Chapter VI
The following Wednesday at 8pm, Samantha found herself outside Covent Garden tube station, waiting for Kevin. It was bitterly cold and she jogged up and down slightly to keep warm. Her wool coat was buttoned all the way up to her neck and was stuffed with a chunky knit scarf Amy had bought her the last Christmas. Her hands were hidden deep into her coat pockets and she could feel the ends of her fingers begin to tingle as they became numb from the cold.
All about her, Covent Garden was bustling, even this early in the evening. The shops were opening later due to the Christmas run-up, and revellers were beginning their Friday night excursions to the various pubs and night clubs in the area. The main street outside the Underground station saw the slow growth of mostly young men with bikes pulling rickshaw-style carriages, queuing up as if it were a taxi rank. These rickshaw/ bikes were proving to be popular as they could avoid traffic by cycling up the central reservation, and were a cheap, easy and environmentally friendly way of travelling around Central London. Samantha couldn't remember if they had a proper name yet, but it certainly had stopped the number of taxicabs in the immediate area. They preferred to hang around outside the next Tube station along, Leicester Square, where the more financially-endowed young people would spend their evenings trying to get into the popular clubs, hoping to catch the glimpse of the odd-celebrity that had ventured out into London's night scene. Covent Garden saw a more cultural scene, mostly full of students, foreigners, and those employed in non-professional occupations.
Being the first week in December, the shops were already into swing, stacked with Christmas gifts and various decorations hanging from the ceilings. Shopping was becoming a nightmare, with each shop along the high street playing the same tinny Christmas songs. Some of the more upmarket shops, however, seemed to be catching on that the endless circle of cheesy pop songs was deterring customers, and had opted for gentler themes instead. Samantha much preferred to browse through Selfridges playing White Christmas than Topshop playing Here It Is (Merry Christmas) for the umpteenth time.
At 8.15pm, Samantha was beginning to wonder whether she'd been stood up. She was always punctual and didn't stand time wasters or people who kept her waiting. Enough notice had been given and Kevin could have always called to make alternative arrangements if 8pm was too difficult for him. Samantha rummaged about in her handbag to check her mobile. She had put it on 'Silent' as a polite gesture and was now thinking about whether she should continue to be polite or just plain rude in return to being kept waiting. No messages. No missed calls. Was she being a fool?
Suddenly Kevin appeared around the corner, looking slightly flustered, and swiftly pulling out the earplugs of his iPod. Samantha took one look and her stomach twisted into one giant knot. She'd forgotten why she ever went out with Kevin in the first place. Now she remembered. He was good looking. Really good looking. Amy and Stuart were right. They had warned her about this and it had happened: as soon as she had seen him, she had fallen for him all over again. She hated him because he had cheated on her, but there was a good reason why she ever went out with him in the first place. Her throat tightened slightly as he got nearer and he flashed her a grin. He had a great smile. She returned it and they hugged briefly. Samantha inhaled Kevin's scent. He smelt really good, a sort of mixture of soap and washing powder and a slight hint of aftershave. Momentarily, she forgot to breathe, and then remembered what she was doing and pulled away.
“Long time no see!” Kevin grinned.
“My words exactly!” Samantha smiled back.
“How have you been?”
“Oh, good actually. Drink?”
“Yeah, that'd be great.”
They turned to walk down the hill facing the now-closed Covent Garden Market and turned into the back street towards Walkabout pub.
“I've never been to a Walkabout pub,” Kevin said. “I head they were good though.”
“And they come personally recommended from me!” Samantha said. “They're Australian-themed pubs and have decently priced drinks. This particular place has a live band at the front section most Fridays and Saturdays.”
“I went to Australia a few years ago,” Kevin said proudly. “It was really good. Hot.”
“How long were you out there for?”
“About three months. One of my mate's have rellies out there and I just stayed with him. The plane fare was mega expensive but I had a flexible ticket so I didn't have to leave by a particular date. Just stayed for as long as I fancied.”
“Right.” Pause. “It must have been cool though? You know, Ayres Rock and the whole East Coast lifestyle?”
“Just did a bit of everything really.”
Samantha nodded and notched her eyebrows a little. Kevin didn't seem to want to open up much about his holiday there. The old Kevin wouldn't have stopped talking about it. Was he feeling as nervous as she was? She didn't dare ask, in case she sounded silly, but she couldn't help but play it in her mind a little.
They approached the pub and entered without any fuss from the security at the door. The pub itself was moderately crowded, and finding the bar and ordering drinks wasn't much hassle. They edged their way through the crowd to one side of the pub, facing the bar, and rested along an occupied table.
They stood there, taking frequent sips of their drinks, taking in the atmosphere, and not really saying much. Samantha felt stupid and attempted to open him up again.
“So, you said you sell computers?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied, putting his drink down, “I mostly travel Europe and carry out presentations to other companies. Ours is quite a well-known brand name and it's important to keep up customer relations and keep communication barriers down.”
Samantha nodded. Not much to go on there, she thought to herself. Let's try another approach.
“So,” she said, “you know much about what you're selling or are you just a mouthpiece for your company?”
“Oh I know loads about computers and how they work and stuff,” Kevin said quickly, “I'm just not going into too much detail otherwise the suit will take over and I become Business Kevin!”
“Oh, okay,” laughed Samantha.
“But if you ever need advice about buying a PC, you now know where to come!”
“Thanks, I'll bear that in mind!”
“So, what about you?”
“Well, I still work with the Housing service, but I've moved around within the service so its been fun seeing what everyone does and how it all comes together.”
“So, do you house people then?”
“Oh no, I work mainly with the technical side of things. You know, fixing heaters and boilers, installing security and fire alarms, stuff like that. But I have worked in the repairs call centre, which was a nightmare. All day long, people calling and yelling as if it were my fault their pipes had burst or their heating had broken. I lasted about two weeks before being given a 'float' job. Now I just help other staff with computerised filing systems and databases.”
