Ask natalie, p.4
Ask Natalie, page 4
She lets herself in through the wooden gate and walks up the gravel driveway towards the entrance of the house. She passes a few of the boys from school, who are smoking outside, and one of them calls out to her.
‘Hi Natalie.’
‘Hi,’ she replies, waving and making her way up the steps to the front door. She can feel the boys’ gaze on her and she revels in their attention, excitement and nerves jangling around inside her. The door is on the latch and she lets herself in, enjoying the relief as the warm air hits her and banishes her goosebumps.
There are people everywhere already, chatting in pairs or groups, drinking from plastic cups, shouting at each other over the music. A few eager couples have already found dark corners to kiss in.
Natalie scans the hallway and then enters the living room, looking for Liz. Looking for Owen. She sees Belinda holding court in the centre of the room. She is wearing jeans and a crop top, her long hair loose down her back. She looks stunning and Natalie’s heart sinks. The only thing that cheers her is that at least Owen isn’t with her. Where is he? She considers the possibility that he’s not coming but the prospect is too unbearable to imagine.
Belinda sees Natalie and waves. ‘Drinks are in the kitchen,’ she says, gesturing behind her. ‘Help yourself.’
Natalie smiles and follows Belinda’s instructions, fishing a beer from a bucket filled with icy water. The kitchen is empty and she hunts around on the surfaces unsuccessfully for a bottle opener. As she turns away from the door to look in the sink, she feels someone behind her and all the hairs on her arms stand on end.
‘Hi,’ Owen says softly.
‘Hi.’
She’s too afraid to move. To breathe. Owen leans into her, putting his arm around her, and hands her a bottle opener. She takes it from him with shaking hands, opens the bottle and puts it to her mouth, drinking in great, nervous gulps which makes the beer fizz and start spilling down the sides.
‘Easy there,’ he says, laughing.
She turns around to face him, gazing into his dark eyes, which are currently appraising her.
‘You look lovely,’ he says.
‘Thank you.’
They stare at each other, and she kicks herself again for not being able to think of a single conversation starter. She has been coming up with ideas for days but now they are face to face, her mind has gone blank. She runs frantically though the mental list she so carefully collated; what music does he like? Where did he live before he moved to Lincolnshire? Why did he move? What are his hobbies? But she can’t move her mouth.
The silence continues. It feels like they are saying a thousand things to each other without speaking a word.
Eventually he says. ‘Will you dance with me?’
‘Alright.’
He grabs her hand, and she almost gasps at the shock of physical contact. He leads her back into the living room, where a space has been cleared for an unofficial dancefloor. It’s already busy and they weave through the crowds, saying hi to a few people they know, until they are in the centre.
He spins her around and starts moving and she tries to follow suit, but she hates house music and has no idea how to dance to it. As if on cue, the music changes to an R&B track, a slow, bumpy, grindy one that she loves and he moves towards her, putting his arms around her back and resting them just above her bottom. She slips her arms over his shoulders, clasping them together behind his neck. She can feel the heat of his body, his breath warm against her face. Everything else fades away until she can no longer hear the loud chatter or shouting of their peers, until it feels like they are the only two people in the world. They move together in sync, swaying left and right, their hips bumping against each other, their gaze never leaving the other. He says something to her, but she can’t hear him over the music and she frowns at him and leans closer. So does he. Their lips are centimetres apart and for a second she is sure that he is going to kiss her and it’s so unbelievable that she thinks she might pass out.
‘Mind if I cut in?’
Natalie hurtles back to reality. Belinda is standing in front of them, smiling sweetly, but Natalie can see the venom in her eyes. Without waiting for a response, Belinda grabs Owen’s hand and pulls him away, laughing as she throws her slender arms around him and positioning them in the exact same spot where Natalie’s had been just a few seconds ago. He makes no move to protest and suddenly Natalie is alone, standing awkwardly in the middle of the dancefloor. She realises now that the sudden change in music wasn’t fate, or a happy coincidence, but part of Belinda’s plan to lure him away from Natalie and move in for the kill. For someone with moves as sexy as Belinda’s, the R&B track is the perfect song to stake her claim on her man, once and for all.
People are looking at her now. Some are whispering, others are laughing. No one comes to her rescue. She has never felt so exposed and humiliated in her life and tears prick at her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. If she cries in front of everyone, she will never live it down. But perhaps she won’t anyway.
She’s made a fool of herself and now everyone will know that Natalie Brown was rejected by Owen Hall. She hurries out of the room, away from the merciless stares of her classmates.
She makes a beeline for the upstairs bathroom, praying that it’s free and wondering what the hell she’s going to do if it isn’t. By some miracle it is and she slips in and locks the door behind her, leaning up against it and letting the tears fall.
The exhilaration she felt at being the recipient of Owen’s attention has gone. The beer that she necked so quickly is no longer giving her a buzz, it’s drowning her in misery. She wants to hide in the toilet forever and never go back out there. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to face anyone again. Someone knocks on the door but she ignores it.
She considers calling her mum and asking her to come and get her but then she remembers that she has gone to Lincoln for dinner with a friend and won’t be home for a couple of hours.
