She’d picked the Obsidian Room. Said it was one of her favourites.
I’d made myself look perfect for her. Polished my shoes till they sparkled. Put on a new blue M&S suit and my trusty Turnbull & Asser shirt. Freshly cleaned and pressed. Chose the lion cufflinks. Solid white gold.
Got there early so I could watch her arrive. Picked a table with a view of the door. I pretended to read the menu, but couldn’t concentrate. Butterflies swarmed every time the door opened. At 19:46, she arrived. For a moment, I heard only the pulse in my ears.
She strode through the door like it was built just for this moment. The waiter was caught off guard. He hadn’t expected someone like her to walk in. He pulled out a chair, and she lowered herself with perfect calm. Her throne.
A tap on the wine glass. Once, twice. Three times. She frowned and reached for the one opposite. That one must’ve passed the test. She swapped them over and ordered a bottle of Malbec.
The waiter arrived with the wine. Leaned in too close as he spoke. She listened with her whole face. Attentive, kind. Nodded before dismissing him with a smile so soft it must have carried him through the rest of his shift. A tiny crease appeared at the corner of her mouth as she drank. A private thought. Of me?
She adjusted her cutlery. The candle beside her flickered. It made her face dance. Her earrings glinted when she turned. Small silver hoops. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes swept the room. Never hurried. Quietly assessing the world. Her phone pinged and caught us both off guard. She stood and turned to face the door. Should I stand with her? Call her name? Embrace her from behind?
She adjusted the strap of her dress. Half an inch more skin revealed. Then he arrived. The numpty. She skipped to meet him. Waving, laughing. They touched. Stared at each other.
I should’ve left then. That would’ve been the end of it.
The first course was burrata. Heritage tomatoes, basil oil, toasted sourdough. She cut into the cheese carefully, letting the cream spill across the plate. He reached over before she took a bite and dragged a piece of bread through the middle. Animal.
Every few seconds, she looked up at him and smiled as if he were capable of saying something worth hearing. He kept reaching across for the best tomatoes, tearing pieces from her side of the bread. His fingers brushed hers. She didn’t move her hand. I adjusted my cufflinks so the lions faced the accidental lovers.
For mains, he ordered the côte de boeuf for two. Didn’t even ask her. When it arrived, he took the knife and made a show of carving. Sawed back and forth till the meat buckled. He gave her the first piece. Pink in the middle, darker at the edge. She dipped it into the jus and closed her eyes as she ate.
He watched her mouth. I watched him. They talked constantly. Her hands moved as she spoke. His head dropped when he laughed. Such a sloppy-headed bastard. When the second bottle of Malbec arrived, he poured her another. Spilled some on the tablecloth. No care. No precision.
They had the dark chocolate delice with salted caramel for dessert. Not what I would have ordered. Too sweet. He held the spoon towards her. She laughed and leaned across the table. Open-mouthed. A smear of chocolate caught the corner of her lip. He reached out and wiped it away with his thumb. Performative. Disgusting.
The bill came in a small black folder. He took it before she could see it. Held out his card like it was nothing. Like the whole thing was nothing. She deserves better.
He stood first and pulled out her chair. She rose, and he slipped an arm around her waist. She kissed him. Utter twat. As they headed to the door, she leaned into him. They embraced on the porch, then left. Turning right, towards the river.
It had started to rain, but they walked slowly. They didn’t look back. Lights from bars and restaurants gradually thinned behind us. Soon there were only whispers and giggles and the drizzle soaking my shoulders.
We reached the old car park beneath the railway bridge. Uneven cobbles hemmed in by old broken iron railings. A private lot, and he shouldn’t be parked here. At the far end, the lights of a gunmetal Volvo V90 flashed as we approached. He opened the passenger door for her.
I called out her name. I had to.
“Jadyn.”
She stopped. He pulled her behind him.
“Leave us alone.”
Us! Fucking cunt. He kept talking. Frightening her. Meaningless words were thrown together. Uninvited. Unhinged. Stalking. She tried to say my name, talk to me. But he spoke over her.
As I approached, he put a hand against my chest and grabbed my left wrist with the other. I pulled free. He punched me on the nose. I couldn’t believe it, but should’ve seen it coming. Hit the cobbles hard. My left cuff was hanging open. One of the lions gone.
“Where is it?”
He stared at me. “What?”
“My fucking cufflink.”
I ran at him. Fast. Hands raised. But he was quicker. Got me on the bloody nose again. Back to the cobbles I fell. Jadyn was in tears. Telling both of us to stop. There was a loose length of railing on the ground next to me. I picked it up and got to my feet. He told me to put it down. Told me not to be stupid.
The first swing hit his shoulder. “That’s enough!” he shouted. The second hit his stupid fucking face. Jadyn screamed as he dropped. I reached out for her.
“It’s alright.”
She recoiled. Looked at me as though we’d never met. She screamed ugly things. Started throwing punches. I wanted her to feel better. Tried to hold her. But she wouldn’t listen to me. She broke free and tried to run. I swung the railing a third time. After that, it was quiet.
I didn’t look at her. Or him. I couldn’t. Light from the Volvo’s passenger door spilled across puddles gathering between the cobbles. Something glinted by the rear tyre.
My cufflink. Lion facing me.