“I didn't know you were a computer person,” Kevin said. “I always thought you were more comfortable with pen and paper!”
“Just because I didn't do a computing degree doesn't mean I don't know how to use them. It's like asking someone if they know how to use a calculator if they didn't take a maths degree.”
“Not really. Computers are complex machines to use and be knowledgeable about.”
Ah, thought Samantha, the real Kevin has appeared!
“I don't like the way you are comparing using a calculator, a relatively simple piece of electronics, to a computer, a box full of electrical pins and chips and circuits…”
Samantha now remembered how to open up Kevin: Broach a subject that he knew lots about and she (apparently) knew nothing about. This way he would sound intelligent and feel more superior than her. This was classic Chicane.
Kevin continued to blither on. She had to shut him up.
“… and at least you get taught properly about its inner workings more in depth…”
“Fine, fine!” Samantha cut in. “Sorry I compared a calculator to a computer. I was just trying to point out that you don't need to study something for years just to know how to use it. That's why they invented instruction manuals.”
Kevin looked a bit crestfallen and finished his drink. Samantha gulped the remainder of her drink and felt the alcohol hit her forehead. She winced slightly and remembered she hadn't eaten yet.
“I'm hungry,” Kevin announced, reading her thoughts. “You wanna eat?”
“Sure,” Samantha said, and they headed out into the cold again to dart into the pizzeria on the corner of the street.
Inside the pizzeria was warm and the smell of grilled cheese and garlic was distinct. Kevin and Samantha went straight to the front desk to ask for a table and were seated within seconds. The place was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, and Samantha mentioned this to the waiter who was seating them.
“Yes,” the waiter said, in a slight Italian accent. “A new restaurant opened up in the next street. You may heard of it? Pizza Hut.”
He sounded slightly bitter about it.
“Oh,” Samantha said sympathetically. “Well, I'd still come here. Pizza Hut is American, not real Italian food.”
The waiter just ignored her and she eyed him with slight caution, not sure what to make of him. He was probably just miffed about his business clientele going elsewhere and she decided to keep quiet.
They sat down, menus were handed out, and a bottle of Chianti was ordered. Samantha's stomach tightened into a knot again and she suddenly didn't feel all that hungry. She couldn't understand why. Only ten minutes ago she had been starving. She simply had to have something though, or the wine would go straight to her head, and she needed to have a clear mind to make her way home again. She looked at the menu to see what was on offer. All the dishes were in Italian, with the ingredients written underneath in English. There was plenty there to suit all tastes, and Samantha felt that she would enjoy this so much more if she wasn't feeling like she suddenly had to run to the bathroom to throw up.
“What you gonna have?” Kevin cut into her thoughts.
“Oh, I'm not sure,” Samantha replied, scanning the menu for something she could possibly force down.
The waiter reappeared with the wine bottle and methodically opened it and poured the glasses.
“Excuse me,” Kevin said, “I'm wondering if you can help me? Is there duck anywhere on the menu?”
Samantha stopped reading the menu and looked straight at Kevin. Did he just say what she thought he had said? She looked at the waiter. His reaction was one of slight confusion and bemusement, and he duly put the bottle down onto the table, peered over Kevin's menu sideways, and ran his finger through the list.
“I believe this one has duck, sir,” he said.
Kevin brought the menu closer to his face.
“Has the dish got garlic in it?” Kevin asked, “I'm not keen on garlic.”
Samantha felt embarrassed and pretended to be incredibly interested and engrossed in her menu. She peered carefully over the top of the menu to watch the spectacle. The waiter looked annoyed, as if he wanted to say 'Why are you in an Italian restaurant when you don't like garlic'.
“I can ask the chef to not add garlic if you prefer it,” he managed to say evenly.
“That would be splendid,” Kevin said, waving the menu in the waiter's face for him to take it.
“And for you, madam?” the waiter asked Samantha.
Samantha hated being called 'madam'. It made her feel old. But she wasn't particularly bothered at this point, still worried that she was going to order something and not be able to eat it.
“I think I'll have the chicken Caesar, please,” she finally said.
“Salad?” Kevin asked.
“Diet,” Samantha replied, matter-of-factly, and handed the waiter the menu before concentrating on her wine glass.
“You don't need to diet,” Kevin said after a pause. “I think you look fine. Women worry too much about their bodies.”
Samantha weakly smiled and ran her thumb nail up and down the wine glass, not wanting to make her body size the subject of the conversation.
The table fell silent again. Samantha didn't want to raise any more conversation unless she had to. Kevin was the first to break the silence.
“Nice ring.”
Samantha stopped fiddling with her glass and looked at her left hand, neatly placed on the table, and the single solitaire glinting under the harsh ceiling lights.
“Thanks,” she said, gazing at it.
She looked up at him. Kevin knew what was coming next.
“I'm getting married in April,” she said, confirming what Kevin was obviously waiting to hear.
“Thought so,” he said, running his fingers through his hair and giving her a knowing smile.
“What's with that look?” Samantha demanded.
“I knew something like that must have happened,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn't have seen me again.”
Samantha looked at him blankly.
“Oh come on, Sam,” he said. “I know I did an awful thing to you. You have no right to trust me unless you feel some sort of safety. I was thinking you were either married or were gonna be.”
“I need to feel a sort of safety?” she asked him.
“How can you trust me after what I did to you, unless you weren't single?”
“You saying I'm insecure?”
“That's not exactly what I meant, but you didn't really go single for a long time between relationships.”
“Are you trying to feel sorry for me?”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard.”
Samantha looked at him straight in the eye and said, “Yes.”
