Part 20 (1/2)

'Oh. And...why did they ask you to do that?'

He shrugged. 'Why not? But as it happens, I'm fascinated by that kind of thing.'

'By what kind of thing-Basque separatism?'

'No. Extremism.' The waiter brought us two gla.s.ses of red wine. 'Political extremism of any kind. I'm fascinated by what these people must actually feel as they make, or plant, the bombs which they know will maim and kill innocent strangers. Don't you find that interesting?' he added.

'Why should I?' I asked abruptly. David looked at me, slightly surprised. 'What I mean is, I'd rather...turn my mind away from things like that.'

'Well, I don't blame you.' We perused the menu in silence for a moment.

Tell him. Tell him. 'David?'

'I think I'll have the linguini. Yes?'

Say it now. 'There's something I've got to tell you.'

He looked up at me. 'What?' My heart was suddenly beating so erratically that I lifted my hand to my chest. 'Oh G.o.d,' he said with a mock grimace. 'You've got some awful ”confession” to make again, haven't you? Like last time. I can tell by the look on your face. Okay then. Hit me with it.'

'Well... I...' I looked at him. I can't do it. I just can't. He'll never see me again. 'My...ankles are aching.'

He laughed. 'Another dreadful admission, Miranda-aching ankles! Well there's only one remedy for that. We'll have to go skating again.' I'm skating all the time-on very thin ice. 'There's an open-air rink at Broadgate. We could go there in the winter-if you're still speaking to me, that is.' No, no-if you're still speaking to me, which I can guarantee you won't be.

Then he started talking about ice hockey and explaining the rules.

'I'd love to play here, but it's impossible-I get my fix by watching it on cable TV; but when I was a teenager I played a lot. I was in the New Haven Junior Allstars,' he said proudly as our main courses arrived. 'My greatest moment was when we won the New England under-sixteens tournament. It was on my fifteenth birthday. I've never forgotten it,' he said as he picked up his fork. 'March twenty-first, 1982.'

'Your birthday's on March the twenty-first?' I echoed.

'Yes. Why?'

'Nothing...'

'Does that date mean something to you?'

It was the day it happened...'No. Not really, erm... It's the first day of spring.'

'It is. And when's yours?'

'August seventeenth.'

'Oh, not long. I'll take you out for dinner.' No you won't. Because by then you'll hate me. 'You fascinate me, Miranda,' he suddenly said. I felt my face flush. 'I just feel that there's so much going on in your head. I feel there's something-I can't put my finger on it-rather intriguing about you.' Yes. I am intriguing. That's how we met. 'I find you...' he narrowed his eyes, '...enigmatic. And yet you're so easy to talk to,' he went on. 'I love talking to you. I probably bore you, going on in the way that I do, but when I'm with you I just can't help it.' I fiddled with the single yellow rose in its tiny vase. 'But I wish I knew more about you. About your life. What about your friends and your family?' So, as we ate, I told him about my parents' divorce, and Hugh, and my half-sisters, and Daisy, and about my father coming back to the UK. 'And are you close to both your parents?' he asked, as I put down my fork.

'Yes, now I am, reasonably, although I wasn't before. I went through a rather...bad phase when I was younger.' Don't say any more-just leave it at that!

'What-you had a misspent youth?' I felt my heart-rate accelerate. 'What sort of things did you do?'

'Oh, I was just a bit...rebellious, I suppose.'

'Any particular reason?'

'I...think it was because my parents weren't there for me. My father had moved to the States-I felt very let down by him, to be honest-and my mum had remarried and had no time. But now...' I shrugged. 'I get on with them fine. Not that I ever confide in them.'

'Don't you?'

'No. I never tell them anything personal.'

'Why not?'

'I've just never been in the habit, I suppose. I mean, they don't even know why my engagement ended.'

'Really? That's quite a big thing to withhold. But then it's obviously been very painful for you, and some things we just want to bury. It's totally natural.' He glanced out of the window. 'I understand that.' I looked at his face in profile-at his aquiline nose, and his strong, straight chin, and the soft curve of his Adam's apple. 'I completely understand that,' he repeated softly. Then a silence descended. Outside, over David's shoulder, I saw three teenage boys slouch past, hands pushed into pockets.

'We'd been to the theatre,' I said. 'That night. We'd been to the Playhouse to see The Three Sisters.'

'It's all right,' David murmured, turning back to me. 'You don't have to tell me.'

