Chapter 5 #2
‘Nice place to work,’ Max observes as he sits, manspreading himself in one armchair and stretching his unnecessarily long legs out in my direction.
I treat myself to an internal eye roll and tuck my feet safely under my chair so there’s no risk of unintentionally playing footsie.
‘A lot more Christmassy than Lilongwe, that’s for sure. ’
‘Have you been here before?’ I ask, because I can’t stomach discussing his overseas exploits quite yet. That he turned an inability to settle down into a holier-than-thou ‘vocation’, in everyone else’s minds, still rankles.
‘Couple of years ago. I came back for Rose’s christening.’
Jesus. Angus had invited me to that, but I was working at the Savoy at the time and we were right in the midst of wedding season. I had way too many cakes to decorate to spare the time for the christening.
Thank God.
‘It’s a bit of a bubble,’ I say, looking around me at the spectacular trees and lavishly decorated garlands that punctuate the enormous space. ‘It’s easy to forget the outside world exists when I’m here.’
‘I can imagine,’ he agrees, and I instantly feel stupid, because while I’m here, whisking and baking and icing, Max is actually in the real world, preventing children from dying of dysentery, for God’s sake.
‘Too much of a bubble for you?’ I ask, raising my eyebrows, and he laughs.
‘No, not at all. Just what the doctor ordered. Except, you know, my useless big brother not being able to put me up.’
‘So unhelpful,’ I say, shaking my head in mock exasperation as I scream inwardly.
I’m making banal small talk with a man I used to be closer to than I thought it possible to be with any human being.
It’s not awful—it’s just plain weird. I’m hit with the irrational urge to ask him something real. Just to see how he’d react.
Have you missed me?
Did you ever think about me?
Ever regret not giving me kids you didn’t want, just so you could keep me?
How many people have you had sex with since me?
Was it better with any of them than it was when we were together?
Jesus Christ, Molly. Pull it together, for God’s sake.
Instead, I aim for polite chitter-chatter after we’ve given our coffee orders to a far-too-tickled Remi. And all the while, I’m busy studying him. Studying the little details I can’t believe time has glossed over.
The tiny scar on his upper lip.
The chicken pox crater on his temple, right by his hairline.
The slight bend in the bridge of his nose from when he broke it playing rugby before I knew him. Its crookedness just adds to his looks, turning what could be prettiness into something more real, more masculine.
His intonations are exactly the same. The way he speaks hasn’t changed at all, despite his having spent the past decade in another hemisphere surrounded, presumably, by people from all over the world.
He still sounds just as posh as he used to.
The Rutherford boys were so posh, thanks to their years at a fancy boarding school, that their accents bore no trace of the local Derbyshire burr.
It’s like seeing a ghost, really. I’ve thought of him so often over the years, and now, by some weird trick of space and time, he’s here, and he’s the same, but different in a way I can’t put my finger on.
I suppose it’s age. Age. Maturity. Experience.
Perspective. All these things leave their mark on a person, even when the years have been kind on the physical front.
He must have seen things in his overseas endeavours I can’t even imagine, and yet I’ve had experiences the impact of which he can’t know.
Standing at an altar and promising myself to a man, for better or for worse.
Hearing the first cries of my babies and feeling their skin against mine for the first time.
On the surface, it feels as though we should be the same people we once were, but we can’t be.
As Max sips his scalding Americano carefully, he watches me.
I’d forgotten the full power of those eyes (it’s good to know my brain possesses some functions of the self-preservation variety).
The Rutherford men’s eyes are of the hazel, crinkly, devastating variety, with the effect of making the lucky person in their gaze feel like they’re the only one who matters on this entire planet.
‘I can’t tell you how great it feels to see you and know that you did it, Mol.
’ He sets his cup down, his eyes not leaving mine.
‘You had the family you always wanted. You got the job you always deserved. I’m so happy for you.
Really, I am. I’ve always been mentally egging you on, even from afar.
I’m so thrilled to see your dreams came true. ’
Gosh. That is a spectacularly generous thing to say.
It’s also seriously decent of him to omit the glaring fact that my husband fucked off and left us, which he presumably knows all about.
I didn’t get the Happy Ever After I told him I wanted and deserved, but he’s right. Two out of three isn’t bad.
‘Thanks.’ I hold up my coffee mug. ‘I appreciate you saying that.’
He shifts in his chair, recrossing his legs at the ankle. ‘It’s the truth. So. Want to tell me what you make of my brother’s hare-brained scheme?’
‘Project Christmas Manny?’ I offer, and he bursts out laughing.
Bloody hell, his laugh is gorgeous. Generous and infectious and sexy as hell. The guy has aged well. He’s everything he was and more, with a gravitas about him that makes it hard to look away.
Especially from his mouth.
That mouth should come with a hazard sign all on its own.
Particularly if you know what it’s capable of.
‘I have to say, I didn’t have a fucking clue that the term manny existed until Evelyn used it yesterday, and I could happily have gone a lot longer without hearing it,’ he says after he’s recovered.
‘No offence, but you really are the last person I could ever see as being a manny,’ I tell him drily.
‘Tell me about it.’ He sighs and fixes me with that gaze again.
‘Look, Mol. I realise this is a farcical idea on so many levels. Not the least of which is you letting me within a mile of your kids. But, to be honest, I’m at a loose end over the next few weeks, and I’d rather be down here than up north with Jules and Rach.
‘So if you can stomach the idea of me kipping at the cottage for a while, then I’m definitely up for helping you out as much as is humanly possible in return.
Angus mentioned work’s pretty crazy for you at the moment.
And if helping you out means a bit of childcare, then’—he holds his arms out in an expansive gesture—‘I’m all for it. I mean, how hard can it be, right?’
I press my lips together to stop from smirking.
Oh, you poor, stupid man.