She’ll have to get a taxi. All she needs to do is find the phone, make the call, wait outside and she can be gone in twenty minutes. She can’t wait to leave, she should never have come in the first place. She is no match for Belinda. The most popular girl in school has unapologetically marked her territory, and what hurts the most is how easily Owen let her do it.
Someone knocks again, more urgently this time, and Natalie wipes her eyes, checks her reflection in the mirror, tries to cover her tear-stained face with powder and lets herself out, glancing apologetically at the small line of people that has formed outside. Liz is in the queue, and she looks at Natalie with concern.
‘Have you been crying?’
‘No.’ Clearly the powder hasn’t worked.
‘Is this about Belinda and Owen?’
Liz knows then. Everyone knows. Natalie realises that getting away from the party is the least of her problems. She’ll still have to face them all at school on Monday morning, to relive the humiliation over again. She’ll have to see Belinda and Owen together every day; walking hand in hand, kissing up against the lockers. A wave of nausea passes over her, and she leans up against the wall next to Liz.
‘I know you like him, Nat. But everyone knows that Belinda’s got her sights on Owen.’
So bloody what? Natalie reels at the injustice of it. Why does Belinda have more of a right to Owen than her? Why does everyone else have to fall in line behind Little Miss Perfect? Then she realises that in the end, it’s not up to either of them anyway, it’s up to Owen. And he’s clearly made his mind up.
‘What about Billy Jordan?’ Liz suggests. ‘I overheard him saying you look well fit tonight.’
But Natalie isn’t interested in Billy Jordan. She isn’t interested in anyone but Owen.
‘I’m just going to go home,’ she says, struggling to hold back her tears again.
‘Okay,’ Liz says, looking at her sympathetically. But she doesn’t offer to go with her.
Natalie heads back downstairs. She needs to find the phone but she’s too embarrassed to go back into the fray. The living room is out of bounds and even the hallway is full of people. At the bottom of the stairs, she loses her nerve and shoots straight out of the open front door instead.
The cold air hits her immediately and she shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. She has no choice but to walk now. It’s three miles along a dark country lane, but it’s better than going back inside. She strides down the driveway, anger and shame mingling with her fear of the cold, frightening walk home, and the tears come again, rolling down her face and dripping on to the floor. She no longer cares if her mascara runs, or her gloss becomes smeared. She just wants to go home.
‘Natalie!’
She spins around. Owen is jogging towards her, his trainers crunching on the gravel.
‘Where are you going?’ he asks when he reaches her.
‘Home,’ she says, furiously wiping her tears away.
He peers out on to the unlit road. ‘Is your mum here?’
She shakes her head.
‘You can’t walk all the way home on your own, it’s not safe.’ He pauses and then says, ‘Wait here.’
He jogs back up the garden and into the house, emerging a couple of minutes later with his thick, padded jacket, which he places over her shoulders. ‘I’ll walk you home,’ he says.
Natalie’s heart swells momentarily but victory is fleeting. This is not an act of chivalry; it’s one of pity. He has seen her tear-stained, panda face and feels sorry for her. He just wants to make sure she doesn’t get murdered or die of hypothermia on the way home, that’s all. Furious and embarrassed, she scurries down the road.
‘Hold on, what’s the rush?’ he asks, hurrying after her. She ignores him. He reaches out to grab her arm but she yanks it away, holding it protectively against her own body. She knows she shouldn’t be acting like this and that she’s going to regret her behaviour in the morning, but she can’t help herself.
‘Natalie, stop.’ His voice is firm. ‘Why did you run off?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.’
Before she can stop herself, the words come rushing out. ‘Why did you ask me to dance if you like Belinda?’
He looks amused and it makes her even more mad. ‘Is that what you think?’
‘It’s what everyone thinks.’
‘What about what I think?’
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
He steps towards her, but she moves back. ‘Natalie,’ he says.
‘Forget it. I can make my own way home from here.’
He is laughing now and she wants to get away from him as quickly as possible. She thought he was different to the others but he’s not. Even he’s not above making her feel smaller than she already does. He looks at her and his smile vanishes as he sees the anguish on her face.
‘Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just you’ve got this all wrong.’ She doesn’t respond and he continues. ‘Look, Belinda grabbed me and I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to seem rude, I mean she’s a friend and it’s her party. But at the end of the song, I looked for you and you were gone. I’ve been trying to find you.’
Natalie’s brain can’t keep up with his words. What is he saying?
‘You’re the one I like, okay? Not Belinda.’
Is this a dream? She pinches her arm. It’s not a dream. He moves closer and this time she doesn’t retreat. He slips his arms around her hips and pulls her to him, and she rests her head against his chest, inhaling the smell of him. Her breathing becomes more ragged, and she tries to control it, aware of every sound she makes. He touches her chin and gently tilts it until they are facing each other. The spark is almost visible in the air between them, the electricity making her aware of every slight smell and sound. An owl hooting. The aroma of dung from the cows grazing in the field by the roadside. The noise from cars speeding in the distance.
She knows what is going to happen and she waits for it. He leans down and kisses her. She kisses him back, opening her mouth and feeling his tongue against hers. Their bodies lock, until there is no air between them. The world stops. She can no longer feel the cold. She can no longer feel anything but Owen.
