Chapter 19
FREYA
‘Freya.’ Jake’s speaking very softly into my ear.
I’m lying on my side and he’s bending over me from somewhere above. That’s weird.
I make a really big effort and open an eye and squint up at him. He’s crouched next to the bed and wearing yesterday’s clothes and a very nice, kind of fond smile.
‘Time is it?’ I manage to ask. My head’s very heavy and so are my limbs and I don’t think I could get a full sentence out right now.
I’m so, so tired. Oh yes, that’s because we were up most of the night.
Having really, really good sex. I close my eye and sigh in appreciation of the memory and then open it again to see Jake grinning at me.
‘Quarter past six,’ he says. ‘I have a meeting at eight. Got to get home, get showered and changed and into the office.’
‘Early,’ I mumble.
‘Mmm.’ He moves my hair away from my face and kisses me gently on the cheek and I sigh again.
‘I’ll text you.’ And then he’s off.
I should think about what just happened and I should also set an alarm because I have a lot to do this morning.
I’m sooooo tired.
Obviously I do not set the alarm and only wake up at around eleven when the postman rings the doorbell with a parcel from John Lewis (nothing exciting: a new baking tray and a five-pack of pants).
After I’ve thanked him, I stagger into the living room and flop down onto the sofa, still feeling extremely bleary-eyed.
Today I need to start planning my new book, plus I have proofreads to do on the one that’s coming out next, plus on Monday evenings I teach a class at the local further education college, and I’d like to do some exercise and get some fresh air at some point.
And eat something healthy. So I should really get straight into the shower.
I think I need a very strong coffee first, though.
As the machine hums, I clear up last night’s dinner, which I didn’t do last night because… Jake.
That was a good night. He was lovely company and then… well, just, basically, amazing.
Eek, though. Firstly, we had a one-night stand, which is not something I really do.
Well, I don’t. I have short-term romances at times, making sure that my partner knows as well as I do that it’s very much short term and won’t be leading anywhere, and sometimes that develops into a sexual relationship.
But not on the first date, and certainly not before we’ve even had a date.
And now Jake and I have had a two-night stand. Which I blame myself for, because I shouldn’t have accepted the lift home, and I shouldn’t have teased him with that conversation about what I enjoyed about the weekend.
He said he’s going to text me. And I really want him to because I already feel like I miss him.
But I don’t want to start a relationship with him.
And I know I’m hugely jumping the gun but at some point, obviously, if I were a different person, this could morph from glorious but uncommitted sex into an actual relationship.
And then it would end, because my relationships always do, and then I would be bereft, because Jake – when he’s being nice – is intoxicating company, and I don’t want to go there.
I obviously don’t want him to get hurt either.
So I’d rather not start a relationship at all.
I haul myself onto my feet and go over to pour out my coffee before taking a large slurp (possibly quite loudly – the joys of living alone).
Yep, we shouldn’t do this any more, I decide as I get into the shower.
I feel a lot more awake after my shower, and I do actually manage to get some work done, until I get a message from Jake:
You free this evening by any chance?
Okay, that’s good, because I have an easy no.
Really sorry but I teach an adult education class for two hours on Monday evenings so am not around this evening.
Even though my fingers are itching to say when I am free (like straight after the class ends at nine) I don’t write anything further, because I don’t want to lead him on.
But he does, of course, reply:
I didn’t realise you taught as well. A woman of many talents. Let me know if you’re free another time.
I sit and stare at my phone for literally minutes, wondering what I should say.
And then I remember how kind he was to me all weekend. And the fact that we had two amazing nights together and maybe he’s someone who also doesn’t usually do that. I feel like I do owe him an explanation. So I write:
Perhaps a drink later in the week? I’m free tomorrow and Thursday?
We agree to go for a drink tomorrow, at a pub near Waterloo station, so that we can both get home easily afterwards.
And there we go.
My proofreads go well, because I’ve been through this manuscript a billion times during edits, so I’m literally just proofreading for typos and any final spots of inconsistencies, but thinking about my new book does not go well, because my hero just becomes Jake.
Or Jake becomes my hero.
Or Jake is my hero.
