Textbook Romance

Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

Zoe

‘YOU’RE TOO DEEP!’

‘STAY IN POSITION!’

‘FINISH! FINISH! WHY DIDN’T YOU HEAD IT?’

I’ve stood on the sidelines of many a football pitch, ever since Dylan was a tiny little thing and his jersey used to look like a dress, but I’m not quite sure why everything seems to sound lewd to me at the moment. I stand there and pull my scarf over my mouth to hide my grin. It’s not a sexy look, football sideline clothing: a big, padded coat, a bright beanie, scarf and insulated wellies – anything to keep warm, dry and pretend you enjoy being there.

‘This tea smells like wee. The number fifteen on the other side is fit. Smell my tea, this smells like wee, doesn’t it?’ Lottie pushes a Styrofoam cup in my face.

‘It doesn’t. Maybe that smell of wee is you. What will the fit number fifteen think?’ I tell her. I joke with her, but this talk of boys has become a more recent development and all it does is compound on all the other worries I carry as a parent. Pick a nice boy. Please. I know too many kids in my school that are your age, and I would stab some of them through the nads before I’d let them near you and I’m the ultimate pacifist.

‘Number fifteen has a mullet,’ I observe.

‘Everyone has a mullet at the moment. Get with the programme, Mother.’

‘If you brought that home, I would point and laugh.’

She shakes her head at me and threads an arm through mine. ‘I’m so cold.’

‘You should have a worn a coat… perhaps, just maybe…’ I tell her, absolutely no sarcasm in my tones at all. It’s a sentence I repeat to these kids ad nauseum – I bet they’d listen to me if it went viral on TikTok or it came out of the mouth of someone cool like Zendaya, though. It’s nice to have Lottie out with us today. She used to stay in on football mornings but since everything has happened, she tends to stay close. I think she still feels some residual guilt for having abandoned Dylan in Manchester, so this is her sisterly way of making it up to him.

‘GOOD KICK, DYLS!’ she screams. A man a few feet away from us turns around and sneers at her. Naturally, Lottie doesn’t respond to this well. ‘He can wind his ugly old man turkey neck in.’

I pull her closer before she has a chance to throw her cup of wee-smelling tea at him.

‘Talking of ugly old men,’ she says, looking past me. I follow her gaze, watching as Brian makes his way up the pitch, shaking hands with a few of the dads he knows and engaging in conversation with them. This will always be the messy part – there are so many threads of our lives that are entwined, that I will never be able to unravel. We’ve been friends with some of these parents for years. We’ve had dinners together, drunk in pubs and traded messages on WhatsApp groups and, naturally, what’s happened has frayed those threads. I mean, it’s not about taking sides, but I feel there are different versions of our story that have been made available and I don’t think I have the energy to let people know which one is the most accurate. Brian turns to us, and I put a hand up to greet him without smiling. Lottie ignores him. I am not sure what to say. Please acknowledge your father? They’ve spent a few evenings together since Manchester, but the trust is still lacking. Dylan tells me she comes at him with a battering ram of sarcasm. Does that secretly please me? Possibly, but I’ll never say that out loud.

‘He should have said he was coming,’ she says, side-eyeing him, her nostrils flared.

‘And there was me thinking you were here for Dylan to show him what a good sister you are.’

‘You’re mistaken, I’m here for the post-match McDonald’s,’ she tells me, fake smiling.

Brian and I have not drawn up arrangements or battle lines when it comes to the kids yet. There are talks of co-parenting, doing what’s best and investing a shared interest in things like parents’ evenings, concerts and sports matches but it’s ensuring the kids are open to this arrangement, too. Ever since Manchester a few weeks ago, he’s learned that being their father is a privilege, not so much a right, and he has to start rebuilding after all the damage he’s caused.

‘EDGE OF THE D! EDGE OF THE D!’ one dad shouts.

Lottie giggles from behind her tea. ‘Did that man just shout at him to go edging on his D?’

I pull a shocked face. ‘Lottie! Yes, he did. Can I ask how you know what that is?’

‘Mother! Can I ask how you know what that is?’

And yes, there is deep anxiety there in me as a mother but we both laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ a voice suddenly pipes up, sliding into the conversation. We both stop laughing and I pray that Lottie keeps this civil and doesn’t repeat that comment about edging.