The waiter arrived with the food and broke the tension that had generated during the suddenly heated conversation. Samantha picked up her fork and started to stab the chicken pieces and the flat squares of shaved parmesan. Kevin had annoyed her but it had her thinking. Was she insecure? She had said 'Yes' to Pete because it seemed like the right thing to do, and she hadn't wanted to say 'No' and break up the relationship. But did she not want to break up because she loved him, or because she would inevitably be single again? You love Pete, she told herself. Kevin is only doing this because he's trying to make you feel guilty for leaving him. You did nothing wrong, He's the bastard. He's the cheat. Just don't let him get to you and get through the evening.
“So, who are you marrying?” Kevin suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“Pete Marsters.”
“What's he do?”
“Computer programming, mostly information transfers.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Uni.”
Kevin looked surprised. “So he did computing like me?”
Samantha nodded. “Yeah, but he majored in mathematics, so I don't think he'd have been in many of your classes.”
“I know there was one specifically tailored for programming and analysis, but I didn't take it,” Kevin shrugged. “So he's freelance, then?”
“No, he's part of an up-and-coming organisation. It's been around for about three years and he's been there since the beginning, but I know he's thought about starting up himself or at least working from home.”
Kevin nodded and continued to eat. Samantha poked at the lettuce and swirled it around in the remaining Caesar dressing. She simply wasn't hungry. She took another mouthful of wine and the waiter suddenly reappeared and topped up her glass before she could protest.
“It's hard to start up your own business,” Kevin said, between mouthfuls. “Some of my mates are really struggling with the finance side of things.”
“You can get a loan from the bank, can't you?” asked Samantha, knowing that this is what Pete intended to do if he ever got around to starting up.
“Yeah, but most of them are still paying back uni and college loans,” Kevin said. “But you need to be in a well paid job to begin with, really. If the pay is good, then you can easily save up enough to start up on your own.”
“I think Pete gets paid quite well…”
“How much?”
“It's not for discussion,” Samantha said pointedly.
“But you think it's good?”
“It's programming. It's pretty hard to get a good deal in that area of expertise.”
“Not nowadays,” Kevin said, screwing up his nose slightly.
Was he scorning her?
“The money's in either recruitment, law, or retail,” Kevin continued.
“So, basically, what you're doing (?)” Samantha said, a bit put out.
“Well, I won't deny that my job pays well,” Kevin said, putting his fork down. “I mean, I did programming straight after graduation and it didn't pay as well as that telemarketing job I had until a few years ago. Now I'm in sales and it's a great package, 'cause I get paid OTE plus bonuses when I bring in extra clientele for the company.”
Samantha felt irritated by Kevin's way of thinking. He had managed to not only downsize Pete's abilities and financial income, but had made himself sound superior in comparison.
“Done?” Kevin asked her.
His plate was spotless. Her plate, however, had now-limp lettuce smothered in Caesar dressing pooled in the base of the porcelain. She half-smiled and nodded.
“Sorry,” she said. “I must be a bit tired. I can't eat if I'm tired.”
“S'alright.” Pause. “Does this mean dessert?”
“I can't not have dessert,” Samantha smiled. “I mean, dessert is the whole point of having a meal, right?”
“Right!”
Another waiter appeared and swiftly cleared the table.
“Where's the other guy?” Kevin asked him.
“His shift ended at nine,” came the explanation. “Dessert?”
Menus changed hands. Again, all the dishes were in Italian with English written underneath.
“What sort of cheesecake is this?” Kevin asked the waiter.
Oh my god, Samantha thought, not again! For the second time that evening, she willed herself to be fascinated by her menu and shot quick glances at the waiter.
“It's like a crumby base… and cheese whipped into sponge… like…” he faltered, not quite able to explain exactly what the consistency was or, indeed, the way the cheesecake was made.
“Is it like New York cheesecake?”
The waiter was now utterly confused and started another attempt to explain how the cheesecake was made.
Kevin was getting frustrated. “It's a simple question,” he said. “It's either like New York cheesecake or it isn't.”
The waiter looked ready to give him any answer to keep him from asking questions.
“Maybe you could ask the chef?” Samantha suggested.
The waiter gladly escaped the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
“It's just a simple question…” Kevin started.
“It's freaking cheesecake!” Samantha said, exasperated. “Cheesecake is cheesecake. It's biscuit base, with a fromage frais consistency, and is served with fruit or syrup.”
“Actually, when I had cheesecake in New York, it was different to the cheesecake over here. It's harder, and the regular cheesecake is softer.”
“It's just cheesecake,” Samantha said quietly, going back to her menu and feeling rather put out by Kevin's demands and lack of general good manners.
The waiter came back and said, “The chef says it's American-style cheesecake.”
Kevin looked at his menu. “Fine, I'll have that then.”
“And the lady?”
Samantha was all ready to retort her usual 'I'm not a lady' response but decided that she had already had enough aggro for one evening.
“Lemon sorbet,” she said. All ice and sugar and easy to force.
The waiter disappeared quickly. Probably afraid of more questions, Samantha thought to herself. Kevin better tip decently after this sort of behaviour.
“So, do you still drive the Metro?” Kevin asked.
Samantha looked up in surprise. “How did you know I had a Metro?” she said. “I got that car after we broke up.”
“Saw you drive about in it, didn't I?” he replied. “Just 'cause we weren't dating, doesn't mean I didn't see you when I was out and about.”
“Oh,” Samantha said.
“I have a BMW myself,” Kevin said. “Zips around nicely. Drives real smooth.”
“Right,” Samantha said flatly. “I have a Ford now. I sold my Metro a couple of years ago when I got a raise. It's quite small but I don't need a big flashy car just to drive around town.”
Kevin seemed to be slightly disappointed that Samantha wasn't taking a more enthusiastic attitude to his car.
“Of course, I could have got any car I wanted,” he said, continuing from before. “I drove a Ford, then a Merc… the BMW is good for the moment.”
