Hi there! So I'm not totally sure how many people are still reading this, but for those who are, here's the chapter you've probably been waiting for! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think.
Thanks,
Lily x
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The tube journey from the station to the restaurant was the hardest, because it gave me time to think about what was about to happen. I was sure that I was making a mistake, that he wouldn’t like the way I looked, or he would have changed his mind and wouldn’t be waiting there for me at all. I hoped he was, I wanted more than anything to feel his arms around me, and after all our weeks of emailing each other, I felt like I deserved it. We knew each other better than anyone else, we needed each other.
The intercom called out that the next stop was Green Park and I let go of the pole I had been gripping onto, wiping my hands on my trousers and moving towards the doors. The train pulled up to the platform and I struggled to keep my balance before the doors pulled apart. Crowds piled out of the small carriage and headed towards the escalators in one large wave. I followed the crowd and swiped my oyster card over the barriers, wriggling through them and emerging out onto the busy street. It was spitting with rain and I swiftly pulled an umbrella from my bag, opening it out over my head to avoid any makeup malfunctions. I could feel my heart quivering in my chest.
I knew my way around London pretty well, and I was aware of just how easy it was to get to The Wolseley from the tube station. I just had to follow Piccadilly down until I passed the restaurant on my right, which, I was sure, would have a rather distinctive front. I had been there for breakfast a few times with my family, but I could not remember it’s exact appearance.
The streets were grey, the concrete and the cloud and the fumes making everything look sad and drab. I didn’t mind it so much, this kind of weather, I had become used to it after all the years of living in England. It made me feel safe and at home, walking amongst all these strangers, brushing past these faceless, nameless people. I felt anonymous.
I reached the restaurant in less than ten minutes, moving through the busy city with broad strides. There was a doorman there to give me a hand with the umbrella and open up the front doors for me. I left him with the soggy thing and slipped inside, feeling the warmth wrap around me, beginning to thaw me out. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get rid of the damp, caused by the drizzle.
“Can I take your coat, ma’am?” A waiter in a slick, black suit hurried forward, his arms outstretched. I was a little taken a back but nodded, smiling at him as he helped to pull the heavy, wool overcoat gently from my shoulders. It was only then that I had a chance to take in the restaurant’s decor.
The floor was made up of an arrangement of black and white tiles, put together in an art deco, geometric pattern. There were large black, chandeliers hanging from the tall, domed ceiling, which in turn, was supported by sturdy, black pillars. The whole thing looked like something from an old black and white film, or an Agatha Christie novel, some kind of Parisian tearoom from the 1930s. There were tables set up throughout the large hall-like room, as well as a more private area raised on a balcony at the far back. I loved it, and he knew I would love it, that’s why we were meeting here.
The maitre die was watching me with a strange curiosity, waiting for me to come forward and ask to be seated. I took a deep breath, fighting against the urge to look out around the restaurant until I saw his face, fighting the urge to forget all this and run away, back to the station, back in time. I walked up to the formally dressed woman standing at the front of the venue, holding my shoulders back so my long hair flowed past my shoulder blades.
“Good Afternoon, madam,” she smiled genially at me, smoothing a rogue piece of dark hair back into her slicked back bun. “How can I help you?”
“I’m meeting somebody here?” I started, my heart beginning to race in anticipation.
“Of course, what’s the surname?” She inquired, looking down at her bookings list.
“Ainsworth?” I responded, noticing a slight falter in her undeviating facade. She stood up straight again and nodded towards me.
“Of course, right over here,” she stepped from behind her post and began to lead me over to a table to the right of the restaurant, where a single man was seated. He stood as soon as he saw me, a disbelieving smile on his near perfect face. I thought about Rafael Anderson for a moment, and decided that, like me, Kit had a right nostril which was slightly higher than his left.
The moment I had entered the restaurant, I had felt his presence. I know it seems cheesy, but it was true, and now, here he was. He was perfect, more perfect than I had imagined, because now he was real. I had seen his photo in magazines hundreds of times, watched him in the movies, but nothing compared to how he looked right at this second. I suddenly felt very conscious of my appearance, as I walked closer to him, what he would think of my clothes, or the way I held myself.