‘Nothing,’ Lottie says, returning to the football. ‘You’re here.’ It’s less a question, more a statement.

‘Morning,’ I say, trying to keep things civil. Brian always comes to these matches with his trousers tucked into his boots which gives him farmer vibes. He keeps trying to catch Lottie’s eye and she’s doing a very good job of dodging it.

‘Score?’ he asks.

‘Oh, they’re behind one-nil but there’s time to turn it around,’ I inform him, not really knowing what emotion matches my mood.

We stand there taking in the football. I wish I really knew what was going on so I could shout out something constructive, but Dylan looks like he’s running in the right direction at least.

‘I was thinking that maybe after this… our post-match McDonald’s ritual – maybe we could all go together?’ Brian suggests.

As soon as he asks, I realise that this isn’t my call at all. Would I be able to drink my strawberry milkshake with him in the vicinity? I guess we’re at that point where him being present doesn’t cause me such anxiety anymore. Lottie looks over her shoulder.

‘Will Liz be there? Is she hiding in a bush, waiting in your car?’ she says pointedly.

Touché, Miss Swift.

Brian who would normally reply with anger knows now not to respond as such. ‘No Liz, just the four of us.’

Lottie is silent but I notice her attention taken by the football for a moment. ‘YES, DYLS. RUN, DYLS!’

We all look out on to that pitch and Dylan is on a break, running towards goal. The defender’s nowhere near him, just him and the keeper. Lottie grabs on to my arm, jumping up and down, tea everywhere. I’ll never understand that feeling as a parent. You feel it when they’ve been up on stage and repeated their lines perfectly, when they win a race on sports day, when they receive a certificate in a crowded room. Part of it is some form of relief that you feel on their behalf but all that pride, all that happiness, all that love just courses through you, making you rather giddy. Well done, that kid. He threads the ball through the keeper calmly and you see the net ripple as it hits the right-hand corner. Dylan turns and runs to the centre circle, roaring with joy, a rare moment of pure emotion that he just exudes into the air. There’s a loud cheer from our small crowd but mostly screaming from Lottie as she puts her hands to her mouth and does a loud whistle.

I don’t say a word. Mostly because I can feel Brian gripping on to my arm in excitement. He looks down for a moment, realising he’s overstepped and takes it away, but we share a look. Despite everything, we made these two human beings and by god, aren’t they just the best things? Brian takes a step away and I look out on to the pitch, Dylan surrounded by his teammates but his eyes scanning over the sidelines to see us together. He looks to his dad who puts a thumb up and then he looks at me, a tear rolling down my face. I’ll have to tell him it was the cold.

‘What’s number fifteen’s name? What’s his Snap?’ Lottie asks Dylan as we walk back to the car.

‘You’re so grim and embarrassing. No,’ Dylan grunts in reply, flicking mud from his boots at her.

She screams. I’d intervene but I mostly watch in amusement at how much their relationship see-saws like this. Once the play fighting starts then I’ll intervene. Brian walks beside me, a perfect silence helping me keep some distance. Both children have agreed to Brian joining us for a McDonald’s and I guess we’ll see how that goes but I’ll look forward to seeing Lottie upgrade to a large merely out of spite because he’s paying.

‘ZOE!’ a voice suddenly sifts in from behind me. I don’t turn around immediately because the voice is young and I don’t recognise it, but I hear footsteps and they call me again. I turn. I know you.

‘Barney?’ I am not quite sure if Barney was playing football today or mud wrestling with a bear, but he comes over and I put a hand out before he has a chance to hug me. Brian stops beside me, pouting as he tries to figure out who this child is. He’s not in the age group I teach, not a relative or neighbour and I suddenly watch my own kids stop to turn to figure this kid out, too. Oh dear. I have to think quickly here. ‘Look at you! Have you been playing football today as well?’

‘Yeah, we lost, though, but only by eight-nil this time which Dad says is better than last time, so we are getting better,’ he replies gleefully, clutching a muddied bag of Haribo in his left hand. ‘Did you come to watch me?’ he asks.

‘Oh no, I was here watching my son play. This is Dylan,’ I say, pointing over to him.

Barney raises his chin. ‘He’s big. How old are you?’