Samantha smiled politely, not really interested in Kevin's past of flashy cars and obvious expensive spending traits. She didn't like to talk about money or anything that pointed to either having a lot of it, or not having much of it. Kevin seemed to be the complete opposite.
“I've had to have some work done to it though,” he continued. “Alloys, and replacing the interior accessories with chrome, like the gear stick…”
The waiter brought over the dessert and Kevin stabbed his with a fork, continuing to talk as he pushed a piece of cheesecake in his mouth.
Samantha carefully scraped the surface of her sorbet, watching the thin layer curl up into her spoon. She wished Kevin would stop talking about money. Maybe if she confronted him about it…?
“So you like to talk about money and spending habits?” Samantha cut in, whilst Kevin was mid-sentence.
He finished his mouthful before answering, “No, I don't like talking about money. My boss does, though. He's always pointing out how much more than me he's earning.”
Samantha smiled to herself. Yet another Kevin flaw exposed.
“But you're talking about flash cars and doing them up,” she pointed out. “You were quite happily flashing your iPod about earlier this evening.”
“No I wasn't!” Kevin protested.
“Well you weren't exactly trying to hide it!”
“Everyone has an iPod.”
“I don't.”
“Is this what this is about?”
“No, I was just…” Samantha trailed off. Another argument. How many were they going to have before the evening was out?
“I don't like talking about stuff that points towards either having lots of money, or a lack thereof,” she finally ventured.
“You want me to stop talking about my car?”
“Please.”
“Because you don't have a lot of money?”
“I don't like talking about it.”
“Okay.”
Desserts were finished in another stretch of silence. Glasses were emptied of wine. Samantha decided to break the silence.
“What you doing for Christmas?” she asked, scraping the base of her bowl.
“Oh, probably just stay at my parents' for a long weekend and then go back to work.”
“You not doing anything for New Year?”
“I think I have a bash to go to.” Pause. “You can come along if you like.”
“No thanks,” Samantha said, “I might have other stuff planned.”
“What you doing then?”
“Well, Pete's home for Christmas…”
She stopped when she realised what she had said. Kevin looked at her before asking the inevitable.
“He's coming home?”
Samantha inwardly groaned. She hadn't meant to tell him that Pete wasn't there. Now she'd have to explain herself.
“Pete's on contract in Newcastle and is back for Christmas,” she said, trying not to reveal more details than she needed to.
“I see,” Kevin said. “So when the cat's away…?”
“I didn't come here to get back together with you,” Samantha retorted. “I have a little more class than that.”
“I wasn't… I mean, I didn't mean it like…” Kevin stopped, unable to find the words he needed.
“I wanted to say sorry,” he said, looking straight at her.
Samantha looked back at him, stunned.
“You never really gave me a chance to explain, and I know that my behaviour was unacceptable but…” Kevin exhaled loudly and scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable about what he had to say.
“I slept with Sheila because I fancied her,” he said, simply. “I was in love with you, but lust took over. She made it clear she fancied me and I stayed away, but it was so hard. I could literally feel the chemistry between us. So we succumbed.”
He looked at Samantha for her reaction. Her face was a mixture of anger and hurt. She looked ready to cry.
“How could you say you loved me?” she said to him, teeth gritted in an attempt to stop the tears flowing. “How could you sleep with her if you really loved me?”
“Sam, I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it.”
“I knew you'd do it,” Samantha said, looking away. “Even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew something would happen. You were always looking at other women whenever we were out on a date.”
“Oh, come on!” Kevin protested. “That's just harmless flirting.”
“But your lack of interest in me that way…” Samantha felt her eyes well up. She was gonna cry and she didn't want to.
“I'm going to the bathroom,” she said quietly, and hastily made her way towards the doors at the side of the restaurant.
Once in the bathroom, Samantha tore off some toilet paper and gently blotted her eyes to soak up her tears without smudging her mascara too much. She peered into the mirror and cleaned herself up. Her nose was slightly pink where the onset of crying had made it sting. She scooped up some cold water and carefully wiped her face with wet fingers. She then turned on the hand dryer and moved the nozzle towards her face and it dried the water instantly. She looked at her reflection again. She was decent.
Leaving the bathroom, she saw Kevin paying the bill and throwing a handful of coins on the table as a tip. Samantha peeked at it and made a mental calculation of how much he'd tipped. It had to be at least five pounds, which would have made it around ten percent. Wow, Samantha thought. Kevin was a decent tipper.
She pulled her coat off the back of her chair and followed Kevin out of the restaurant and back towards the Underground station. Covent Garden station was closed so they ambled up the high street towards Leicester Square. They approached the station and stopped outside.
“Well, thanks for the meal,” Samantha said.
“My pleasure,” Kevin smiled.
“Okay, well maybe we can do this another time?”
“Sure.”
Kevin smiled at her and looked right into her eyes. He was thinking about kissing her. Samantha panicked and chose to stop him before anything happened. She gestured towards hugging him and they locked, much tighter than they had earlier.
“I am really sorry, Samantha,” she heard Kevin whisper into her ear.
Samantha pulled away and looked at Kevin. He appeared to be genuine, so she smiled and said, “Well, I guess it takes time.”
“So you'll forgive me?”
“Eventually, I suppose.”
“You are an angel!” Kevin declared, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Samantha closed her eyes as she felt his skin brush against hers and a soft smooching sound was made. His skin felt slightly rough, like he hadn't shaved that morning. The sensation made her tingle and her stomach did a back flip.
“I'll see you, then,” he said, and he suddenly disappeared into the throng of people hovering around the night club on the corner opposite the station.
Feeling a sudden disappointment as she watched him go, Samantha realised that she still loved him. He was full of himself, but she loved him. It should have made her feel wonderful but she felt nothing but guilt. It was like she was cheating on Pete just thinking about how she felt about Kevin again. Cold and with a growing sense of unhappiness, Samantha darted into the Tube station and made her way home.
