CHAPTER TWO
Nick awoke to a fuzzy taste and a mild headache, but miraculously little else in the way of a hangover, given how out of practice he was.
Doctor's orders and all that.
He blearily opened his eyes and any complaints he might have had regarding his wellbeing instantly vanished as he took in the sight before him.
As had become habit, he had rolled towards Diane's cot in the night and had awoken on his side, facing her with one arm flopped on the floor between them as if it had been reaching for her in the night.
What made his heart give a small somersault was the way she seemed to have done the same.
She was somehow simultaneously snuggled into the bed and yet sprawled over it. Her arm was draped over the edge of the cot, her legs kicked out from the sheets at odd angles, yet her face was pressed deeply into the pillow, snoring adorably.
Good lord, he was smitten.
Remembering their plans from the night before and eager to begin them, he clambered out of bed and made his way delicately through the cots to the bathrooms to brush his teeth – he didn't want to start off their date with hangover breath.
Was it a date?
He supposed so. Two people who were interested in each other – who had kissed each other for goodness' sake – eating together was rarely called anything else.
Assuming she was interested in him, that is.
No, stop it Marson. Have faith. I mean, she kissed you, didn't she?
Giving the reflection in the mirror a cautious smile, Nick somewhat succeeded in quashing that doubting voice and watching it swirl down the drain with the dregs of his toothpaste.
Perhaps he'd feel better if he just talked to Diane. She had a funny way of putting him at ease, it was one of the things that had initially drawn him to her.
Yes, that would do the trick. He'd go and see if she was awake and perhaps they could take a walk and discuss last night, going over the highlights and memories.
As Nick made his way back from the bathrooms, he passed by the entrance to the cafeteria. It was then that he heard a whistle.
"Psst, England!"
It was Beulah. By the looks of the small, but well-laden wicker basket she was waving at him, she hadn't forgotten their conversation last night.
"Here you go," she said as she handed it over. "There's sandwiches and some cod tongue, a little leftover casserole in the container there, oh and some fresh apples that's just come in this morning! I hope you and your lady friend have a good time."
"I hope so too," he replied, some of the worry clearly showing on his face despite himself.
"Oh, I'm sure you will. Have you seen the way she looks at you? Smitten, that one!"
Nick felt himself blush. He thanked Beulah for the picnic basket and made his way back to Diane.
She was still snoring, rather more deeply than she had been when he'd left and he marvelled at the way she still managed to look beautiful while she did it.
He must be in deep.
Leaning forward, he gently roused her, shaking her shoulder. He was just considering placing a kiss on her forehead to wake her (flashes of fairytale princesses coming whimsically into his mind) but then she jerked awake with a snort and he jumped back, narrowly avoiding being headbutted in the process.
"Good morning," he said warmly and was greeted by a groan.
"You were snoring," he continued fondly, gazing down at her as she clutched her forehead.
"Whew, my head hurts," she exclaimed, leaning forward on the edge of the cot, her head sinking further into her hands.
"You'd had a couple," he replied, determinedly shoving down the guilty notion that he was at least partly responsible for her condition this morning. "We both had."
He was about to offer her some coffee, or perhaps some of the sandwiches from the picnic basket when she blearily opened one eye and turned towards him, asking
"Did I kiss the fish?"
Nick froze.
"Don't you…." No, she mustn't remember. Any of it. The entirety of last night – gone.
He felt all the air leave his lungs and along with it, that flicker of hope he'd been nurturing into a steady flame now sputtered and evaporated in a sad little puff of smoke.
He turned back to her with a sigh.
"Yes, yes you did."
"Oh, good," she smiled, then pointed to the picnic basket. "What's that?"
"Hmm? Oh, this… um, it's just… I was on my way to the kitchens and someone asked me to return it. Speaking of which, I'd best be off. Excuse me."
He knew she was confused and possibly hurt by his rapid departure, but Nick suddenly found he couldn't face Diane for a second longer. He had to get out of there.
Some small part of him had the wherewithal to remind him to drop the picnic basket off at the cafeteria, though he determinedly ignored Beulah's puzzled looks and confused shouts at his rapidly receding back.
Nick strode out of the front doors, his hands clenching repeatedly into fists, though his rapid breathing and the mounting panic was lessened now that he was outdoors and not surrounded by people.
He reached the school gate and paused, uncertain of which direction to take. He'd walked these streets a lot over the past few days, but always in the company of Diane, always following her lead.
Now that he was on his own, he wasn't sure where to go.
On his own.
Naturally.
Nick sighed and slumped down against the gate. He should have known better than to get his hopes up.
After all, it had been quite some time since he'd been in a relationship of this kind. Work had been so all-consuming that he didn't get out much to meet people and after a while, he'd sort of forgotten how. He'd become accustomed to the silence at home, to keeping his own company on holidays and weekends (not that he got many of those lately, what with the way his job was going).
Somewhere along the way, he'd latched onto that convenient excuse: married-to-the-job and used it to cover his fear of the real reason he was alone – that no one wanted him that way.
Here in Gander, he'd been given a glimpse of what life might be like if he didn't have to work such long, hard hours. He'd been given a glimpse of a life shared with someone else, of long walks filled with meandering conversations and comfortable silences. He'd seen the kind of person he could be with someone like Diane.
He'd liked that person he could be.
He thought Diane had liked that person too.
But it would seem he was mistaken.
Diane was warm and friendly to him, but she was probably that way with everyone. She'd been perfectly welcoming to the Kevins during their very first walk here in Gander.
She'd probably just sensed his nerves and awkwardness on the plane and taken pity on him, he thought. And again on the bus, a small voice provided helpfully.
"Oh God," Nick buried his head in his hands.
He'd been so certain last night that things were going somewhere between them. There had been a closeness that was so tangible he'd almost felt it like a caress. The way she'd touched him, danced close with him, kissed him even.
Then again, alcohol did funny things to people. Look at you for a start, he thought. Kissing fish and dancing in pubs.
No, he'd been a fool. Diane was simply being kind and he was an idiot for thinking it was anything more than that.
Nick slowly dragged himself to his feet and set off along the street in search of coffee. With any luck they might be flying out later that day and he could put all of this behind him.
Inside the cafeteria, Beulah was left clutching the handles of her wicker picnic basket and metaphorically scratching her head. That tall Englishman had seemed in such a rush to get out of here, he'd almost dropped the basket short of the edge of the table.
He hadn't seemed to hear her calls, asking if he was alright, if the cod tongue was really that bad (mostly a joke to ease the mood, although she did wonder – it was consistently the dish left most full at the end of the night) and he'd made a beeline for the exit.
She'd only had a glimpse of his face, but she knew heartbreak when she saw it – after all, she'd been young once – and it was written all over his pained expression.
As the door swung to a close, Beulah sighed. Her eyes fell on the picnic basket and she paused a moment, in thought.
Beulah squared her shoulders, picked up the basket and walked off in search of the Texan woman.
She had a job to do.