Chapter 6
“S o I said we would go and stay over the night. That’s alright, yeah?” Dana stated, teasing the curlers out of her hair. Alfie turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, a frown playing on his brow. The candlelight flickered on the ceiling, creating dancing shadows. Power cuts were common in this part of the county, especially on the coast, so candlelight was not an unusual occurrence.
“I dunno, Dan. I’m not sure I’d feel overly comfortable?” Dana paused, hands in hair and turned to look at him.
“What? Why not?” He turned towards her, taking in the smoothness of her back, the curve of her lacy bra strap moulding into her shoulder. Her attractiveness was undeniable and often made him agree to things he didn’t want to, much to his own disgust of himself.
“Well, it’s your best friend’s wedding. You’re the bridesmaid. And me going along with you, staying the night – I don’t know. It seems very “serious boyfriend and girlfriend.” Have you even told your friends about me?” He regretted the words before he’d even finished saying them. The way Dana stayed silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on him before turning back to the mirror and now furiously yanking the curlers out. He closed his eyes. Oh God.
“Look, Dana, I’m struggling to know what you want from me? This time last week you were posting pictures of you out dancing at a club with random guys. Which, in our current circumstance, I’m fine with. But now you’re saying you want us to go to a wedding as a couple? With people I’ve never even met and don’t even really know about me. I’m struggling to know what you want.” She stayed quiet for a few seconds, and it was difficult to gauge her response in the dim light.
“It’s fine, Alfie. It’s just the way it is, clearly,” she snapped. She hauled the final curler out, running her fingers through her hair with what Alfie could only see as pent-up frustration. He sighed. He’d always been unsure about what their relationship was and deep down he felt the reason why he didn’t pursue the answer is because he knew he wasn’t wholeheartedly in it. But that would mean making her very upset, which he didn’t want to do. It was such a predicament.
“Dana,” he spoke softly, watching as she pulled her cashmere sweater over her head, ignoring him. “ Dana?” he spoke again, more firmly this time. She paused and fixed him with a stare. “If it means that much to you, I’ll go to the wedding with you,” he said and he watched a small smile pass over her face.
“Really?” He hesitated.
“If that’s what you want? But maybe we need to have a conversation soon about exactly where we see this going. What with you up in Manchester and me down here…I’m not sure I’m down for a long-distance relationship…” Her face clouded over.
“If you really wanted to be with me, you’d do anything. You’d move up to Manchester with me,” she declared angrily, and he closed his eyes, pausing to take a breath. This was always her default argument.
“And do you really want to be with me? Only me? Really?” he asked. She faltered, her mouth opening and then closing again. She grabbed her bag off the bed and turned towards the door.
“I’m off out to Truro with the girls. I’ll be staying at Mum and Dad’s and then heading back up to Manchester on Sunday.” With no more time spared, she leaned over him and kissed him with so much passion, he almost fell backwards. She pulled away and flounced out of the flat.
With a huge sigh, he covered his face with his hands. Only that afternoon, after a long, intimate session together, had she expressed how happy she was with where they were at currently: keeping it casual, no official titles. The next minute she’s wanting to go to a wedding as a couple, then move to Manchester with her, then she’s kissing him like he’s the only man on the planet and finally she’d left, with no indication as to when he’d see her again! He couldn’t keep up. He needed to break it off for good, whatever “ it” was, but didn’t want to hurt her. He wasn’t great with his words. And whilst she had, in the past, been a bit of a nightmare, she wasn’t an inherently bad person. Just someone who had maybe a little too much freedom and money, not really knowing what she wanted.
Alfie’s phone beeped. A glance caused him to sigh out loud. Just what he didn’t need.
Heard you’ve had a blackout? Millie’s on her own and struggling – could you pop in? Dad x
* * *
Ten minutes passed. Twenty. Millie sat huddled on the sofa, the blanket wrapped tightly around her, but still she shivered, and goosebumps invaded her skin. Although she’d felt safe in the cottage since the day she’d arrived, the void of darkness around her, coupled with the menacing sounds of the storm were making her feel on edge.
This was ridiculous. There was no way he was going to come round, not at this time of night. He wouldn’t put himself out for her . Besides, he was an artist. Wouldn’t he be sat up in his apartment, candlelight flickering whilst drawing some moody landscape of the storm out to sea, all dark colours and swishy lines? She knew the feeling well, although she spent her creative time producing bright, oil paintings as a contrast. Not that she’d done any creating lately. All her mental efforts were being poured into basic survival and even that wasn’t exactly working out.
She pictured him, working by the flicker of a candle, the warm glow casting shadows on his face, highlighting his jawline, the flecks of amber in his eyes, the curve of his bottom lip…A hammering at the door caused her to jump out of her surprising daydream. Within seconds, she was threading the chain off and staring at the outline of Alfie. Thankfully, the darkness hid the pink hue to her cheeks after the thoughts she’d just been having. She had to clutch the door handle to stop the wind flinging it back.
“Ah, you’re awake,” he said, clearly referring to their last encounter at her door, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. She narrowed her eyes at his rudeness. Didn’t take him long.
“Why the hammering? Don’t you know how to use a doorbell?” She realised he hadn’t used the bell last time either yet shocked herself with her clipped tone.
“I thought you might be asleep and wanted to make sure you’d get up. Four pints of lager and copious amounts of wine seemed to make you a little – a little drowsy, shall we say?” She blushed. People fell asleep in pubs all the time down here, right? A pause.