Except, he isn’t. He can’t be. Because there is no hero for me. Things with Jake might have seemed great up to now – they might have been great up to now – but they wouldn’t continue to be great. We’ve had two wonderful nights and that’s all it should be.
Because I don’t want to get hurt.
And I do not want to hurt him either.
I’m going to tell Jake that we shouldn’t see each other again in any kind of dating way, but I have for some inexplicable (okay not at all inexplicable) reason spent ages on my make-up and hair and chosen my favourite top and jeans to wear this evening.
I arrive early and decide to wait outside the pub rather than going inside, so that we don’t miss each other.
I’m planning to tell Jake straight off what my thoughts are. I don’t want to lead him on in any way, and if he doesn’t want to see me on a no-possibility-of-sex-or-relationship basis we can just immediately go our separate ways.
I’m really not looking forward to the conversation.
I’m so busy limbering up for the awkwardness that is clearly going to ensue that I don’t actually notice Jake approach until he’s right next to me, beaming from ear to ear.
Smiling really, really suits him. Actually, everything suits him. Stroppiness, happiness, anger, sarcasm, you name it. He wears them all like they’re the coolest expression there is and your face immediately wants to do the same thing.
‘Hi.’ He reaches for me and I kind of turn away so there’s no possibility of us kissing or anything.
Jake steps away from me immediately and says, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, great. Except… I… There’s something I need to say.’
He takes a step backwards. ‘Of course. Inside?’
I look around. Yes, I think it would be better to be somewhere less noisy and busy. I nod.
We go inside in silence and head for the bar.
I have my phone ready to pay before we’ve even placed our order, and shake my head when Jake suggests that he pay, before immediately regretting it, because I don’t want this to look like a pity drink. No, I decide, I’m overthinking things. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter who buys the drinks.
We find a table in a corner, and sit down.
Jake is clearly waiting for me to speak, and expecting what I say to be something of note, because there’s none of the chat we had all weekend whenever we were together.
So I’m just going to say it.
‘I thought I should say straightaway,’ I say, ‘that I’m not looking for a relationship.
At all. Because I don’t want to start anything that I know will end.
And all my relationships do end, so I don’t ever want to start anything that could get serious from my side.
And I’m not sure that I’m someone who can keep on having sex with someone without developing some feelings.
And were you to develop feelings I wouldn’t want to hurt you.
And therefore I don’t want to… do anything again. ’
‘Of course,’ Jake says immediately. Then he sits and thinks for a moment, his expression very serious.
‘Obviously please don’t feel you have to answer, but could I ask why?
Not why you don’t want to do anything with me.
Obviously that’s your prerogative and entirely understandable.
But why do you think any relationship you start will definitely end? ’
‘Because relationships are not for me.’
‘Is there… a reason that you think that?’
‘Kind of.’ I do feel that I owe him some kind of explanation. ‘It’s a lifelong thing, really.’
Jake nods slowly, studying me intently, and suddenly it isn’t just that I feel I owe him an explanation, it’s that I want to tell him.
‘As I mentioned in Devon, my parents got divorced when I was twelve. They hated each other and they didn’t seem to love me very much; they weren’t really arguing over who got custody so much as who didn’t get custody.
They both had a lot of relationships after the divorce, and they were all disastrous.
My father was unhappily single when he died, and my mother’s unhappily single now.
So, you know, it’s probably a genetic thing.
And I am really bad at romance. It really isn’t for me. ’ I pause and take a drink.
‘Again, I’m so sorry about your parents.’
‘Yep, thank you.’ I’m very used to people saying they’re sorry about my parents.
They were objectively not great parents to me.
Although they weren’t terrible. And now I’ve lost my father.
‘They did have some good points. Like, when I used to visit my dad – not that often because he frequently triumphantly played the I-have-to-travel-for-work card – he would, once I was there, remember that he did love me and enjoy my company and we’d have a lot of fun together, and when I left he would wave and wave until my train was out of sight.
And my mum is very interested in my life and proud of my successes and supportive whenever I have failures.
And a great baker. It really wasn’t all bad.
They were both just terrible at relationships. As am I.’
‘What makes you think you’re terrible at relationships?’