‘Fifteen,’ Dylan replies curiously.

‘How old are you?’ Lottie asks him.

‘I’m ten. Zoe came to my party. She’s really good at Laser Tag.’

I can’t quite breathe. I can tell people have questions. Mum, is this what you do now when we’re not about? You go to the local shopping centre and play Laser Tag with random children? But before I can answer, someone approaches us, a huge bag of footballs hauled over his shoulder.

‘Zoe?’

‘Dom! Hey…’ He leans over for a hug and my kids don’t quite know where to look. ‘I just bumped into Barney, and he was telling me about your game.’

‘ZOE!’ another little voice interrupts. It’s George. My kids’ eyes bounce between these two little kids. There are two of them, Mum. What’s happening? The problem is you think I’m probably friends or more with this man and his twin sons. I don’t know if the truth is worse. ‘Were you here to see Uncle Jack?’ George continues.

Even the sound of Jack’s name makes me blush. Mainly because last night I was sexting him at midnight. What we have remains the most illicit yet charming of liaisons and still not something to talk about here.

‘Oh no, this is my son, Dylan, and we came to watch him play football. This is Lottie, my daughter and this is…’ I don’t know how to label Brian anymore. He’s still legally a husband, not quite an ex, not quite a friend. ‘This is Brian.’ He’s just Brian.

I notice Dom’s tired brain and memory sifting through the details of my family arrangement and trying to piece it all together, trying to show them all some civility. I guess he’ll know as much as Jack has told him. He pauses when he goes to shake Brian’s hand that tells me he knows something about our relationship. Brian seems cautious if very, very curious. I need to say something.

‘No one ate the oranges I brought, Dom. I’ll have to eat these all myself now,’ a voice sounds and I know who it is immediately. He did tell me he was going to watch his nephews play but I didn’t think to ask him where that would be. I inhale deeply to hear his voice but can’t quite focus knowing all my worlds have collided on this very muddy, cold football pitch. ‘Zoe?’ he says, a huge beam hitting his face to see me. I see him coming in to hug me but I angle my body so he can’t get close. I won’t be able to cope with the spark of that physical contact. He senses something’s up and looks around. Yes, Jack. Look who’s around. Oh, shit. And with that he just puts a hand to my shoulder.

‘Look at you in your football gear.’

‘I look like a Womble, Jack. I know.’

He laughs before we realise where we both are, and the many pairs of eyes we have on us.

‘You’re Jack?’ Dylan says out loud.

Dylan has spoken to Jack on the phone. He knows it’s Jack’s friends who gave him a lift to Birmingham, but I guess he expected someone different. Someone older? Because there are no farmer vibes here. It’s a tracksuit, football boots and a long puffa coat, a beanie stylishly finishing off the look.

‘I am. Dylan?’ Jack puts out his hand and Dylan goes over to shake it. ‘I remember your mum telling me you played. How’d you get on today?’

‘We won two-one.’

‘And Dyl scored,’ Lottie adds. ‘I’m Lottie,’ she says, less keen to offer out her hand. Her eyes study him cautiously.

‘Of course. I’ve heard a lot about you.’

‘All good, obvs.’

‘Obvs.’

She laughs in response which is a relief given it’s Lottie. She scans him up and down, assessing the ‘fit’ as she does. Jack looks at me, waiting. I am not quite sure what I’m supposed to do. This doesn’t feel like the time and place to fill you in on how we are all connected. I look down at Jack’s nephews, standing by their dad, stuffing sweets in their face and carefully watching all these exchanges. Please, boys. Please don’t say I’m Jack’s girlfriend and that I told you I’d rather have a giant eye than two noses.

‘So, Jack is a teacher at my school, Dom is his brother, and these two cuties are Dom’s boys,’ I explain for clarity. ‘I did go to their party, and it was brilliant.’

‘You went to Laser Tag?’ Lottie asks me, curiously.

‘I returned a favour. They needed more adults to supervise.’

Dom furrows his brow. He can see George about to say something and hands him another bag of sweets to divert his attention. I notice Brian taking it all in quietly. I can tell he can’t quite believe that cover story. ‘You’re the Jack who helped Dyl in Manchester?’ Jack turns to Brian and whilst they’ve never met, I know he’s worked out who he is. Please, Jack. Not here. Brian outstretches his hand, and I may have an aneurysm. ‘Then thank you for helping him out, mate.’

