Perfect Imperfections (Moments Book 1) Page 19
Gabriel was planning to book us into the Marriott Hotel; it was ideal, being only a short taxi drive from the station, but as we stepped off the train onto the platform he received a voicemail from his brother Jase. Apparently, he was driving to Blackpool for a stag weekend and said he was leaving in a couple of hours, so if we got our arses down to Little Venice where his narrowboat was moored we could save the cost of the hotel room and kip down there. We’d be doing each other a favour.
A couple of hours pass, and as we go over a speed bump I squeeze Gabriel’s thigh.
“Where did he say he was meeting us?”
“The Warwick Castle, a big white pub that sits on the corner of the street. It’s only a short walk from his boat, but being the weekend it’s guna be busy.”
We pull up on double yellows outside the pub, and I gaze at the old-fashioned lettering above the door while Gabriel leans forward and pays our fare. I step out of the taxi and turn to Gabriel, who’s placing his dark-rimmed glasses over his eyes. I smile to myself. It’s so easy for me to forget that he can’t see the way I do. There’s so much I want us to see together, the sunrise, the sunset, the start of each new season, the twinkling stars on a clear night, Christmas and all the decorations. My only hope is that when he sees the ophthalmologist in a couple of hours he decides to go ahead with the operation.
He follows me out of the taxi, circling his fingers around my wrist; I notice he doesn’t take confident strides forwards, but tentative steps.
“How on earth do you manage when you’re on your own?”
His fingers stiffen and he stands still.
“I’ve already told you, I’m not blind, so stop treating me like I’ve got a disability. Okay, everything’s blurry, but I can see. I’m not saying I don’t trip along the way, but I get by, I manage.”
I think from his answer that I’ve probed a little too much, so I say no more and push open the door to the pub.
He wasn’t wrong about it being busy, and I can hardly hear myself think for voices and the clatter of loose change. I glance to my left. There are four slot machines lined up against the wall and a teddy machine positioned by their side with a family crowded around it. A young girl with blonde pigtails is jumping up and down screaming, holding a rather large Minion toy in her arms.
I look towards the bar and the men propped up against it, trying to see if I can spot someone with the slightest resemblance to Gabriel.
A tall guy dressed in black leathers waves his hand acknowledging me, but I don’t know him so look round again. No one appears to be acknowledging him back, so I wave at him. God, he’s coming over and smiling. Bloody hell, he’s fit. My hands are becoming hot and clammy, so I loosen Gabriel’s grip.
“Alright, bruv.” There’s an odd twang to his London accent.
I blink several times as he nears; he’s fitter still close up. He looks over my shoulder, bypasses me and then stands with his arms around Gabriel.
“Jase?” I reel back.
The man turns his head, gazing at me.
“Hey, Gabe, who’s the bird?”
“Seriously, did you call me bird?” I question, screwing up my face.
He may be good looking, but my estimation of him has gone right down. I hate it when guys use derogatory terms when referring to women.
He butts into my thoughts. “Did you seriously call me Jase?” His leathers squeak as he opens his arms, letting Gabriel go. He laughs out loud. “My mother’s Jamaican; do we really look related?”
Swallowing hard, I say nothing.
Now Gabriel’s laughing too, and it feels like they’re laughing at me.
“Yeah,” Gabriel splutters, “brother from another mother.”
“Very funny,” I snap, making sure he picks up on the sarcastic tone in my voice.
“No, Natasha, I’m not taking the piss. Derrick’s family live next door to my mum; we grew up together as kids.”
Derrick lets his bottom lip drop, pulling a sad face.
“That was until you left me and moved to that shithole they call Matlock,” he pipes up.
I’m about to give him a piece of my mind, but seeing the way they are together and the banter between them, I guess it’s just blokes being blokes, so I keep my mouth closed and my thoughts to myself.
Derrick offers me his hand.
“I’m Derrick, the groom. Jase is at the bar getting the drinks in.” He cups his mouth between his hands. “He’s my best man.”
Gabriel lets out a throaty cough. “Traitor, I’m the eldest; don’t you think you should have picked me?”
“You?” he grunts. “You’ve got to be joking! You can’t even be arsed to come to my stag do.”
“You wonder why,” Gabriel utters light-heartedly. “At the last stag do I ended up being dumped in the middle of nowhere with no eyebrows and a partially waxed leg.”
I giggle, pressing my fingers against my lips to stop myself. “I’ve heard worse.”
Derrick grabs his crotch. “Believe me, so have I. Trouble is, your man’s a pussy.”
I gather there’s a story behind what his hands are holding onto, but I don’t enquire as to what it is.
“A pussy?” Gabriel turns his attention to me. “Natasha, I was butt naked running up the hard shoulder of the motorway. I was picked up by a passing police car and spent the rest of the night locked in a cell.”
I wag my finger at Derrick. “That was mean.”
“It was a stag do.” He shrugs. “Shit happens.”
