Chapter 11 #2
We’re joking around, but I can feel it, the hurt radiating off him, the sense that he’s been through something. ‘I can’t imagine how you get over such a long relationship. How you get used to being alone again.’
‘I don’t think it’s the length of time we were together that makes it hard to get over, it’s more like . . .’ He stops and inspects his palms. ‘I’ve never really been an adult without her. Not for long, anyway.’
‘And you lived together?’
‘Mostly in house-shares as we were saving to buy our own place.’
‘You were going to buy property with someone? In London?’
‘That was the plan.’
‘Unbelievable. You were practically married. Oh God, were you married?’
His expression hovers between being fed up and being completely worn down by this line of questioning. ‘Change of topic?’ I suggest brightly, giving him the same grace he gave me the other night.
‘We weren’t married.’ He picks up one of the crutches and twirls it against the chair. ‘Because when I proposed, she turned me down.’
I did not see any of this coming. ‘Is that why you broke up?’
‘Rejecting someone’s proposal is quite a big thing.’
At a time when it feels so many women my age in relationships are drumming their fingers, waiting for a ring, I wonder about this woman who turned Cian down. Doesn’t he tick the boxes? Then again, I don’t know him. He could be a nightmare in a relationship.
‘So,’ I say, realising the polite thing to do is move off this topic, yet I’m still keenly interested in it, ‘you’re the marrying type?’
‘Based on the number of wedding invites I have for this summer, I’d say most people our age are.’
I snort, because I’ve noticed it too, the engagement announcements and save-the-dates.
‘You asked that question with more than a little disgust. Why, what type are you? Apart from the reformed party-girl type.’
He’s got me there. ‘I don’t know.’ I lean back on the uncomfortable garden furniture. ‘I’ve not given it much thought.’
When the clouds get dark and the humidity feels too much, we move inside to where the fan is.
We also move on to other topics, though him telling me about his relationship makes me see him in a different light.
I like his easy company, and yeah, I like him, however I’m now cautious about liking him too much.
Plus, my head is a mess, so the last thing I need is to get involved with someone with as much baggage as Cian.
When Brendan returns home, hours later, he hands us both Twister ice lollies, like we’re children.
He sits on the arm of the sofa for a minute, then goes outside to pretend to check the plastic covers on his bike while peeking into the neighbour’s garden.
‘See,’ Cian says knowingly. ‘He never sits still.’
Cian talks me into ordering pizza and watching old episodes of Bob’s Burgers, which he does a full commentary on, making me laugh until tears run down my face. At one point, he says with complete seriousness, ‘You are the easiest person in the world to make laugh.’
We’re halfway through the fourth episode when he falls quiet. It’s late, yet I don’t want to go back to my flat, so I pretend I haven’t noticed he’s fallen asleep, cuddled into the big U-shaped pregnancy pillow he earlier explained helps him get comfortable.
The rain falls noisily against the glass door to the garden and, when the thunder bellows, Cian mumbles something I don’t catch.
‘What?’ I lean close and he squeezes the pillow and babbles.
I can deal with sexy – I can appreciate it and poke fun at it – but cute is a whole other thing.
‘Cian?’ He starts as I raise my voice. ‘It’s late.
I’m going to go home. I’ll leave you to sleep on the sofa. ’
‘I wasn’t sleeping,’ he claims, his voice cracking as he tries to wake himself up.
‘You were. Weirdo.’
He shuffles behind me as I make my way to the front door, already shivering in my dress. It takes me a while to retie my gold sandals.
‘What are those?’ he asks.
‘Sandals,’ I snap. ‘It’s meant to be summer.’
‘They seem impractical to walk in.’
‘I was trying to look nice.’ I catch his expression, open and warm. ‘Not for you,’ I clarify as I stand upright, hoping I’m not flushed. ‘For myself.’ The chill hits me and I cross my arms.
‘Would you like a jacket?’ he asks.
‘It’s a three-minute walk.’
He leans on the wall and grabs at a red hoodie from the coat rack. It falls and I catch it. ‘You’re so clumsy.’
‘I’m injured,’ he says, slighted. ‘Actually, I’ve already worn that, let me find you something clean.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, as I pull on the jumper and step out.
‘Call me at the turning.’
‘I’m more likely to be attacked walking with my phone in my hand.’
He watches me from the doorway as I walk quickly down his street, then turn the corner and walk down my own.
My phone rings. ‘I told you to call me at the corner.’
‘You’re too late, I’ve already been kidnapped.’
‘I thought that,’ he says, yawning, ‘when I saw that van speeding past.’
I jangle the keys. ‘Home now. You didn’t have to call.’
‘I wanted to,’ he says.
‘Goodnight, Cian.’
The air in the flat is close, and while it’s late, I’m too wired to sleep.
I pull the cuffs of the hoodie over my hands and rest my head on them.
There’s a hint of Tiger Balm and that floral smell again.
I try to place it but it’s just Cian. The hoodie suddenly feels as if it’s shrinking on my body, so I pull it off and place it as far away as possible.
I can’t do this. I can’t get into liking Cian. There are so many reasons why liking him is a terrible idea.