I had been careful when dressing that morning, not wanting to wear something too juvenile, nor something which aged me by ten years. I had one of those faces where that could be a problem, where I could look convincingly older, or younger, than my eighteen years. I chose my favourite pair of straight, black cigarette trousers, turned up at the bottom so my ankles were showing. There is something seductive about ankles, don’t you think?
I couldn’t believe that he had actually come, and that, as a result, everything in his letter must have been true. His feelings towards me, towards Isabel, and how truly sorry he was for hurting me the way he did. He had wide, disbelieving eyes, filled with fear, as if I was going to vanish into thin air at any moment. We were watching each other, our eyes level, and a shy smile pulled at my lips, causing me to look down at my pale pink ballet pumps modestly. I reached the table and the waitress left us without saying a word; it was just him and I, Kit and Lana. We were barely a meter apart, and I didn’t know what to do, if I should do what I truly wanted to.
I drew my eyes up slowly, to meet his, and he threw his arms around me, prompting me to wrap mine around his neck. I let out a relieved giggle as he held his hands against the small of my back, I felt his chest rising and falling against mine.
“I’ve missed you,” I whispered into his ear, my voice catching.
“I’ve missed you too,” he replied earnestly, “so much, Lana, I can’t believe,” he pulled away and held me by the shoulders, causing me to laugh and wipe a tear which had escaped across my cheek. “You’re here,” Kit began to grin, sucking on his bottom lip as he admired the planes of my face.
I was so nervous about what he thought of me, because I knew I was taller than most girls he would have met, even if I remained five or so inches shorter than him. I was slim, but nowhere near as skinny as Hollywood girls. On the other hand, I was nowhere near as gaunt or ghostly looking as them either. My skin was pale and translucent, like ivory, and my hair a pale, ash blonde, curling across my back. I wasn’t traditional looking, and that scared me.
“Well, I couldn’t exactly not turn up,” I said gleefully.
“I wasn’t so sure,” he chuckled, stopping then and watching me with a sense of awe. All of a sudden, he encased me in his arms again, causing an eruption of giggles to fall from my throat. I heard him take a breath in, inhaling the scent of my clothes, of my perfume.
“I wasn’t sure whether I should punch you in the face,” I confessed, uttering the words into his ear, “or kick you in the balls.” There was a tension then, as if I was about to do one of those things, and I allowed him to believe it for a second. “But, in the end, I decided that neither would suffice. A hug would do just as well,” I moved away and he pulled my chair out for me, placing a hand on my shoulder as I sat down.
“I’m so glad you came,” Kit admitted, taking the seat opposite and watching me curiously.
“Me too,” I nodded, smiling.
“I don’t really know what to say,” he declared, watching me with unusual admiration.
“How about, how have you been?” I offered as a suggestion, and he sat up all of a sudden, widening his eyes and raising his eyebrows.
He looked well suddenly, as if he’d regained his colour from just seeing me in front of him. His hair was messy, but I was sure he had carefully sculpted it that way before leaving, and he had dirty blonde stubble covering his jaw. He was dressed in a pair of skinny black jeans, with a pale pink and white, striped shirt. I knew he would be handsome, but I had never quite imagined just how so.
“Of course!” He gasped, laying his long fingers across the white table cloth. “How have you been? And your birthday! How was it?” He asked a flurry of questions, before going back to looking at me, his eyes roaming my face.
“I’ve been,” I took a deep breath and debated what I should or should not tell him. “After we stopped talking, I was really sad,” I decided that the truth was best, I didn’t want to make out that everything was fine, even though it wasn’t, “and I was mean to everyone,” I began to laugh, thinking about how miserable I had been. “I was getting on everybody’s nerves and then things started to get better, mainly because of this chance meeting I had with this stranger.”
“What kind of chance meeting?” Kit asked, his forehead creasing. I told him about what had happened at the beach, when I had been crying and someone had been there to comfort me. I told him how it had altered my perception of the world.
“What was his name?” He wondered.
“Rafael Anderson,” I replied, the name sounding even more ridiculous when said out loud.
“That’s not a real name.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I’m sorry,” he began to frown and I just shrugged him off, tracing my fingers along the line of my neck, down across my collarbone.
“It’s fine, it’s all forgotten,” I reassured him, looking down as I smoothed out the creases in the tablecloth.