“You’d best be looking over your shoulder later. You know what they say, what goes around comes around, so I’d keep a tight hold of those eyebrows of yours if I were you.” Gabriel lifts his hand from his side, patting Derrick on the back. “And I know Jayne; if anything like that were to happen to you, she’d have your balls in a vice, and as for the wedding, there’d be no chance, mate. Maybe it’s a good job I’m not coming to Blackpool.”
“Oi, Gabe.”
We all turn. Apart from the dark-brown hair and lack of stubble, Jase is a dead ringer for Gabriel. He strides towards us, a pint in each hand.
“So,” he utters looking me up and down, “you must be Natasha, the girl I’ve heard so much about.”
He passes a beer to Derrick and holds out his hand.
“I’m Jason.”
I shake his hand and nod, though really no introductions are needed.
Derrick leaves us chatting to Jason, disappearing to the bar to get a round of drinks.
“Spoke to our old dear earlier; she’s looking forward to meeting you. Don’t think she’s ever met one of Gabriel’s girls before, not that he’s had many, not many serious ones anyway.”
“We’re not exactly serious, and we’re not officially seeing each other,” I jump in.
“Oh, I see.” He winks at me. “Casual, just the way I like my women.”
I go to put him straight, but Gabriel gets there first.
“No, Jase, we’re not causal, we’re not anything at the moment, we’re just taking things day by day, you know, seeing how things go…” Gabriel pauses, taking a deep breath.
I’m quite glad he can’t see the way Jase looks at me, for I feel almost undressed.
“So,” Gabriel continues, leaning his elbow on a high-backed chair, “I think about how over the top Mum can be and I just might give her a miss this weekend. I’m sure she’ll understand. I’ll ring her later, after I’ve seen Mr Rueben, the consultant.”
Jase slurps the white head off his beer. “So is this what it’s taken, a nice bit of skirt for you to see sense?”
“No, this afternoon’s just a consultation, and then it’s for me to decide if I want the op or not. And before you ask, I haven’t decided yet.”
Jase shakes his head. “Pathetic. You’re still using Dad as your bloody excuse. For God’s sake, Gabe, get over it, that was years ago. Don’t you think it’s about time you moved on? You know, get a life. Don’t throw everything away and end up a recluse like Dad.”
It’s a good fifteen minutes before Derrick comes back with our drinks. I’m glad in a way, as his jokey demeanour lifts the awkwardness. I wasn’t sure about him when we first met, but he’s actually a lot easier to warm to than Jase. They don’t hang around talking for much longer; apparently, there’s a coach waiting outside in the pub car park which is taking about thirty of Derrick’s unruly mates up to Blackpool.
“Oi, think you’ll be needing this.” Jase finishes his pint, fishes round in his trouser pocket, then tosses me a key, which, although caught off guard, I manage to catch.
“And when I get back, there’d better be no stains on my bed sheets.”
Gabriel laughs, though somehow it doesn’t sound like Jase is joking. I don’t laugh, because I don’t find his insinuation funny.
When it’s just the two of us, I manage to find a free table with two stools pushed beneath. It’s rather noisy, as we are positioned right next to the jukebox, but I’m sick of standing and it’s better than nothing.
I sit for a moment or two spinning a coaster on the wooden tabletop. Then I lean forward, planting my elbows on the table.
“So…”
“No, Natasha, don’t go there.”
I frown, slumping slightly. I didn’t realise I was so transparent.
The legs of the stool screech against the tiled floor as he pushes himself away from me.
“Dad’s a subject I’m not willing to discuss with you or anyone,” he mutters, folding his arms rigidly across his chest.
“Believe me, your dad isn’t the only one with a story to tell. My old man’s got plenty of skeletons locked away in his closet.”
He sips at his glass of iced water as if contemplating what to say. “To be honest,” he adds, placing his glass down, “I’m not really interested. It’s no skin off my nose whatever your old man did in the past.”
Faithful wasn’t a word in Dad’s dictionary; I don’t think he meant to stray, it just kind of happened and then snowballed.
“He’s the reason Mum’s so fucked up and drinks too much.”
“Natasha, honestly, I don’t want to know. This isn’t a weekend to reminisce about the past, it’s supposed to be about us.”
“You’d never guess, but I’ve got siblings scattered all round the country; I’m even considering looking them up at some point. I found a couple on Facebook and was tempted to add them, but something always stopped me. It’s like a can of worms that I’m not sure I want to open.” I hear the tone in my voice drop, remembering what Dad was like as we were growing up and how it affected all of us.
“You’re just coming out with all this so I’ll give you the low-down on my dad.” He smirks. “I’m not daft you know, I know how you women operate. The taxi won’t be long, so I think I might go outside for a quick fag. God knows how long I’ll be stuck in Harley Street.”
He gets to his feet.
“Hey, I never thought, what are you going to do with yourself? It’s only a short walk to Jase’s narrowboat. Come on, drink up.”
“I’ll be fine, Stephan’s meeting me here; we’ve got lots to talk about, so I’ll wait till you get back.”
My stomach’s making funny growling noises and I’m starting to feel peckish, so I read the list of specials chalked on a board near the bar.
“When he gets here I think I’ll order us something to eat.”
