocktail stick between her lips.

Anna doesn’t have to look at Charlie to know his eyes have all but misted over. It also doesn’t help that her cocktail, in a petite martini glass, is a known favourite. She knows Charlie knows this because she once told him it was one of the sexiest drinks anyone could order. Now she wishes she hadn’t revealed so much, curses her stupid big mouth.

“Why is that guy sending us drinks?” His hand pushes away his dishwater-coloured cocktail. “Do you know him?”

Too many questions and adrenaline makes her say no, then a quiet yes. “Yeah, I suppose I do. Kind of. That’s Mark—the guy I was waiting for the evening I met you.”

“The idiot banker? The one that stood you up?”

Anna wishes for the ground to swallow either her or Mark whole because the great atmosphere has all but shattered, been blown to pieces. The look of annoyance on Charlie’s face tells her he’s seconds away from knocking his drink off the table.

“Yeah, that’s him. Smug bastard.”

Both of them stare over at the bar, and then the stool swivels round and Mark starts walking towards them as if on cue. Leaving his blonde companion behind, snaking through tables and past waiters, he’s got a stupid grin on his face that widens with each step.

“Anna, sweetheart! Enjoying the drinks?” Mark bends down to kiss her cheek enthusiastically, much too close to her lips. He reeks of strong cologne and stale cigarettes. The sleeve of his shirt is turned back so the gold Rolex on his wrist shows and greets them too.

“I guess so. Hi, Mark.”

He stands tall again and clasps his hands together like he’s about to propose a business strategy. She hates how cocky he still clearly is.

“I hope you don’t mind. Saw you come in and thought it would be polite to send over your favourite cocktail.” He smirks, ignoring Charlie. “Strawberry Daiquiri, am I right?”

A sly question he knows the answer to because she’d ordered it back during their first date at a posh Soho mixology bar.

“It’s a drink that I like, yeah. What are you doing here, then?”

“Oh, I’m just here with Vivien. Wanted to bring my latest squeeze somewhere nice, but La Vie en Rose down the road is closed so we had to make do with this place. Not my top choice, the food’s pretty terrible, but it’ll do for a drink or two.” Mark’s smarmy tone makes Anna want to gag. So condescending and rude, it’s a surprise she can resist the urge to punch him in the groin. Which might well happen if he gets any closer to her.

She tries a different tactic, hoping he’ll get the message to shove off. “So this is Charlie.”

He reluctantly shakes Mark’s hand limply. “Anna’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you.”

“Same. Blimey, does this one move fast or what! Boyfriend, that’s new.”

“Well, it was…interesting to see you again, Mark. Thanks for the drinks. Hope you and your date have a fun evening,” she says through gritted teeth, hoping he’ll realise that he’s outstayed his welcome and that his presence isn’t appreciated.

When he fakes a smile like he’s got the hint, she feels relief until he pauses to wave goodbye and rests a hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry, Anna, forgive me for being completely rude. I didn’t ask how that art gallery opening went. A success, I hope?”

Bastard. She can’t believe he’s got the damn nerve to ask her that, right in front of poor Charlie, who’s just sitting bitterly with tight lips like he’s sucking a lemon. Face all red, cheeks rosier than normal. Doing his best to keep from punching Mark in the balls too, probably.

True to form, Mark doesn’t hang around long for the answer, quickly slinking back to his bored-looking young date. Smug in his sabotage, he slides onto his stool and clicks his fingers at the bar man to clear away his empty glass.

He shouldn’t really have a clue about the gallery but he does. The reason why should have been easy to explain but she’s not sure how to tell Charlie.

Back before the opening of the gallery, before their first kiss and before they’d made it official, Anna had kept in touch with Mark. Just to be polite and keep the peace. There hadn’t been any more dates or semi-flirty emails, something she’d made very clear she didn’t want to dole out or receive any more of. However, a couple of text messages seemed pretty harmless. Most were to say they should stay friends, be civil. No hard feelings. A lot were about Jaz and her fiancé Mark’s best mate Tom’s impending nuptials. Anna just thought of it as friendly, slightly forced chitchat and nothing more.

In reality she had no desire at all to remain on friendly terms, but she didn’t want the hassle of letting him down in a meaner fashion. Mark, after all, was her housemate’s fiancé’s best friend. They’d come across each other again at one point or another, at a party or the wedding. It seemed like the best, sensible option.

And the mention of the gallery opening had been nothing more than an innocent exchange where she’d, perhaps naively, moaned about how busy she’d been organising such an event. Unfortunately she had failed to mention she was seeing someone new. It didn’t seem important, or any of Mark’s business.

Now, as she sits across from a visibly irritated and confused Charlie, it felt like she’d been sneaky and an idiot for not doing so, a major oversight on her part.

“Anna, why and how does he know about the art gallery?” Charlie asks between breaths.

“Look, really it’s nothing. I’ll explain after dinner. I don’t want him to spoil our evening, because there’s no reason to worry about it. Promise. Nothing to be mad over,” she says in a jumble. Rushing out the assurance that everything’s fine, but making it sound worse with her wobbly delivery.

He’s clearly not buying it. “If it’s nothing, then why are your hands shaking? Your face is bright red.”

“Come on, Charlie, please.” She tries to keep her voice low, calm. People are staring, putting down their forks to watch them both unravel and try to whisper out their frustrations.

“Fine.” He puts his fork down too.

“Seriously, you’re actually mad? He’s just being a cocky prick. I’m not even going to drink the cocktail, babe.”

“That makes it all better,” he replies sarcastically.

“So you are mad then.”

“A little. Doesn’t really help that you’re acting so odd and defensive. You can’t even tell me why he knew about it.”

Anna takes a deep breath. Thinks about the many different ways she can play it and take control of the situation. None of the options that run through her mind seem to be any good, and so she settles for silence. Keeps her mouth shut for once.

The waiter arrives at their table and places down gold-rimmed plates of hot food that look great, but her appetite’s checked out and left the restaurant. And her stomach fills up with the uneasy feeling that confrontation is about to ensue.

“Just eat something,” Charlie whispers.

“Not really hungry anymore, and don’t tell me what to do.”

“Ditto. And I wasn’t but it’s here now, so just eat.”

“I only text him a few times, nothing scandalous. I didn’t think you were the jealous type.” Anna doesn’t mean to sound rude but she’s done it now. And she can’t stomach the chicken dish in front of her. Can’t bear how Charlie won’t even look her in the eyes. The frosty glare he’s projecting down at his own plate makes her hands and nerves tremble more.

“
And
I told you. I am not hungry.” Seems the stubborn option has come out to play. She gives in to it.

“Can we please just eat this stupidly expensive meal, like we’d planned? Everyone’s staring.”

“I would have loved that, but the way you’re acting like I’ve done something wrong really isn’t helping. I don’t care if they’re staring. Let them.”

Charlie sighs heavily and carries on eating his fancy-looking mixed salad.

“Honestly, this is not my idea of a good time. I’d rather just get out of here without looking like a twat. Without that smarmy wanker laughing at us,” she spits out, feeling horrible immediately for doing so.

He shakes his head, like he’s disappointed. It stings. “You’re being really unreasonable.”

“And so are you.”

The verbal slanging match between them rumbles on until she forces in a piece of chicken from the lukewarm plate and washes it down with a full glass of wine.

Charlie continues to pick at his food, finding more interest in the tourists passing by on the street outside the large window than in her.

“This is ridiculous.”