“No, look,” he reached across the table and held onto my hands, forcing me to look directly at him, directly into those wonderful sea green eyes. “Lana, I am so unbelievably sorry for what I did to you. I should have realized sooner how I felt about you, before I went and, well, did what I did. I know words are irrelevant now, but I wanted to say it, I wanted you to hear me say them out loud.”
“Thank you,” I smiled, “but you didn’t, realize I mean,” I reminded him. “That’s okay, we’re human beings, we all need a little time sometimes. I understand what it’s like to let someone whom you love go, I really do, it’s hard. You need time to realize what else you’re missing out on or to realize how much of an idiot your ex is.”
“Is that what happened with your bass guitarist?” Kit wondered, his tone of voice soft and on-obtrusive. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me if-”
“-No, it’s alright,” I reassured him. “He was never going to be my bass guitarist,” I sighed, giggling a little in exasperation as I smoothed back my eyebrows. “Boys in bands, as I’ve learnt from experience, tend to feel a little self-important, like they’re God’s gift to womankind.” I rolled my eyes dramatically, making Kit chuckle. “He’d sleep around with any girl who seemed marginally interested in him, at gigs, at parties, it’s just not my lifestyle, you know?” I said hopelessly, and Kit just smiled understandingly. “I hate parties, and I hate being around drunk or stoned people all the time. I wasn’t cool with my boyfriend sleeping with a hundred other girls, and he didn’t understand that.”
“He felt like he should share himself, like he was to good for just one girl,” Kit interjected.
“Exactly,” I nodded. “I think it was the fact that he was the first really good looking guy to ever take any interest in me which made me stay with him longer than I should have. I didn’t think anyone else would ever like me because I’m not like most girls.”
“You’re stunning,” he argued.
“I wouldn’t say-” I began to speak, looking down at my hands, where Kit was still holding them, firmly, modestly.
“No,” Kit continued to stare at me with growing interest, “you told me, you said to me in an email, that once we’ve met, you will believe me when I say you’re beautiful,” I couldn’t believe he had remembered that. “Well, here we are, face to face, do you believe me now?” I thought about it for a moment, not sure what to say.
“Yes,” I replied, finally, “I believe you.”
“Good,” Kit moved his smooth thumbs in circles across my palm before pulling back, just in time for a waiter to hand us two menus. “Thank you,” he spoke, opening up the menu and peering over it at me, his eyes glittering.
“Your film!” I exclaimed suddenly, after giving the menu a quick glance. “How’s it been going?”
“Oh, right!” Kit began to laugh, taking a sip of, what I assumed, was beer from his glass. “Well, it’s been mostly publicity stuff for Americana, interviews, talk shows, radio there in LA.”
“Sounds exciting,” I said, honestly.
“Some of it is,” Kit agreed, “I like doing interviews for papers, but the talk shows can be nerve racking, there’s always the potential to say something stupid, something which comes out wrong and you end up getting penalized for. That’s why I liked writing to you, if I typed something stupid, I could just erase it before hitting send. That and the fact it gave me something to look forward to at the end of the day.”
“I’ve missed it, Kit,” I knew I had already said it, but I didn’t know if he realized just how much I meant it. “I’ve missed having someone to talk to, something to look forward to when I get from college.” I paused, taking a deep breath and breaking my gaze from his out of embarrassment, “I’ve missed you, I really have.”
“I missed you too,” I looked up to see a rather chuffed Kit, beginning to blush. “We’ll never argue again,” he sat up in his seat, pushing his shoulders back. “I promise you, no matter what happens between us, we will always stay friends, yes?”
“Of course!” I said eagerly.
“Is it just me,” he began, closing the menu and pushing it aside, leaning forward in his seat again, “or does this feel right? Does sitting here, like this, just me and you, Lana and Kit, feel like the most wonderful thing in the world?” His eyes looked hopeful, and that made me smile, it told me that he really did want to be here.
“I feel it too,” I agreed, biting my bottom lip in amazement, “I feel like,” I stopped, trying to think of the exact word I was looking for, “no one can touch us, we’re untouchable.”
“Somehow, I feel, Lana,” his voice was beginning to send me into a trance, “that with you by my side, we’re perfect.” He grinned at me and I grinned back, the whole situation a little surreal; the fact that I was sitting here with Christopher Ainsworth, the fact that I was sitting here with the boy I had dreamt of for weeks, the boy I thought I had lost.