He takes a step past me. “Oh, I think there’s something I forgot.”
I frown. “What is it?”
“This.”
Suddenly, his face is in mine. He’s crouching down, his legs either side of the stool, and then quite out of the blue he kisses me, warm and long. He clasps my face between his hands, and I find I’m kissing him back. His tongue’s in my mouth and mine slips into his. I sense his left hand wandering, sliding from the side of my face and making its way into the nape of my neck. I’m trembling inside, and my instinct is to reach and unbuckle his belt, but in the heat of the moment I’m forgetting myself, forgetting where I am.
I pull myself out of his arms, and catch a couple of old geezers grinning over from the bar and a couple of not so complimentary frowns from the bar staff. It’s not too hard to imagine what’s going through their heads; that we should drink up and get a room.
“Gabriel, stop it, we’re in public, everyone’s looking.” I know it’s a slight exaggeration, but that’s what it feels like. I can only begin to imagine the shade of red my face has become, because my cheeks are on fire.
He runs his tongue over his lips. “It really doesn’t matter to me,” he chuckles, “cos I can’t see them; let them look.”
He leans back in me for a second kiss.
“No,” I say rather loudly. “The meter will be running in your taxi. Go on, piss off; the quicker you go, the quicker you’ll get back.”
“What say we continue where we left off later?” he mutters under his breath.
Stephan left me at around three o’clock. I was beginning to feel like part of the furniture, so had a walk round to stretch my legs. On the way back to my seat I had a couple of goes on the teddy machine, but as usual lucky me won nothing. With my pockets a couple of pounds lighter, I sat with a flat glass of tonic water, twiddling my thumbs. It was four o’clock by the time Gabriel finally returned from Harley Street. He would have been back a couple of hours earlier, but had popped in for what was supposed to be a quick drink with his mum.
He ordered himself a small orange juice, which he hurried down. He didn’t say a great deal, and when I asked he was quite tight-lipped about his consultation, so I thought I’d leave the probing until later when hopefully he’d be in a more relaxed mood.
I held on tightly to Gabriel’s hand and kept him as close to my side as possible as we dodged between oncoming traffic. It was only a short walk to the flight of wooden steps leading down to a towpath running alongside the Regent’s Canal. Little Venice, so aptly named, had boats moored on either side. I always thought a boat was just a boat, and had no idea there were so many variations; some even had ceramic pots and their own miniature gardens. What I enjoyed most of all was reading the names in bold lettering written on their sides: Greek Gods, constellations, cartoon characters. One in particular caught my eye; the entire boat was grey with a large painting of Bugs Bunny holding a carrot.
I wondered how much thought had gone into the name of Jase’s boat. Was it something quirky, or was there more depth to the guy after all? With the number of boats here, how on earth could Gabriel recognise his brother’s? Honestly, it must have been like finding a needle in a haystack. Though when I asked him, he told me he did it merely by counting in his head; it was the eightieth boat along. He pulled on my hand, stopping me at a dark-green boat named Tiffany. I asked if there was any significance to the name his brother had picked. Apparently, it was some girl he was sleeping with at the time, so my previous assumption that there may have been some depth to his character was somewhat wishful thinking.
Gabriel fumbled in his pocket for Tiffany’s key, dropped our weekend case a few feet from the door, and then hand in hand we sauntered along the tree-lined canal, oblivious to the passing cyclists and dog walkers.
Unknown to me, Gabriel had pre-booked a table at Fengshang, a Chinese floating rest
aurant where we whiled away a couple of hours. The food was amazing and the company even better.
Gabriel was on about walking into Camden Town, though by the time we’d get there the markets would be closed. He mentioned stopping off to have a drink somewhere, but after spending hours in The Warwick Castle, I’d had enough of pubs for one day, so we opted to continue our walk past The Aviary and London Zoo, and make our way into Regent’s Park.
Gabriel’s arm fell loosely around my shoulders as the sun began its decent on what had been a beautiful summer’s day. We walked the exact route he took each time he visited the park. He pointed out numerous benches where he’d rest for a while, set up his easel and paint members of the public, many being opposite the most amazing flower gardens I think I’d ever seen. The park felt like such a happy place, and the bright roses almost smiled up at me as we passed. Gabriel’s arms manoeuvred me slightly to the right and we left Queen Mary’s Gardens behind us, heading onto an open expanse of grass. I found myself swaying to the heady sound of Latino music coming from a small group of men who had set up in a bandstand next to the boating lake. Green and white striped deckchairs were spotted all around the lake, and considering the time I was quite surprised how many people were loitering about and how many blankets were laid on the ground with people still picnicking. I noticed several bottles of wine, so wondered if bands playing here and people turning up to watch them was a weekly ritual during the summer months.
We found a couple of deckchairs in the quietest spot we could and sat down.
Gabriel leans forward, resting his hands on his knees.
“So, how did this afternoon go? You know, you and Stephan.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not good news. The rent for his studio is far too high; it’s eating the hell out of his profits, so he’s been looking round for alternative premises. He’s found something, but it’s in Manchester.”
“So what does that mean for you?”