Back to Chapter V
Go to Chapter VII
All about her, Covent Garden was bustling, even this early in the evening. The shops were opening later due to the Christmas run-up, and revellers were beginning their Friday night excursions to the various pubs and night clubs in the area. The main street outside the Underground station saw the slow growth of mostly young men with bikes pulling rickshaw-style carriages, queuing up as if it were a taxi rank. These rickshaw/ bikes were proving to be popular as they could avoid traffic by cycling up the central reservation, and were a cheap, easy and environmentally friendly way of travelling around Central London. Samantha couldn't remember if they had a proper name yet, but it certainly had stopped the number of taxicabs in the immediate area. They preferred to hang around outside the next Tube station along, Leicester Square, where the more financially-endowed young people would spend their evenings trying to get into the popular clubs, hoping to catch the glimpse of the odd-celebrity that had ventured out into London's night scene. Covent Garden saw a more cultural scene, mostly full of students, foreigners, and those employed in non-professional occupations.
Being the first week in December, the shops were already into swing, stacked with Christmas gifts and various decorations hanging from the ceilings. Shopping was becoming a nightmare, with each shop along the high street playing the same tinny Christmas songs. Some of the more upmarket shops, however, seemed to be catching on that the endless circle of cheesy pop songs was deterring customers, and had opted for gentler themes instead. Samantha much preferred to browse through Selfridges playing White Christmas than Topshop playing Here It Is (Merry Christmas) for the umpteenth time.
At 8.15pm, Samantha was beginning to wonder whether she'd been stood up. She was always punctual and didn't stand time wasters or people who kept her waiting. Enough notice had been given and Kevin could have always called to make alternative arrangements if 8pm was too difficult for him. Samantha rummaged about in her handbag to check her mobile. She had put it on 'Silent' as a polite gesture and was now thinking about whether she should continue to be polite or just plain rude in return to being kept waiting. No messages. No missed calls. Was she being a fool?
Suddenly Kevin appeared around the corner, looking slightly flustered, and swiftly pulling out the earplugs of his iPod. Samantha took one look and her stomach twisted into one giant knot. She'd forgotten why she ever went out with Kevin in the first place. Now she remembered. He was good looking. Really good looking. Amy and Stuart were right. They had warned her about this and it had happened: as soon as she had seen him, she had fallen for him all over again. She hated him because he had cheated on her, but there was a good reason why she ever went out with him in the first place. Her throat tightened slightly as he got nearer and he flashed her a grin. He had a great smile. She returned it and they hugged briefly. Samantha inhaled Kevin's scent. He smelt really good, a sort of mixture of soap and washing powder and a slight hint of aftershave. Momentarily, she forgot to breathe, and then remembered what she was doing and pulled away.
“Long time no see!” Kevin grinned.
“My words exactly!” Samantha smiled back.
“How have you been?”
“Oh, good actually. Drink?”
“Yeah, that'd be great.”
They turned to walk down the hill facing the now-closed Covent Garden Market and turned into the back street towards Walkabout pub.
“I've never been to a Walkabout pub,” Kevin said. “I head they were good though.”
“And they come personally recommended from me!” Samantha said. “They're Australian-themed pubs and have decently priced drinks. This particular place has a live band at the front section most Fridays and Saturdays.”
“I went to Australia a few years ago,” Kevin said proudly. “It was really good. Hot.”
“How long were you out there for?”
“About three months. One of my mate's have rellies out there and I just stayed with him. The plane fare was mega expensive but I had a flexible ticket so I didn't have to leave by a particular date. Just stayed for as long as I fancied.”
“Right.” Pause. “It must have been cool though? You know, Ayres Rock and the whole East Coast lifestyle?”
“Just did a bit of everything really.”
Samantha nodded and notched her eyebrows a little. Kevin didn't seem to want to open up much about his holiday there. The old Kevin wouldn't have stopped talking about it. Was he feeling as nervous as she was? She didn't dare ask, in case she sounded silly, but she couldn't help but play it in her mind a little.
They approached the pub and entered without any fuss from the security at the door. The pub itself was moderately crowded, and finding the bar and ordering drinks wasn't much hassle. They edged their way through the crowd to one side of the pub, facing the bar, and rested along an occupied table.
They stood there, taking frequent sips of their drinks, taking in the atmosphere, and not really saying much. Samantha felt stupid and attempted to open him up again.
“So, you said you sell computers?” she asked him.
“Yeah,” Kevin replied, putting his drink down, “I mostly travel Europe and carry out presentations to other companies. Ours is quite a well-known brand name and it's important to keep up customer relations and keep communication barriers down.”
Samantha nodded. Not much to go on there, she thought to herself. Let's try another approach.
“So,” she said, “you know much about what you're selling or are you just a mouthpiece for your company?”
“Oh I know loads about computers and how they work and stuff,” Kevin said quickly, “I'm just not going into too much detail otherwise the suit will take over and I become Business Kevin!”
“Oh, okay,” laughed Samantha.
“But if you ever need advice about buying a PC, you now know where to come!”
“Thanks, I'll bear that in mind!”
“So, what about you?”
“Well, I still work with the Housing service, but I've moved around within the service so its been fun seeing what everyone does and how it all comes together.”
“So, do you house people then?”
“Oh no, I work mainly with the technical side of things. You know, fixing heaters and boilers, installing security and fire alarms, stuff like that. But I have worked in the repairs call centre, which was a nightmare. All day long, people calling and yelling as if it were my fault their pipes had burst or their heating had broken. I lasted about two weeks before being given a 'float' job. Now I just help other staff with computerised filing systems and databases.”
“I didn't know you were a computer person,” Kevin said. “I always thought you were more comfortable with pen and paper!”