Mate. God, you wouldn’t be calling him that if you knew the things he’d done to me, that we’d done to each other. For a moment, a cold winter’s morning feels positively balmy, my scarf feels like a noose.

‘Brian,’ Jack says, still gripping on to his hand. Please let it go. Their eyes meet.

‘Yeah. I’m Zoe’s husband.’

Fuck. Does Brian know? He knows it’s more than favours. Yet what an awful and territorial thing to say over someone who isn’t yours anymore. Over someone who didn’t even want me. I hope my completely bemused look tells him that much.

‘But not anymore, right?’ Jack replies.

Lottie smirks but I see her huddled into her brother for support, for comfort, both of them trying to work out this man. Brian looks like he doesn’t know what to say. I swear the earth has stopped spinning.

‘JACK!’ Dom interrupts, sensing the awkwardness has reached its peak. He puts a hand to his brother’s arm. ‘Uncle Jack, we’ve got to get these boys in a hot bath.’ Barney goes over to get in between them and offers Jack a sweet. He smiles and takes it. The boys run over to me and unsure of what to do, I let them both hug my legs and get my coat smothered in mud. ‘See you soon, Zoe,’ they say before running off towards the car park.

‘Bye kids, see you soon.’

‘Dom has a point,’ Jack says, his gaze still piercing Brian’s. ‘Zoe,’ he adds, turning to me. Please don’t look at me like that. Because it’s a look of concern, possibly some confusion to have met the four of us out together like some sort of happy family. But there’s also some resigned sadness there that I can’t be honest about who he is to me, what we are, that I can’t communicate all the emotion I feel for him, that I can’t tell Brian, Lottie and Dylan that this is Jack. Jack who has loved me, held me and pieced me back together these last few months. Jack who communicates with me via emojis and Post It notes in my work pigeonhole. Jack who I think I may be in love with. ‘I will see you on Monday at school. Lovely to meet you all.’

‘See you Monday, Jack. Good to bump into you.’

He puts a fist out. Oh, we’re fist bumping. I guess that’s better than me snogging his face off. I bump it back and he goes chasing after his nephews, his figure shrinking, moving further away from me. I try to dust off my coat, letting Lottie, Dylan and Brian walk ahead of me while I try to take a breath.

‘Hazards of little people, I am so sorry about the coat.’ I hear a voice behind me. It’s Dom, grappling with his football equipment.

I bend down to take a first aid kit and walk alongside him. ‘It’s fine. I can throw it in the wash.’

‘Could you maybe throw those boys in, too?’ he jokes.

I smile. ‘Thank you, by the way. That was a little tense, and it wasn’t the place to perhaps explain all the dynamics of how we all know each other.’

Dom nods. ‘I get it, it’s pretty complicated. I never thanked you for enduring Laser Tag either, so I think we’re even.’

I laugh and we take that walk back to the car park, quietly.

‘Laser Tag was actually very fun. It was nice to see Jack around his family. He certainly loves those boys, eh?’ I tell him.

‘Uncle of the decade, really. I guess you know our story?’ he asks me.

‘Jack may have talked about it. I am so sorry you had to go through that. What was your wife’s name?’ I ask him.

He seems taken aback that I should want to know the details. ‘Amy,’ he says proudly. ‘That’s where the twins get it from, all of it. She’d have been here today, cheering them on, most likely shouting at the referee. God, she was a liability. Just in the best ways.’

His eyes glaze over and I feel his grief, all of it. I even understand it a little. We grieve those lives we’ll never have with people we once loved.

‘Jack really likes you, you know?’ Dom says, randomly, as if he’s not really sure whether it’s his place.

‘He does?’ I enquire.

‘It’s just, he came to me a few weeks back to chat about you. That’s very rare for Jack.’

‘I guess he told you about the new job?’ I ask Dom, testing the water. He stops for a moment, his interest obviously piqued, and pretends to fiddle with his football bag.

‘There’s a new job – a teaching job?’ he asks.

I realise he’s not told him about it, his beloved brother. I take a deep breath. ‘No, his friend, Sarah, offered him a place on a conservation team working out of Borneo.’