CHAPTER THREE
Natalie swallowed two painkillers, wincing as the pills scraped down the back of her throat. She felt rancid. She had been up until two o’clock for the second night running, but this time instead of working she had been googling her ex with a bottle of Merlot for company.
After numerous false starts and pages of irrelevant search results, she had eventually come across a company website, which listed Simon Hall as the managing director. When she had clicked on the ‘meet the team’ page and discovered his photo, her initial triumph was quickly replaced with shock at seeing him again. He may be twenty years older but there was no mistaking him; his eyes, his dimple. He was still as beautiful as she remembered. She had scrutinised the photo, studying every inch of his face, until her gaze rested on his eyes. For a moment it seemed like he was looking directly at her, his smile reserved just for her. Even after all this time, seeing his photograph still made her tingle and she hadn’t been able to resist reaching a finger out and touching his face on the computer screen, lost in a thousand thoughts.
She read his bio, keen to discover as much about him as possible. He had trained and worked as an accountant at two well-known firms before setting up his own company. His website was slick and she recognised some of the brands listed as clients. She clicked on a few different pages, none of which were useful, and then opened another tab on her browser and looked up the firm on Companies House. She found it easily and opened a few documents to read, but she had no idea what she was looking for. Company accounts weren’t her area of expertise; Owen could be a millionaire or bankrupt and she wouldn’t know the difference. Something had caught her eye, though. The name of a co-director. Emilia Hall.
Natalie returned to Google and typed in the name. The first result was an Instagram account, but the girl couldn’t be much older than twenty, and her grid was full of sultry selfies and fashion poses. She seemed an unlikely candidate.
Natalie returned to the search results page and a bit further down was a link to a LinkedIn profile. She clicked on it and found herself staring at a photo of a striking woman who looked in her late thirties. This was more like it. Natalie studied the woman’s face. Something about her was familiar. Had she met her before?
A memory came back to her of the day she had seen Owen in town one weekend, not long after they had broken up. He was with a girl and they were holding hands and walking up the cobbled hill towards Lincoln Cathedral. Natalie had panicked and dashed into the nearest shop, cowering behind a rack of greeting cards until they walked past. Fortunately, they hadn’t seen her, but Natalie had spent the next few days obsessing over the mystery girl, loathing her while also wanting to be her. Now she tried to remember what the girl had looked like, but it was so long ago. She was pretty sure the girl had been blonde. Could it have been Emilia?
According to Emilia’s LinkedIn bio, she was on a career break which Natalie assumed meant that she was raising children. Before that, she had been a solicitor, working at a magic circle firm in London, and she was also a trustee of a children’s mental health charity.
Natalie scrolled down to the bottom of Emilia’s profile. Bingo. She had gone to the same university as Owen, at the same time, which was unlikely to be a coincidence. The evidence strongly suggested that Emilia was Owen’s wife. Natalie wasn’t surprised to learn that he was married, yet it still gave her a small pang of jealousy. She scrolled back up to look at Emilia’s profile picture again. She was so attractive. And successful. And probably the perfect wife. So why would Owen leave her, unless he had a good reason for doing so?
Was it Emilia who had discovered his note? Was she at home right now, drinking a glass of Merlot, googling her husband and trying to work out why he had disappeared and who Natalie was? And how would their children be coping with their father’s disappearance? Natalie found it hard to believe that he would abandon his kids like that. The Owen she used to know had been thoughtful and considerate. He’d had a strong sense of morals. He had, however, also been eighteen years old. Could people change that much?
When Natalie had exhausted LinkedIn, she returned to Google and scanned a few articles which mentioned Emilia from her time as a solicitor. There was nothing of any personal interest, however. Natalie tried all the other social media platforms, but she couldn’t find Emilia. She wondered why neither Emilia or Owen were active on social media; did they just not buy into it or was there more to it than that? After a while, she returned to searching for information about Owen, but the trail had gone cold. She had stared at his photo for a few more minutes before slamming her laptop closed, polishing off the rest of the wine and mulling it all over.
So, Owen lived in London and ran a successful accountancy firm. He was married to a beautiful woman. It looked like they had children. And now he was missing. But why?
The family’s absence from social media and general lack of online presence made it impossible for Natalie to gain an insight into what Owen’s life had been like over the past twenty years.
In contrast, hers was there for the world to see. She was on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, LinkedIn. Because of the public nature of her job, googling her name produced hundreds of relevant results. Many of her articles gave away aspects of her personal life; like the time she went speed dating or wrote about what it was like to be single at forty. Now she wondered whether anyone from her past had read them. Whether Owen had. But why would he have done? He’d forgotten all about her the minute he’d dumped her. It was Natalie who had been broken-hearted, not him.
What would Owen think if he did look her up, though? She had, by all accounts, had an impressive career. After completing a fast-track journalism course, she had got a job on a local newspaper and worked her way up the ladder before moving to London to work for a national. She’d been interviewed on television. She’d won awards. But was it enough? Would he consider her successful or would he think her strange for not settling down?