“Just because I didn't do a computing degree doesn't mean I don't know how to use them. It's like asking someone if they know how to use a calculator if they didn't take a maths degree.”
“Not really. Computers are complex machines to use and be knowledgeable about.”
Ah, thought Samantha, the real Kevin has appeared!
“I don't like the way you are comparing using a calculator, a relatively simple piece of electronics, to a computer, a box full of electrical pins and chips and circuits…”
Samantha now remembered how to open up Kevin: Broach a subject that he knew lots about and she (apparently) knew nothing about. This way he would sound intelligent and feel more superior than her. This was classic Chicane.
Kevin continued to blither on. She had to shut him up.
“… and at least you get taught properly about its inner workings more in depth…”
“Fine, fine!” Samantha cut in. “Sorry I compared a calculator to a computer. I was just trying to point out that you don't need to study something for years just to know how to use it. That's why they invented instruction manuals.”
Kevin looked a bit crestfallen and finished his drink. Samantha gulped the remainder of her drink and felt the alcohol hit her forehead. She winced slightly and remembered she hadn't eaten yet.
“I'm hungry,” Kevin announced, reading her thoughts. “You wanna eat?”
“Sure,” Samantha said, and they headed out into the cold again to dart into the pizzeria on the corner of the street.
Inside the pizzeria was warm and the smell of grilled cheese and garlic was distinct. Kevin and Samantha went straight to the front desk to ask for a table and were seated within seconds. The place was surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, and Samantha mentioned this to the waiter who was seating them.
“Yes,” the waiter said, in a slight Italian accent. “A new restaurant opened up in the next street. You may heard of it? Pizza Hut.”
He sounded slightly bitter about it.
“Oh,” Samantha said sympathetically. “Well, I'd still come here. Pizza Hut is American, not real Italian food.”
The waiter just ignored her and she eyed him with slight caution, not sure what to make of him. He was probably just miffed about his business clientele going elsewhere and she decided to keep quiet.
They sat down, menus were handed out, and a bottle of Chianti was ordered. Samantha's stomach tightened into a knot again and she suddenly didn't feel all that hungry. She couldn't understand why. Only ten minutes ago she had been starving. She simply had to have something though, or the wine would go straight to her head, and she needed to have a clear mind to make her way home again. She looked at the menu to see what was on offer. All the dishes were in Italian, with the ingredients written underneath in English. There was plenty there to suit all tastes, and Samantha felt that she would enjoy this so much more if she wasn't feeling like she suddenly had to run to the bathroom to throw up.
“What you gonna have?” Kevin cut into her thoughts.
“Oh, I'm not sure,” Samantha replied, scanning the menu for something she could possibly force down.
The waiter reappeared with the wine bottle and methodically opened it and poured the glasses.
“Excuse me,” Kevin said, “I'm wondering if you can help me? Is there duck anywhere on the menu?”
Samantha stopped reading the menu and looked straight at Kevin. Did he just say what she thought he had said? She looked at the waiter. His reaction was one of slight confusion and bemusement, and he duly put the bottle down onto the table, peered over Kevin's menu sideways, and ran his finger through the list.
“I believe this one has duck, sir,” he said.
Kevin brought the menu closer to his face.
“Has the dish got garlic in it?” Kevin asked, “I'm not keen on garlic.”
Samantha felt embarrassed and pretended to be incredibly interested and engrossed in her menu. She peered carefully over the top of the menu to watch the spectacle. The waiter looked annoyed, as if he wanted to say 'Why are you in an Italian restaurant when you don't like garlic'.
“I can ask the chef to not add garlic if you prefer it,” he managed to say evenly.
“That would be splendid,” Kevin said, waving the menu in the waiter's face for him to take it.
“And for you, madam?” the waiter asked Samantha.
Samantha hated being called 'madam'. It made her feel old. But she wasn't particularly bothered at this point, still worried that she was going to order something and not be able to eat it.
“I think I'll have the chicken Caesar, please,” she finally said.
“Salad?” Kevin asked.
“Diet,” Samantha replied, matter-of-factly, and handed the waiter the menu before concentrating on her wine glass.
“You don't need to diet,” Kevin said after a pause. “I think you look fine. Women worry too much about their bodies.”
Samantha weakly smiled and ran her thumb nail up and down the wine glass, not wanting to make her body size the subject of the conversation.
The table fell silent again. Samantha didn't want to raise any more conversation unless she had to. Kevin was the first to break the silence.
“Nice ring.”
Samantha stopped fiddling with her glass and looked at her left hand, neatly placed on the table, and the single solitaire glinting under the harsh ceiling lights.
“Thanks,” she said, gazing at it.
She looked up at him. Kevin knew what was coming next.
“I'm getting married in April,” she said, confirming what Kevin was obviously waiting to hear.
“Thought so,” he said, running his fingers through his hair and giving her a knowing smile.
“What's with that look?” Samantha demanded.
“I knew something like that must have happened,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn't have seen me again.”
Samantha looked at him blankly.
“Oh come on, Sam,” he said. “I know I did an awful thing to you. You have no right to trust me unless you feel some sort of safety. I was thinking you were either married or were gonna be.”
“I need to feel a sort of safety?” she asked him.
“How can you trust me after what I did to you, unless you weren't single?”
“You saying I'm insecure?”
“That's not exactly what I meant, but you didn't really go single for a long time between relationships.”
“Are you trying to feel sorry for me?”
“Do you want to get married?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard.”
Samantha looked at him straight in the eye and said, “Yes.”
The waiter arrived with the food and broke the tension that had generated during the suddenly heated conversation. Samantha picked up her fork and started to stab the chicken pieces and the flat squares of shaved parmesan. Kevin had annoyed her but it had her thinking. Was she insecure? She had said 'Yes' to Pete because it seemed like the right thing to do, and she hadn't wanted to say 'No' and break up the relationship. But did she not want to break up because she loved him, or because she would inevitably be single again? You love Pete, she told herself. Kevin is only doing this because he's trying to make you feel guilty for leaving him. You did nothing wrong, He's the bastard. He's the cheat. Just don't let him get to you and get through the evening.
