A Fractured Echo

Chapter 15

The day of my date with Tristan rolled around far quicker than I had hoped, leaving me in a blind panic over what I was going to wear. My wardrobe was a complete non-starter, Jodie had nothing suitable that I could borrow, largely because we were completely different heights, dress sizes, and body shapes. I'd even bitten the bullet and hit the West End on my day off in the vain hope that I'd find something that not only fit the bill but matched the shallow depths of my pockets too.

There had been one solitary dress that called to me in the window of a shop, a vision of vintage lace and chiffon that had me mesmerised, but the price on the little wooden board that sat beneath the mannequin felt like a step too far. Shaking myself out of the stupor that had me almost pressing my nose against the glass, a war raged in my mind over the cost. It was exactly the kind of dress that would pass muster as per Tristan's demands about my attire, but also something that I could see myself wearing time and time again given the opportunity. I had a little money tucked away for emergencies, but I was reluctant to dip into for something that seemed like an indulgence.

Grudgingly, I'd torn myself away from the display, trudging wearily along the pavement of Oxford Street, finally seeking solace within a side street café. Over a large frothy cappuccino, I pondered my options. Even if I found something I liked in one of the cheaper stores I was used to frequenting, I'd stick out like a sore thumb in more salubrious surroundings. No doubt embarrassing Tristan in the process.

I'd even tried to persuade him that I wasn't one for a lot of fuss, that I'd be just as happy going out for a burger and one of those ridiculous milkshakes that were all the rage around town now. He'd silenced me abruptly during a phone call that had ended with him sounding pretty hacked off at me.

"What I've arranged for us is so much more impressive than some crappy little diner." He scoffed incredulously. His response only served to put me on edge even more about where we were going.

Taking a sip of my drink, I glanced at the smartly dressed man who was wiping down the next table. He was an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair, and a moustache to match, and back in the day, he had probably caught the attention of many ladies with his easy smile. As Tristan prattled on in my ear about how he couldn't wait to see my face when I saw where we were going, I watched the man diligently taking pride in making sure the red melamine tables that had seen better days were spotlessly clean. Catching my eye, he gave a friendly wink before continuing with his task. This was a place I felt at ease, not some overpriced, stuffy or ostentatious establishment that was no doubt going to set my nerves jangling the moment I stepped through the door.

I'd clearly zoned Tristan out while I'd observed the man, judging by his now exasperated tone.

"Holly, are you even listening?" he barked.

Taking a sip of coffee, I sighed. "Yes Tristan, I truly am, but you don't seem to be listening to me. All this fuss just isn't me."

I felt bad for the way it came out, but I needed him to understand just how uncomfortable his secret plan was making me, but clearly my attempts were futile.

"Well, it's a done deal now, I'll never get a table anywhere else decent at such a late stage." There was an air of smugness at his huffed declaration, he'd obviously pulled off some major accomplishment in securing whatever it was he'd booked.

My irritation was beginning to show with the continued dismissal of my feelings. "I'm fairly certain that on a Saturday night in London, there would be plenty of low key places available."

I instantly felt like a heel. Tristan's blindness to my anxiety left me sounding rude and ungrateful. Why was he so unwilling to listen to me?