Chapter Twelve
When Lissa wakes in her bed, she is not alone. Mia is next to her, curled in on herself, seeming even smaller than usual in one of Lissa’s nightshirts. Lissa listens to the sound of her cousin’s deep breathing, scrunching her own eyes closed at the memory of last night.
She tries to make as little noise as possible as she pushes off the duvet. She can at least make Mia breakfast as a thank you. But Mia is a light sleeper – always has been – and blinks heavy eyelids as Lissa moves.
‘Hey.’ Her voice is croaky. ‘How are you feeling?’
Lissa feels her face crumple. ‘I’m so sorry, Mia. I shouldn’t have called you.’
Mia blinks slowly again, clearly forcing herself into full wakefulness. ‘Of course you should have. That’s what I’m here for. But now that you’re up, I’d kill for some coffee.’
‘You got it,’ Lissa says, as brightly as she can. ‘No murder necessary.’
She pulls on some socks and heads to her little kitchen, scraping her hair back into a bun. Her head is hurting again, pressure at her temples. It’s because she’s tired and stressed after last night, she tells herself firmly.
Mia comes into the kitchen, phone in the palm of one hand, as Lissa is pouring out the coffee from the cafetière.
She’s already dressed in her work clothes, freckly face a little paler than usual.
Lissa hands her a mug of coffee, after putting in an extra teaspoon of sugar, like she’s trying to emulate Mary fucking Poppins or something.
‘Can I make you breakfast?’ she asks. ‘I can do toast. I think I’ve got some eggs. And I’ve got—’
‘Lissa,’ Mia says firmly. ‘It’s fine. As long as you’re okay.’
Lissa swallows, nods. ‘I’m okay.’
Mia smiles a little sadly over her mug. ‘I wish I could make it better.’
‘I know,’ Lissa whispers.
Mia moves across the kitchen, puts one slim arm around Lissa’s shoulders.
‘I know I’ve said this a thousand times, but it’s not your fault.
What happened to Chloe, what is happening to your mum.
You know that, right?’ Lissa says nothing, because Mia is wrong, but she doesn’t want to argue the fact, not after Mia has been here for her, the way she always is.
Still with her arm around Lissa, Mia lifts her phone, smiles at something. Because she’s standing so close, Lissa can see the message – a long one, from Lottie, NYC. She averts her eyes as Mia takes another sip of coffee.
But she can’t stop herself from commenting. ‘That looks like more than the occasional GIF to me.’ Mia frowns up at her. ‘I didn’t read it,’ Lissa adds. ‘Just an observation, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, well. We talk a lot.’ It’s said like an admission, like Mia has something to feel guilty about. ‘I thought it would peter out, but we just, I don’t know …’ She taps her index finger against her phone. ‘She might come over here. To see me.’
‘That’s exciting! Isn’t it?’ Lissa adds, because Mia doesn’t look particularly enamoured with the idea. ‘Or do you not really like her – are you just talking to be polite or something?’
‘No,’ Mia says slowly. ‘I like her, it’s just …’ She shakes her head. ‘Nothing. It’ll be fun if she comes. I’m overthinking it.’
‘Well, tell me if she does. I’d love to meet her – if that’s not too intense.’
‘Of course. We’ll go to the pub or something.’ Mia lifts her phone again, clearly to check the time.
‘Please don’t feel you have to stay,’ Lissa says quickly. ‘I know you have work.’
Mia bites her lip. ‘I would stay. It’s just, today is a London day and—’
‘You don’t need to explain. I shouldn’t have even—’
She holds up a hand to cut Lissa off. ‘Stop.’ She sets her mug down on the counter. ‘So look, maybe we could do a spa day soon. Invite Darcy if you want too.’
‘A spa day?’
‘Sure. I thought it might be good for us. They’re supposed to be relaxing, right?’
‘So I’ve heard.’ Lissa contemplates Mia, picking up her own mug and cupping it in her hands. She has a suspicion that by ‘us’ she means Lissa specifically. Emotion clogs her throat, but she manages to smile. ‘I’d love that. Thank you.’
She sees her own phone light up on the counter and picks it up automatically, her stomach tightening with dread at the thought that it might be her mum again.
It’s a Facebook message, though, which makes her frown.
She has a Facebook account, but she hasn’t posted on there in about five years. Some kind of scam, maybe?
When she sees the name, her heart does a funny kind of nervous spasm. Ash Hawthorne.
Hey. I hope it’s not weird to track you down like this. I just wanted to check you were okay after yesterday.