“So, who are you marrying?” Kevin suddenly asked, breaking the silence.
“Pete Marsters.”
“What's he do?”
“Computer programming, mostly information transfers.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“Uni.”
Kevin looked surprised. “So he did computing like me?”
Samantha nodded. “Yeah, but he majored in mathematics, so I don't think he'd have been in many of your classes.”
“I know there was one specifically tailored for programming and analysis, but I didn't take it,” Kevin shrugged. “So he's freelance, then?”
“No, he's part of an up-and-coming organisation. It's been around for about three years and he's been there since the beginning, but I know he's thought about starting up himself or at least working from home.”
Kevin nodded and continued to eat. Samantha poked at the lettuce and swirled it around in the remaining Caesar dressing. She simply wasn't hungry. She took another mouthful of wine and the waiter suddenly reappeared and topped up her glass before she could protest.
“It's hard to start up your own business,” Kevin said, between mouthfuls. “Some of my mates are really struggling with the finance side of things.”
“You can get a loan from the bank, can't you?” asked Samantha, knowing that this is what Pete intended to do if he ever got around to starting up.
“Yeah, but most of them are still paying back uni and college loans,” Kevin said. “But you need to be in a well paid job to begin with, really. If the pay is good, then you can easily save up enough to start up on your own.”
“I think Pete gets paid quite well…”
“How much?”
“It's not for discussion,” Samantha said pointedly.
“But you think it's good?”
“It's programming. It's pretty hard to get a good deal in that area of expertise.”
“Not nowadays,” Kevin said, screwing up his nose slightly.
Was he scorning her?
“The money's in either recruitment, law, or retail,” Kevin continued.
“So, basically, what you're doing (?)” Samantha said, a bit put out.
“Well, I won't deny that my job pays well,” Kevin said, putting his fork down. “I mean, I did programming straight after graduation and it didn't pay as well as that telemarketing job I had until a few years ago. Now I'm in sales and it's a great package, 'cause I get paid OTE plus bonuses when I bring in extra clientele for the company.”
Samantha felt irritated by Kevin's way of thinking. He had managed to not only downsize Pete's abilities and financial income, but had made himself sound superior in comparison.
“Done?” Kevin asked her.
His plate was spotless. Her plate, however, had now-limp lettuce smothered in Caesar dressing pooled in the base of the porcelain. She half-smiled and nodded.
“Sorry,” she said. “I must be a bit tired. I can't eat if I'm tired.”
“S'alright.” Pause. “Does this mean dessert?”
“I can't not have dessert,” Samantha smiled. “I mean, dessert is the whole point of having a meal, right?”
“Right!”
Another waiter appeared and swiftly cleared the table.
“Where's the other guy?” Kevin asked him.
“His shift ended at nine,” came the explanation. “Dessert?”
Menus changed hands. Again, all the dishes were in Italian with English written underneath.
“What sort of cheesecake is this?” Kevin asked the waiter.
Oh my god, Samantha thought, not again! For the second time that evening, she willed herself to be fascinated by her menu and shot quick glances at the waiter.
“It's like a crumby base… and cheese whipped into sponge… like…” he faltered, not quite able to explain exactly what the consistency was or, indeed, the way the cheesecake was made.
“Is it like New York cheesecake?”
The waiter was now utterly confused and started another attempt to explain how the cheesecake was made.
Kevin was getting frustrated. “It's a simple question,” he said. “It's either like New York cheesecake or it isn't.”
The waiter looked ready to give him any answer to keep him from asking questions.
“Maybe you could ask the chef?” Samantha suggested.
The waiter gladly escaped the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
“It's just a simple question…” Kevin started.
“It's freaking cheesecake!” Samantha said, exasperated. “Cheesecake is cheesecake. It's biscuit base, with a fromage frais consistency, and is served with fruit or syrup.”
“Actually, when I had cheesecake in New York, it was different to the cheesecake over here. It's harder, and the regular cheesecake is softer.”
“It's just cheesecake,” Samantha said quietly, going back to her menu and feeling rather put out by Kevin's demands and lack of general good manners.
The waiter came back and said, “The chef says it's American-style cheesecake.”
Kevin looked at his menu. “Fine, I'll have that then.”
“And the lady?”
Samantha was all ready to retort her usual 'I'm not a lady' response but decided that she had already had enough aggro for one evening.
“Lemon sorbet,” she said. All ice and sugar and easy to force.
The waiter disappeared quickly. Probably afraid of more questions, Samantha thought to herself. Kevin better tip decently after this sort of behaviour.
“So, do you still drive the Metro?” Kevin asked.
Samantha looked up in surprise. “How did you know I had a Metro?” she said. “I got that car after we broke up.”
“Saw you drive about in it, didn't I?” he replied. “Just 'cause we weren't dating, doesn't mean I didn't see you when I was out and about.”
“Oh,” Samantha said.
“I have a BMW myself,” Kevin said. “Zips around nicely. Drives real smooth.”
“Right,” Samantha said flatly. “I have a Ford now. I sold my Metro a couple of years ago when I got a raise. It's quite small but I don't need a big flashy car just to drive around town.”
Kevin seemed to be slightly disappointed that Samantha wasn't taking a more enthusiastic attitude to his car.
“Of course, I could have got any car I wanted,” he said, continuing from before. “I drove a Ford, then a Merc… the BMW is good for the moment.”
Samantha smiled politely, not really interested in Kevin's past of flashy cars and obvious expensive spending traits. She didn't like to talk about money or anything that pointed to either having a lot of it, or not having much of it. Kevin seemed to be the complete opposite.