His face softens with pride, excitement. ‘He didn’t tell me about that. Idiot. God, that’s amazing, it’ll be so good for him.’

‘It will, won’t it?’ I tell him.

‘And it’d be such a relief, too.’

‘Relief?’ I ask him, continuing to walk alongside him.

‘Just… Jack’s been a complete hero to me and the boys. I wouldn’t have survived those early years without him, but I always worried we were holding him back. If he takes this job, it just means he’s living his life finally, you know?’

I know exactly what he means. The words pierce my heart completely because since finding out about that job, all I know is that he’s not told me about it which makes me think he’s turning it down and I think the reason may be me. And as wonderful as that is, there is also something about that which isn’t right.

Dom suddenly reads the emotion in my face and realises he may have said something out of turn. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that you’re holding him back or that you’re stopping him from living a life. I phrased that wrong. You’ll have to forgive me, I’m renowned for putting my foot in my mouth.’

I smile to put him at ease. ‘Dom, please don’t worry. I think I know what you mean, and I feel the same, completely. He’s quite the person, your brother, and he deserves the world.’

‘Has he taken the job?’ Dom asks.

‘I’m not sure.’

His expression changes and it pains me to see the air of disappointment in his eyes.

‘You know, I like your brother very much, too.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘I’ll do the right thing by him, please don’t worry.’

And there’s a moment where we both look out into the car park to see Jack playing around with his nephews, holding one under his arm and trying to chase the other. We both laugh to see it and share a final look, one of love that we both feel for this man. I wasn’t sure what to do with that love, but I think I now know.

Jack

I walk up the path to Zoe’s house, looking down at the gift in my hands. I don’t know if this is a particularly good idea – the sentiment is there but I hope she gets it. It’s just that there really was only so much chicken that I could bring into this woman’s house without it feeling like it was starting to get weird. I’ve only been here once before, post Laser Tag, but there’s a familiarity there now. Half a hand job in the kitchen and then a night in her bedroom, her body curled into mine on her bed. It’s one of those moments I return to a lot when I’m waiting for traffic lights to turn, when I’m looking out of windows and stirring dinners. To hell, all those small moments are taken up by thinking of her.

I put my finger to the bell, watching her shadow in the glass come towards me.

‘Hey,’ she says as she sees me, exhaling deeply. She’s not in all her football gear. It’s that cool casual look I’ve come to know from her; a floral dress with her trademark big earrings, bare feet and her curls hanging over her shoulders. She leans against the door as I stand on the doorstep, taking her in.

‘Is the coast clear?’ I say quietly.

She nods. ‘The kids are at their mates’ houses for the afternoon so yeah… please…’ she says, widening the door. ‘Please come in.’

I step over the threshold and naturally gravitate towards her, feeling some relief that I can do so without anyone looking or judging.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Swift.’ She lets me back her against the wall next to her front door, and allows me to kiss her gently, to let our bodies fold into each other. ‘Well, I’m glad I have you for a couple of hours at least. I was very glad to get your phone call,’ I whisper into her ear. She curls a leg up around mine, and the sensation makes me drop what was in my hands on the floor.

She giggles. ‘You’ve dropped your package,’ she tells me.

‘On the contrary.’

She glances down at the box on the floor, the shape of that velveteen box and I see her pause for a moment. Oh. Really? You think that. OK, then. I smile cheekily and she looks me in the eyes, not knowing what to think.

‘If I got down on my knees now, would that totally freak you out?’ I joke. She bites her lip and I’m not quite sure if she gets the joke. I bend down on one knee, kissing her stomach, one hand at her waist and I reach for the box, opening it up. ‘Zoe, would you give me the greatest honour of wearing these paperclip earrings?’

She looks down at the little silver studs and laughs, but there’s another emotion there. I think it may be relief and I am not quite sure how I feel about that. Is that funny? Or such a bad thing?

‘They are very cute. Of course, thank you.’

I get up, putting the box on a shelf nearby and then returning to her face, tucking a curl behind her ear. ‘Did you really think I’d got you something else that could fit in a box like that?’

She shakes her head. ‘No… oh god, no. It’s just the romance of my hallway, you know?’ She takes a hand and leads me through to the living room where she’s lit a fire and laid out a bottle of wine and crisps. She grips on to my fingers and squeezes them tightly, encouraging me to sit down.

