year before? He recalled past occasions when Helen had seemed out of sorts. Like the period when for weeks on end she would get up in the middle of the night and watch TV claiming that the stress of working under a new station manager was affecting her sleep patterns or the time before that when he would find her in tears in the darkness of their bedroom. She’d claimed it was because she was worried about her dad’s struggle with Alzheimer’s or her mother’s upcoming operation. There were more such incidents and although each came with a perfectly plausible explanation Phil wondered if at least one of them had been due to Aiden Reid.
Phil suddenly felt tired and hungover again. He was too old to be plagued by this kind of insecurity. He didn’t need thoughts of some oily celebrity stalking his girlfriend a week before his own wedding. Whether Aiden had contacted Helen or not, he knew Helen would never let him down. He did know that, didn’t he? In all the years they had been together, making a home together, she had never given him any cause to doubt her loyalty. Helen had chosen him as the man that she wanted to be with for all time. They were getting married. This time next week he would be putting a ring on her finger.
Feeling more positive after his internal pep talk Phil wiped his face on a paper towel, made his way outside and stood for a moment observing Sanne watching two small children taking turns to chase each other around the children’s playground a few feet from their table. It was a shame. Her beauty, former fame and connection to Aiden Reid aside, she was actually really easy to get on with and perhaps in a different life they could have been friends.
‘I’d better be getting off,’ said Phil as he reached the table.
‘Oh,’ said Sanne rising to her feet, ‘are you sure? I was just thinking that if you really wanted to see Amsterdam I could show you around Vondelpark. It’s not far at all.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ replied Phil, ‘but I’ve got to go. The boys . . . well you know, I’m supposed to be on a stag weekend . . .’
Sanne smiled. ‘Yes, of course. You should go.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘It was lovely to meet you Philip Hudson, it really was and I wish you and your wife all the happiness in the world.’ She handed Phil a club flyer from her bag. ‘A parting gift from me to you! It’s a gig I’m doing tonight at the Yellow Robot, it’s an acoustic thing. I’m pretty sure it won’t be to your friends’ liking but if you do get a chance to drop in you should say hi.’
He felt relieved and guilty as he walked away. Pleasant though she was, she was the gateway to a very special kind of madness that he could do without. For the rest of the weekend at least he would forget all about art, culture and the pursuit of deeper meaning for his time in Amsterdam and join his friends in the things that really mattered on a stag weekend: having a laugh and getting trashed.
Keen to get out of the sun for a while, Phil caught a tram to get him closer to the hotel, alighting at Amsterdam Centraal. The city centre was crawling with a heady mixture of locals and tourists. Outside the station Phil spotted a crowd being entertained by a mime artist duo whose skin, clothes and hair were covered in silver paint and he felt a sudden pang for Helen. If she had been with him they would have stopped to enjoy the spectacle before heading off somewhere nice for a canalside drink.
Right now Phil needed to hear Helen’s voice more than anything in the world. He missed her and wanted, if only for the duration of a three-minute call to be connected to her in some meaningful way. He scanned the square for a public phone and eventually found one back in the station next to a bank of ticket machines.
Phil pulled out some loose change and dropped the coins in the slot. He was about to tap the first digit of Helen’s number into the keypad when the fatal flaw in his plan dawned on him.
Phil suddenly felt tired and hungover again. He was too old to be plagued by this kind of insecurity. He didn’t need thoughts of some oily celebrity stalking his girlfriend a week before his own wedding. Whether Aiden had contacted Helen or not, he knew Helen would never let him down. He did know that, didn’t he? In all the years they had been together, making a home together, she had never given him any cause to doubt her loyalty. Helen had chosen him as the man that she wanted to be with for all time. They were getting married. This time next week he would be putting a ring on her finger.
Feeling more positive after his internal pep talk Phil wiped his face on a paper towel, made his way outside and stood for a moment observing Sanne watching two small children taking turns to chase each other around the children’s playground a few feet from their table. It was a shame. Her beauty, former fame and connection to Aiden Reid aside, she was actually really easy to get on with and perhaps in a different life they could have been friends.
‘I’d better be getting off,’ said Phil as he reached the table.
‘Oh,’ said Sanne rising to her feet, ‘are you sure? I was just thinking that if you really wanted to see Amsterdam I could show you around Vondelpark. It’s not far at all.’
‘That’s really kind of you,’ replied Phil, ‘but I’ve got to go. The boys . . . well you know, I’m supposed to be on a stag weekend . . .’
Sanne smiled. ‘Yes, of course. You should go.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘It was lovely to meet you Philip Hudson, it really was and I wish you and your wife all the happiness in the world.’ She handed Phil a club flyer from her bag. ‘A parting gift from me to you! It’s a gig I’m doing tonight at the Yellow Robot, it’s an acoustic thing. I’m pretty sure it won’t be to your friends’ liking but if you do get a chance to drop in you should say hi.’
He felt relieved and guilty as he walked away. Pleasant though she was, she was the gateway to a very special kind of madness that he could do without. For the rest of the weekend at least he would forget all about art, culture and the pursuit of deeper meaning for his time in Amsterdam and join his friends in the things that really mattered on a stag weekend: having a laugh and getting trashed.
Keen to get out of the sun for a while, Phil caught a tram to get him closer to the hotel, alighting at Amsterdam Centraal. The city centre was crawling with a heady mixture of locals and tourists. Outside the station Phil spotted a crowd being entertained by a mime artist duo whose skin, clothes and hair were covered in silver paint and he felt a sudden pang for Helen. If she had been with him they would have stopped to enjoy the spectacle before heading off somewhere nice for a canalside drink.
Right now Phil needed to hear Helen’s voice more than anything in the world. He missed her and wanted, if only for the duration of a three-minute call to be connected to her in some meaningful way. He scanned the square for a public phone and eventually found one back in the station next to a bank of ticket machines.
Phil pulled out some loose change and dropped the coins in the slot. He was about to tap the first digit of Helen’s number into the keypad when the fatal flaw in his plan dawned on him.
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