Then a follow-up message: It’s Ash btw. Mark’s friend.
She stares down at it for a moment. He’s checking she’s okay. She can’t work out whether to be embarrassed or pleased by that.
‘Who is it?’ Mia asks.
‘Oh, no one.’ She’s not sure why she lies, only she didn’t mention she’d bumped into Ash yesterday, and now it seems odd to bring it up.
Mia gives her a funny look. ‘Okay.’ She casts her eyes around, locates her shoes and slips them on. ‘I don’t have time to push you on that, because I really do have to go.’ She gives Lissa a quick, hard hug. ‘I’ll text you later.’
Lissa hugs her back. ‘Have a good day, yes?’
When she’s alone in her flat, she picks her phone back up.
Well hello, hero. The nickname seems even more fitting given what happened yesterday. I’m good, v nice of you to check. Hope you’re okay too?
Oh I’m just great. So I think I said – I’m stuck in Bath for the foreseeable at the moment.
She doesn’t miss the word ‘stuck’ – as in, not somewhere he wants to be.
Right, she types back, I remember. Though he didn’t say why exactly that’s the case.
So that means I have lots of time on my hands. Do you fancy a coffee later in the week?
Again that nervous spasm in her chest. Her finger hovers over the screen.
She should say no. She doesn’t need any more complications in her life.
She clearly unnerved him enough that he felt the need to check up on her, and that’s probably all this is.
But he’s helped her twice now, and she owes him.
She tells herself that’s the reason she agrees – that she’ll make it her treat, as a thank you. That it’s not because some inexplicable part of her – the part that felt the echo of something as he took her hand in his – wants to see him again.
*
It was stupid to agree to this. Is she even allowed to see him, given he’s Mark’s friend? Are there rules here?
It’s not a date, Lissa, she tells herself firmly as she makes her way to the café she always goes to with Darcy. It’s a thank-you coffee, that’s all.
She sees him as she reaches the café, coming from the opposite direction, just as the abbey bells announce the arrival of a new hour across the city. Her stomach twists with nerves – what is she supposed to say to him? – but he greets her with a smile and a wave.
‘You look better,’ he says as he approaches, his breath misting out in the cold. His eyes are impossibly blue today, against the backdrop of the clear sky.
‘Than when I was collapsed on the street?’ She flicks back her hair, makes her voice faux-coy. ‘Why, thanks.’
He laughs, and the sound of it makes her relax a little. As does the relief that he’s happy for her to joke about it, that he’s not going to make it weird, the way so many people would. ‘So this place does great coffee,’ she says, gesturing behind her.
He nods, rocking back on his heels. ‘Sounds good. Or …’
‘Or?’
‘Well, as I was walking through town, I saw the Christmas market is up.’
‘Right. It goes up at the end of November every year.’
He shrug-nods. ‘Could be fun.’
She raises her eyebrows. ‘You want to go to the Christmas market?’ It doesn’t seem very on-brand for him, somehow, though maybe that’s a little unfair. She doesn’t know him, does she? Maybe he’s into collecting tiny porcelain Santas or something.
‘Sure,’ he says easily. ‘Why not? I’ve not actually been to one before and I like to try everything at least once.’
He bounces on his feet a little as he talks, a kind of restless energy coming from him. She wonders if maybe he just doesn’t want to sit still.
‘Okay,’ she says. ‘Sure. Why not?’ She repeats his words back to him, and he grins.
They walk side by side, both of them hunched against the cold as they head to the part of the city that has been cordoned off for the market.
They pass the charity shop where Lissa applied for the weekend volunteer shift – she is still waiting to hear back, and is beginning to worry that she can’t even get a new unpaid job – then the abbey, the honey-coloured stone illuminated in the sunlight.
When they reach the market, they turn left onto one of the cobblestoned streets.
There are wooden stalls set up on both sides, decorated with festive lights that she’s sure will look gorgeous come dark.
The smell of cinnamon and mulled wine laces the air, and there’s a busker nearby singing Christmas tunes, his voice merging with the general chatter around them.
She remembers going to a Christmas market when she was little, though it can’t have been this one, as it’s only been running for the last few years.
But she can recall eating warm roasted chestnuts, can remember her dad sweeping her into his arms, even though she was far too big for that really.
Her dad. So it must have been before Chloe died.
Chloe must have been there, but she can’t recall her sister’s voice, or the sound of her laugh.
Can’t remember what they did at that market – if she and Chloe played together, as they sometimes did when Lissa’s friends weren’t around and the age gap managed to melt away.