‘So… this morning…’ I tell her as she fills up my wine glass.

‘You met Brian.’

‘The Brian.’ We clink glasses and take a sip of our wine.

‘I’m sorry about that. We were both watching Dylan, we were all leaving to get a McDonald’s. It kind of took me by surprise.’

‘Don’t apologise,’ I tell her. I can sense she’s a little uneasy. I’m not sure if that’s because she thought I was going to propose two minutes ago and was freaked out by the prospect or it’s because we’re on different pages altogether. There’s been something sitting between us since Winchester that I can’t quite put my finger on. She seems a bit more confused about us, like she may be holding something back. ‘Can I ask a question, though?’

‘Shoot,’ she says, leaning into me.

I place a hand on her thigh, slightly nervous about what I want to say next. ‘Not that it was the right time this morning, but do you think there might be a day when you introduce me to your kids and Brian as someone more than just Jack?’ I say, looking her straight in the eye.

She leans over the table to put a pretzel in her mouth, her stance changing from someone who was once relaxed to someone who’s desperately searching for an answer. ‘I think I’m just trying to define what this is… boyfriend sounds so…’

‘Don’t say the word,’ I tell her, putting a finger up into the air.

‘I wasn’t going to say young. It just doesn’t feel… right.’

I sit back. I hadn’t realised how jarring those words would feel. I immediately see the panic in her face.

‘Oh no, not that this doesn’t feel right. It just feels new, and boyfriend seems a little…’

‘Then what am I?’ I ask.

‘You’re not a boy. I’ve found that much out. You’re a… manfriend.’

‘That sounds like someone who comes in to keep you company and do your shopping once a week,’ I say, not really sure how to communicate that bit of sadness that sits in my bones. ‘I could be your boyfriend. We could be a thing, no?’

She responds with a laugh before realising I’m being serious. ‘Oh, I didn’t think that was funny. I guess I just… it’s been a very busy six months. I’ve gone from happily married to this in what feels like milliseconds.’

‘Well, not so happily married really,’ I reply. She feels the sharpness of that reply and takes a breath to take it in. ‘I’m sorry. That was not kind.’

‘But true. He was not happy at least. Or else he’d still be here.’

‘And I would have just been someone you bumped into at a wedding.’

I take a large sip of my wine, turning my knee away from hers so they aren’t touching. I don’t know why I’m being so short with her because that’s not what I want at all. I want to hold her desperately and take care of her.

‘I’m really confused, Zoe. I’ve let you take the lead on this at every step. I’ve not pushed it. Ed told me to give you space, go at your pace and I’ve done that…’

‘Ed? You talk about these things with Ed?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, my brother, too, my housemates because…’

‘Because?’ she says, curiously.

‘I’ve never felt like this about anyone in my life.’ As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel my voice shake because of the sheer clarity of emotion I feel, and because I rarely allow that vulnerability show to anyone.

‘I appreciate that, I do, but…’

‘You appreciate it? I’m not a gift token,’ I say, trying to lighten the mood. I put my hand back on her thigh. ‘What I’m saying is, at the moment, what we have is behind closed doors. It’s stolen kisses and it exists in this bubble.’

‘Bubble?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. And I want to burst the bubble. I want to be able to kiss you in public, I want you to have Sunday lunch with my nephews, I want to call you my… ladyfriend…’ We both laugh as I say the word. ‘That sounds like something you shave your intimate areas with.’ And she laughs more, and I love that sound, the way it lights up her eyes. ‘I just want to make you laugh like that forever.’

She doesn’t reply. She smooths her skirt down with her hands and looks down. ‘Jack. I don’t know what this is, but I don’t know if this is the right thing to do,’ she says, struggling to get the words out. I feel them like a punch to the guts.

‘I don’t think I understand. Then what is this? It’s been a couple of months; can’t we just see where it goes?’

‘Spoken like someone who has time on their side.’

‘And there you go with the age thing again,’ I reply. ‘Please don’t patronise me.’

‘Twenty-nine, Jack. You are twenty-nine. And I am nearly forty-four. I am only stating facts.’

‘Well, age is but an arbitrary label that just denotes how many years we’ve been on the planet, no?’