“Well, can I come in? Or do you just want me to stand out here all night?” Millie bit the inside of her cheek to resist a sarcastic comment but stood back to let him in. He had come over here to help her, after all and the wind was whistling around the cottage now.
After shutting the door on the violent weather, she eyed him in the torchlight. It was strange having him here, filling the room, having to stoop to avoid smacking his head on the low beams. She watched him potter around, striking matches and placing candles he’d readily located in a high cupboard around the room. She stood awkwardly, arms crossed, not really knowing what to do.
“You seem to know your way around here well,” she said, more of a statement than a question. She noticed him pause his movements, even with his back to her.
“I know the cottage well,” he said, but offered nothing more and continued his jobs. Millie sensed the tension but was unsure why it was there.
“Uh…would you like a cup of tea?” she offered pathetically. He paused from placing logs he’d brought round in the hearth to stare at her.
“And how do you propose doing that? Going to breathe fire onto the stove to make it light?” His rude comment annoyed her, but she thought she witnessed the tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth again. She bit her tongue.
“No, but I know someone here who happens to have some matches available.” She raised an eyebrow and grabbed the box off the sideboard, heading into the kitchen, blanket still trailing round her shoulders like a cape. He followed behind her, carrying a few candles and set them down near the stove. Soft light coated the surfaces and the shadow of the flame danced against the tiles. She filled a saucepan with water and, acutely aware of his presence in the small kitchen, struck the match several times, to no avail.
“This is painful,” she heard him say dryly and he took the match and box from her, his fingers brushing against hers. She felt herself redden and was thankful once again for the low lighting.
Minutes later the water was starting to heat up and Millie was huddled next to the now roaring fire, allowing the warmth to spread deliciously through her body. She felt herself thawing from head to toe and couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this cosy.
To her surprise, a mug was suddenly hovering in front of her face. She glanced up and took in his face, mouth pressed into a straight line. After a few seconds of staring, he raised his eyebrow, and she took the mug from him.
“Thanks,” she said softly, turning so her back was to the fire, soaking up the heat. “Not just for the tea,” she continued, “for coming over and sorting me out.”
“Got to do what dad says,” Alfie replied, perching on the edge of the sofa and taking a sip from his own mug. She felt a pang of annoyance – it was clear he was only here because he’d been told to, not because he genuinely wanted to help. He reminded her of a schoolboy – defiant and stubborn. She felt an urge to kick him out but reminded herself that, without him, she’d still be in complete darkness and shivering her skin off.
“So, Alan says you’re an artist?” Millie said, trying to strike up a conversation to break the awkward quiet.
“Did he now? I guess my old man’s never been shy to share what I do. Although I’m sure he’d have preferred me to go into something a little more corporate.”
“What sort of stuff do you do?” she asked. He screwed his face up.
“This and that.”
“What style do you use?”
He paused, contemplatively. “Mine.”
Millie stared at him intently. Why was he being so reserved? All she was trying to do was make polite conversation and yet, he couldn’t even answer some simple questions. She decided not to try anymore, and they sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few more minutes before Alfie finally stirred to leave.
“Well, I’m finished so I better go. I would say thanks for the tea, but I made it so…” Millie stared in disbelief of his impoliteness, watching as he placed the mug in the kitchen and made for the door. Yet despite his sheer ignorance, she felt compelled to thank him.
“Thanks again for coming over. You don’t have to rush off so quickly.” You do.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve finished my tea and it’s late.” He opened the door, and the crazy weather flew through the house. He stepped outside and before walking away, turned and said, “don’t forget to blow the candles out before you go to sleep.” There was a hint of care to his voice, she noted curiously. Was the ice man starting to thaw? “Oh, and look after the cottage,” he said softly, indicating the building behind her. After that, he was walking away down the street, hands shoved in pockets and collar up round his neck to fight off the cold.
The door slammed shut out of her grip and she sighed. What a fascinating man. She couldn’t figure him out. And yet, there was just something about him that intrigued her. Why was he so concerned about the cottage? She knew it was his dad’s, but still. There was something niggling her that she couldn’t quite work out.
She retrieved both the mugs and when she reached the sink, couldn’t help noticing that, despite him saying he had finished it, his was still three quarters full.
* * *
Sam drummed his fingers nervously on the worktop, maintaining a steady beat. It made Millie cringe. Nothing could make this time pass quicker. Tick tock, tick tock. Her eyes met his and he stared into hers, unblinking. Unspoken words charged between them, but never once did their mouths actually open. The harsh interruption of the timer made them jump. After two minutes of unbearable waiting, it was ready. And yet, it was the last thing she wanted to do.
“Go on,” Sam urged, his voice quiet. Millie swallowed hard and with trembling hands, lifted the pregnancy test. With a deep sigh and eyes squeezed tightly shut, she flipped it over in her hands.
“I can’t look. What does it say?” she whispered. There was a pause. A longer pause.
“I…I’m sorry Mils. It’s OK, we can try again.” She slowly opened one eye and with a shaky sigh viewed the screen. Not Pregnant.
“Try again?” she said, tears clouding her vision. “How many more ‘agains’ are we going to have?” She dropped the pregnancy test and felt Sam’s arms go around her, strong and solid. When would she be able to give him what they really wanted? She feared the answer was ‘never’.