“I've had to have some work done to it though,” he continued. “Alloys, and replacing the interior accessories with chrome, like the gear stick…”
The waiter brought over the dessert and Kevin stabbed his with a fork, continuing to talk as he pushed a piece of cheesecake in his mouth.
Samantha carefully scraped the surface of her sorbet, watching the thin layer curl up into her spoon. She wished Kevin would stop talking about money. Maybe if she confronted him about it…?
“So you like to talk about money and spending habits?” Samantha cut in, whilst Kevin was mid-sentence.
He finished his mouthful before answering, “No, I don't like talking about money. My boss does, though. He's always pointing out how much more than me he's earning.”
Samantha smiled to herself. Yet another Kevin flaw exposed.
“But you're talking about flash cars and doing them up,” she pointed out. “You were quite happily flashing your iPod about earlier this evening.”
“No I wasn't!” Kevin protested.
“Well you weren't exactly trying to hide it!”
“Everyone has an iPod.”
“I don't.”
“Is this what this is about?”
“No, I was just…” Samantha trailed off. Another argument. How many were they going to have before the evening was out?
“I don't like talking about stuff that points towards either having lots of money, or a lack thereof,” she finally ventured.
“You want me to stop talking about my car?”
“Please.”
“Because you don't have a lot of money?”
“I don't like talking about it.”
“Okay.”
Desserts were finished in another stretch of silence. Glasses were emptied of wine. Samantha decided to break the silence.
“What you doing for Christmas?” she asked, scraping the base of her bowl.
“Oh, probably just stay at my parents' for a long weekend and then go back to work.”
“You not doing anything for New Year?”
“I think I have a bash to go to.” Pause. “You can come along if you like.”
“No thanks,” Samantha said, “I might have other stuff planned.”
“What you doing then?”
“Well, Pete's home for Christmas…”
She stopped when she realised what she had said. Kevin looked at her before asking the inevitable.
“He's coming home?”
Samantha inwardly groaned. She hadn't meant to tell him that Pete wasn't there. Now she'd have to explain herself.
“Pete's on contract in Newcastle and is back for Christmas,” she said, trying not to reveal more details than she needed to.
“I see,” Kevin said. “So when the cat's away…?”
“I didn't come here to get back together with you,” Samantha retorted. “I have a little more class than that.”
“I wasn't… I mean, I didn't mean it like…” Kevin stopped, unable to find the words he needed.
“I wanted to say sorry,” he said, looking straight at her.
Samantha looked back at him, stunned.
“You never really gave me a chance to explain, and I know that my behaviour was unacceptable but…” Kevin exhaled loudly and scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable about what he had to say.
“I slept with Sheila because I fancied her,” he said, simply. “I was in love with you, but lust took over. She made it clear she fancied me and I stayed away, but it was so hard. I could literally feel the chemistry between us. So we succumbed.”
He looked at Samantha for her reaction. Her face was a mixture of anger and hurt. She looked ready to cry.
“How could you say you loved me?” she said to him, teeth gritted in an attempt to stop the tears flowing. “How could you sleep with her if you really loved me?”
“Sam, I'm sorry. I just couldn't help it.”
“I knew you'd do it,” Samantha said, looking away. “Even though I didn't want to believe it, I knew something would happen. You were always looking at other women whenever we were out on a date.”
“Oh, come on!” Kevin protested. “That's just harmless flirting.”
“But your lack of interest in me that way…” Samantha felt her eyes well up. She was gonna cry and she didn't want to.
“I'm going to the bathroom,” she said quietly, and hastily made her way towards the doors at the side of the restaurant.
Once in the bathroom, Samantha tore off some toilet paper and gently blotted her eyes to soak up her tears without smudging her mascara too much. She peered into the mirror and cleaned herself up. Her nose was slightly pink where the onset of crying had made it sting. She scooped up some cold water and carefully wiped her face with wet fingers. She then turned on the hand dryer and moved the nozzle towards her face and it dried the water instantly. She looked at her reflection again. She was decent.
Leaving the bathroom, she saw Kevin paying the bill and throwing a handful of coins on the table as a tip. Samantha peeked at it and made a mental calculation of how much he'd tipped. It had to be at least five pounds, which would have made it around ten percent. Wow, Samantha thought. Kevin was a decent tipper.
She pulled her coat off the back of her chair and followed Kevin out of the restaurant and back towards the Underground station. Covent Garden station was closed so they ambled up the high street towards Leicester Square. They approached the station and stopped outside.
“Well, thanks for the meal,” Samantha said.
“My pleasure,” Kevin smiled.
“Okay, well maybe we can do this another time?”
“Sure.”
Kevin smiled at her and looked right into her eyes. He was thinking about kissing her. Samantha panicked and chose to stop him before anything happened. She gestured towards hugging him and they locked, much tighter than they had earlier.
“I am really sorry, Samantha,” she heard Kevin whisper into her ear.
Samantha pulled away and looked at Kevin. He appeared to be genuine, so she smiled and said, “Well, I guess it takes time.”
“So you'll forgive me?”
“Eventually, I suppose.”
“You are an angel!” Kevin declared, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. Samantha closed her eyes as she felt his skin brush against hers and a soft smooching sound was made. His skin felt slightly rough, like he hadn't shaved that morning. The sensation made her tingle and her stomach did a back flip.
“I'll see you, then,” he said, and he suddenly disappeared into the throng of people hovering around the night club on the corner opposite the station.
Feeling a sudden disappointment as she watched him go, Samantha realised that she still loved him. He was full of himself, but she loved him. It should have made her feel wonderful but she felt nothing but guilt. It was like she was cheating on Pete just thinking about how she felt about Kevin again. Cold and with a growing sense of unhappiness, Samantha darted into the Tube station and made her way home.
Back to Chapter V
Go to Chapter VII
© 2004 Clare Benton
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