dorma', which was playing in reception, seemed to be playing unusually loud in my head as Boo started ranting. I wasn’t really listening to what she was saying but just gazed blankly at her, watching her lips move and hearing the Guru’s words telling me again and again that I was cursed. The only thought I had was to get out of there.
‘Boo, Nina has been under the weather recently, haven’t you, Nina?’ Simon said, hearing her shouting and coming out of his office to try to placate her.
‘Yes, under the weather, under a cloud, a dirty grey sky. I have to go, I have to leave.’
There was silence: the kind of silence that is desperate to be filled.
And Simon didn’t stop me. Over three years at the firm, sweating blood, pampering over-inflated egos and making him money and he didn’t even say, ‘Come into my office, let’s talk about it.’
Maybe if he had I would have stayed, because all that I needed was some reassurance that I was worth something.
‘Right,’ I said, getting my coat. ‘I’ll come back for the rest of my things later.’
‘I’ll make sure Felicity sends them on to you,’ Simon replied.
I splashed through puddles, wandering aimlessly, feeling numb. I should have been elated, relieved at least that I had left work; but the way it had happened was out of my control, he was essentially showing me the door. After everything I had done, that’s how much I meant. What would I say to my parents? Not only would I crush them by saying that I was marrying Jean but now my dad’s biggest fear of me losing my job had come true. Perhaps it was better to break it to them all at once: if I didn’t have a job I couldn’t go through with their list system anyway so that didn’t matter, and at least I had Jean. Jean would be there no matter what. He would return home later that evening and between us we could find a way to break it to them so that it wouldn’t completely crush them. Things weren’t that bad, I tried to convince myself. I’d just attempted to put the whole Guru thing behind me – there were good things to look forward to. Jean and I could finally settle down. I felt excited at the thought of seeing him again, having him wrap his arms around me and reassure me that everything would work out. As I had time on my hands I decided to go to his flat, make us dinner and wait for him: he was due back around six.
A short time later, my shopping basket was bulging with colourful vegetables. I had no idea what I was going to do with them but anything that had any colour went into the basket. Jean liked chicken so I decided to throw one in and figure out how to cook it later. I picked up a recipe book, some wine, flowers and candles and made my way to his apartment.
I smiled at the concierge as I entered the building, but instead of smiling back he glanced down at his feet.
‘Busy morning, John?’
‘Yes, miss,’ he replied, calling for the lift. I could sense that he wasn’t in the mood for chatting so I waited in silence for the lift to come down.
The tiles and mirrors reflected the huge ceilings of the apartment block and the lift was rickety and had an old-style caged door. I had always thought I’d get stuck in it. Before Jean Michel went away on his trip he had stopped the lift as we were halfway down. I had panicked. ‘I’ll take care of you, cherie,’ he said. ‘Always, you know I will. Nina, I want you to marry me.’
And although I was overwhelmed the first word that came out of my mouth wasn’t ‘Yes’ but ‘Dad'. All I could see was my dad’s face, so absolutely crushed.
Jean tried not to appear disappointed. I asked for time to think about it. He said he understood, but now my head was clear I would have a chance to make it up to him.
We had met two years earlier at a party. The moment he walked in half the women in the room turned to look: he was six foot two, with blue eyes, jet-black hair and a big smile. I watched his every move from the corner of my eye and my heart jumped with disbelief as he made his way towards me.
‘Are you OK?’ he said in a deep, confident voice, as if he had always known me.
I turned to check that it was me he was talking to and that I wasn’t mistaken: out of all the women in the room, he had chosen to speak to me.
We talked for hours and as I left he said he’d call. The days seemed interminable as I waited and my stomach did all sorts of things each time the phone rang. He called two days later, said he had wanted to phone straightaway to see if I got home safely but had held out as long as he could. There was something very solid about him: he was confident yet also excitingly passionate and spontaneous. There was no routine in our lives, no planning; things just happened.
He whisked me away from the world of the semi, Croydon and list systems, away from practicality and duty, and made me feel beautiful. He had all the qualities I lacked and when I was around him I never felt inadequate. Ki said he was what I needed; that he made me see things differently, beyond the values and concepts that had been drummed into me.
She, like Jean, was also a risk-taker, but ended up with someone who seemed safe, reliable and predictable … although he didn’t turn out to be in the end. Ki was laid out in her coffin in her red bridal sari. Her boyfriend, who was supposedly madly in love with her, hadn’t wanted to marry her, but her mother insisted that that was the way that she wanted to be dressed. Had she known towards the end that her boyfriend’s visits had become more and more infrequent? He didn’t even manage to make it to the funeral and three months later he was seeing someone else.
Jean Michel saw me through that period. Although my way of coping was just to get on with life and try not to think about things too deeply, I knew if I needed to talk he would listen. He always listened; he always tried to understand.
I turned the key to Jean’s flat and it wasn’t double locked.
‘Careless as usual,’ I thought. ‘Goes away for four days and forgets to double-lock the door.’
I carried the shopping into the kitchen and thought I heard a noise. Maybe the cleaner was in, although it wasn’t her usual day.
‘Hello,’ I shouted. Nobody responded so I began unpacking the shopping. The fridge had half a bottle of champagne in it along with some pâté. There was another noise.
‘Hello, is anyone in?’ I said, going towards Jean’s room.
Jean suddenly came out, making me jump.
‘Jean, I didn’t know you were home. When did you get in? Didn’t you hear me? I’ve got so much to tell you.’
He looked very pale.
‘Are you ill? What’s wrong?’
His bedroom door clicked closed.
‘What’s going on? Who’s in there? Who is it, Jean?’
‘No one, Nina,’ his voice sounded odd. ‘Don’t go in there.’
I went in and saw this woman emerging like some weasel out of a hole. She had a mass of red curls and was half-dressed.
All I could think about was the concierge, party to as many secrets as he was keys. He could have said something like, ‘Miss, don’t go up there, the gas men are seeing to a leak, come back in a few hours.’ I would have listened.
I
