Chapter Twenty-Three #2
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I know. But still.’
Still.
I thought about Dad and Alex. What they needed, and how I needed to be prepared for the future, if things got even more expensive. How I was too risk averse to try to get a bigger mortgage, to take on the financial burden of a larger place.
‘I told you before, I have obligations.’ The silence lasted several seconds. I didn’t want to say more.
He frowned at me.
‘What?’ I said.
He raised his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture. ‘Sorry for prying. None of my business.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s just – it’s complicated. Thank you for coming. You’re a good’– I paused – ‘friend.’
He swallowed, his expression unreadable. ‘You don’t always have to be strong, you know,’ he said, watching me. ‘I know your whole vibe is strong and steely, but emotion is allowed.’
‘Au contraire, mon frère,’ I managed to say. ‘I actually do have to be strong. It’s required of me. And I am. Also, I don’t notice you scoring high on the emotionality scale.’
‘Perhaps we’re the same kind of creature, then.
’ He stared at me, those dark eyes suddenly looking intense.
I could feel pressure building in my chest. God, I wasn’t going to cry now, was I?
Have some kind of weird meltdown? It was then that I realised I wasn’t just rigid because of stress: it was the sheer effort of preventing myself from catapulting into his arms, because the man was like a complete and utter magnet.
I looked at him, and I felt to my bones how amazing it would feel to be enfolded in those strong, nicely scented arms. How safe.
How delicious. And as I thought it, I noticed that he, too, looked as though he was braced, his hand clenched tight over the arm of the sofa.
He took a breath, as though to say something, at the precise moment his phone pinged.
He picked it up, stared at the notification, then hit call, walking over to the window. Had I wiped the dust off the blinds recently? I thought. Probably not. A minute later he said, ‘Hi, where are you?’ and strode out.
I sipped my scalding tea, wondering if Olly had deserted me for a Tinder date. I glanced at my phone, seeing that Myra had forlornly messaged to ask for an update.
I was thinking of what to say to her when I heard a noise, and turned to see a complete stranger standing in the doorway to my flat, holding a cat carrier, Olly standing behind him. ‘Wha…?’ I squeaked. Yes, I wasn’t even speaking in complete words at that moment, never mind sentences.
‘This your cat?’ the man said flatly. ‘My wife let it in our flat. It ate my yoghurt off the kitchen counter.’
I tried to take a breath and instead a weird squawk came out. A furious Pebble stared out through the grille.
‘Sorry,’ I said, finally managing to say actual words. ‘She can be a bit food orientated.’
‘Almost took my eye out when I tried to move her,’ he said, in the same tone.
‘Sorry,’ I said again.
‘We’re very grateful, Terry,’ said Olly. ‘Let’s get her out.’
‘Good. I need to get this carrier thing back to my neighbour,’ Terry said.
We shut the front door and released Pebble. She skidded across the floor and skedaddled in the direction of my bedroom ‘niche’, where I was pretty sure she would wedge herself in the gap between the headboard and the wall, which was one of her safe places.
‘Is there a reward,’ asked Terry flatly. There was, in fact, no question mark at all at the end of the sentence. He evidently expected one.
‘Um.’ I started to look for my purse; my belongings were scattered around, and I couldn’t remember what I’d done with anything.
‘I’ll take care of this,’ said Olly. He nodded at me. ‘See you at work.’ He ushered Terry out and I heard them speaking as they descended the stairs, then the bang of the front door as it shut.
After Olly had gone, I messaged Myra to give her the good news, then sat on the floor and peered under my bed, head against the laminate, looking at Pebble. I caught sight of one blue eye. We blinked slowly at each other.
Apart from the mug left on the coffee table, there was no sign that Olly had been there. No trace of his expensive aftershave in the air. I busied myself, washing up the mugs, and chopping some veg for dinner. But there came a moment when I couldn’t do anything other than pick up my phone.
LIZZY: Thank you for coming today. It was really kind of you.
OLLY: No problem, what are *work friends* for.
LIZZY: Pretty sure there should be a question mark at the end of that sentence.
OLLY: Thanks for the copy edit, hen.
I smiled in spite of myself.
LIZZY: No problem, hen. Did you have to give Terry some money? Please let me know, so I can reimburse you.
OLLY: I didn’t give him money. He was fine. Have a good evening.
I looked back at the messages more than once, that evening, every time I forgot then remembered he had been there.
Had to admit to myself that, for all of my ‘must stay professional’ resolutions, a very big What If had still hung in the air.
What if one day – we kissed again? What if we gave into what we both wanted to do?
Without even knowing it, I’d treasured that thought – that sense of promise and possibility. I was pretty sure he’d felt the same.
Of course that was over now. His venture into my life, into my flat, had put paid to everything. He didn’t want a budget queen of his heart, professionally or personally. I’d revealed another dimension of myself to him: cat lady from the wrong side of the tracks. And now he wanted out.
I couldn’t blame him.