'I know I don't,' I replied. 'But I've just realized, sitting here, that I'd actually like to tell you.' David looked at me, then lowered his gla.s.s. 'After the play we went to this Cuban bar in the Strand and, admittedly, Alexander had had a couple of drinks. But that doesn't excuse what he did. Anyway, we left at about eleven to get back to Herman. And we got the Northern Line back to Archway. Alexander's flat was a ten-minute walk from the tube, and we'd had a nice evening and we were in a good mood. I think we were discussing when exactly in September our wedding would be.' I heard myself breathe in, then exhale. 'And although my memory of it is a bit foggy, I do vaguely recall hearing steps behind us as we walked up Holloway Road. And we'd just turned into Alexander's road, Harberton Road, when suddenly these three men-well, youths really-appeared. And although you'll think this is mad, my immediate thought was that they wanted directions, because people are always asking me for directions-even when I'm abroad and haven't a clue. But I quickly realized that that wasn't what they wanted at all-because by now they were barring our way. And then...then...' I twisted my napkin in my hands. 'Then they started saying, ”What have you got for us? What have you got for us?” Like that. Several times. ”What have you got?” Then one of them grabbed at my bag. And he was pulling at it, and I was pulling back, trying to hang onto it, and screaming. I remember the pain in my shoulder as they yanked on it and the way the strap burned my wrist. And they were calling me a f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h and saying that they'd slit my throat. And I was still struggling, determined that they weren't going to get it, when one of them hit me. Just here.' I touched my left cheek. 'And I fell. I was lying there, crying with the shock, and my bag had gone, and so had they. Or rather, two of them had.' I stopped. David's face was a mask. 'The third one was still there. He was trying to get my engagement ring off, but I'd clenched my fist hard. He was trying to prise open my fingers-I thought he'd break them-I still remember his rasping breath in my ear. Then I felt this terrible pain in my side, and a soft crunch, and I couldn't breathe-it was agony. Then I felt the ring being removed. Then I heard running footsteps, and, not long after, a police siren.' My throat ached. 'Sorry.' The yellow rose had blurred. 'Sorry.' There was silence.

'And where was Alexander?' David asked gently.

I felt a wave of shame. 'Well...that's just it.' And now my eyes spilled over.

'He wasn't there?' I didn't reply. 'He ran away?' I nodded. David laid his hand on mine, and a tear fell onto it with a quiet splash. He reached into his pocket and handed me a hanky. There was a pause. 'And when did you see him next?'

'At the hospital. The ambulance had taken me to the Whittington. And I was lying on this trolley in casualty, and it hurt to breathe because of my rib, and the back of my head was very painful because I'd cracked it on the kerb when I fell. And they'd given me this strong painkiller, which was making me feel sick. Then, the curtain parted and there was Alexander. I'll never forget the look on his face. He was shocked, of course-not least because my face was a mess. But at the same time I could see that he felt ashamed, but was trying not to show it.'

'Jesus. What did he say?'

'Nothing at first. Then he said, ”Oh, Miranda”, like that. Then he tried to hold my hand, but I wouldn't let him. I just looked at him, then looked away. And in that moment we both knew that it was over.'

'Did he try to explain himself?'

'He said that he'd shouted at me to run, that he'd thought I was running with him.'

'Do you remember hearing him shout?'

'No. But then there was a lot of confusion. Maybe he did, I don't know...'

'But in any case...' David murmured, shaking his head. 'He should have made sure.'

'Yes,' I croaked. 'He should have made sure.' I pressed the hanky to my eyes. 'But he didn't. He just...ran off. It was that animal instinct-fight or flight; and Alexander flew. I realized within a few seconds that he'd gone. And do you know what I kept thinking? I kept thinking how amazing it was that he'd been able to run so fast, because he had a serious cartilage problem. Anyway,' I sniffed, 'that is why I ended my engagement.'

'What a terrible story,' said David. He reached for my hand again, and held it in both his. 'Not least because you're so small. But you put up a real fight. You were brave.'

'I wasn't brave,' I said. 'Just angry. And the irony is that I didn't want them to get the engagement ring-because it meant so much to me. Even though Alexander had already gone. His name means ”Defender”,' I added. '”Defender of men”. I thought about that quite a bit too.'

'So has he...apologized to you?'

'No. Because that would be to admit what he did. That's why I'm so profoundly hurt. Because if he'd only said that he was sorry and acknowledged how badly he'd let me down then I'd have been able to forgive him. I wouldn't respect him, but I could let it go. But he just made excuses, trying to make out that it was some sort of awful mix-up and that he thought I was okay, and that maybe he'd got confused in the heat of the moment because he'd had a couple of drinks.'