‘My knees say different,’ she retorts, and we both take a moment, smiling, because that was what I said to her when we first met and she remembers. That has to mean something. She runs a hand through her curls, searching for words.

‘It’s just I’m not sure you should be here, with someone like me. I feel very landlocked. Here in this house with these kids and work and you… I just feel like you have options ahead of you. I’m not sure I should be allowed to be one of those options.’

‘Allowed?’ I ask, the hurt starting to churn away inside me.

‘I just want you to think about the future. Where would this go? Would you move in here? With me and my kids? What if you want kids of your own? I don’t think I can do that for you. I don’t think we’re being practical.’

‘Practical. When is love ever practical?’

She jolts to hear the word, still refusing to look me in the eye. Please look at me so I can understand this. My gaze feels desperate, panicked, just waiting for her to find me.

‘It was the Laser Tag thing, wasn’t it?’ I desperately try to joke, filling the silence.

She half laughs, not answering. I hope the Laser Tag wasn’t the death knell to our relationship.

‘Is it the job thing?’ I ask her.

‘What job thing?’ she asks curiously.

‘The fact I’m just a sub. I’m slightly adrift. I live in a house share and don’t drive a car,’ I tell her.

‘When have I ever placed any worth on those things or called you out for it?’

‘You mentioned something in Winchester,’ I recall.

‘I didn’t mean it like that. That says a lot about me if you think I would judge you for those things.’ Her eyes well up to be thought of like that and I take her hands in mine.

‘I know you think I’m too young, that something doesn’t quite match up in real life, but I’m not stupid. I’m old enough to know how I feel about you. I wish you could admit that much to yourself. I wish you had the courage to admit that you have feelings for me.’

And with those words, I see tears roll down her face. I never wanted to make her cry, but I need to know. I am so certain that what I feel for her is love. I am so certain that this is something worth sticking around for. She uses her palm to wipe away those tears and turns to me.

‘Jack,’ she says, taking a deep breath. ‘You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met. I will forever be grateful to you for what you’ve done for me in these last few months. But I don’t know how to do this. I am so sorry.’ She puts her head down, unable to look at me anymore and I sit there, once a balloon all buoyant and full of hope, now deflated.

I look down at my hands. They feel empty without her holding them. Maybe I was stupid to think that despite all those wonderful qualities I know she has that she would just change her life completely and that I would slot perfectly into all of it.

‘Really?’ I say. I almost don’t want to believe her but also don’t want to appear dickish in the face of rejection. This doesn’t feel like her. This doesn’t explain the connection I thought we both felt for each other.

‘I just… I don’t see how this could work.’

And it’s like someone taking an axe and just splicing my heart in two. On the one hand, I refuse to believe it but on the other, maybe this was all just one-sided. Maybe she needed me to help her believe in love again, maybe she used me to get back at her husband, maybe she was not as perfect as I thought. Maybe I’ve been flung a great distance and now I’m landing in a great big heap on the floor.

‘I guess that’s the end of that then,’ I say plainly, and I look over to see a face I remember so well. It was the one I saw when she found out the news about her ex. I can’t bear to see it and I reach out to hold her, as she moves towards me, crying softly in my arms.

‘I mean, we could just shag casually until the end of our days. That could work?’ I joke. Her body shudders again and I hope that’s laughter. I kiss the top of her head. ‘Just promise me one thing?’ I tell her, holding her so she faces me. I rub the tears away from her face with the edge of my sleeve.

‘I’ve never met someone like you. Your light burns so fucking bright. Just if you don’t want to be with me, I get that.’ The words get stuck in my throat as I say that out loud. ‘Just don’t stay landlocked. I know how much you adore your kids, and you want to do what’s right by them, but put yourself first. Think about what you deserve, too. Put yourself on a pedestal for once.’

She looks at me like she doesn’t know how to reply.

‘I love you, Zoe. I really think I do. I don’t mind saying that out loud even if you don’t feel the same way. I think you need to hear it at least.’

And I kiss her, slowly, holding her head in my hands, desperately wanting to be closer to her. But no. I pull away from her, our foreheads touching before getting up. She can’t quite speak. Neither can I. I just leave that room, head for the front door and click it shut quietly, tears streaming down my face as I head into the cold winter air.