Chapter 31
We sleep in a tangle, I think. I wake sporadically, aware of the warmth of him, and I breathe in the delicious scent of his skin.
It’s so familiar to me, but thrilling too as I don’t know him like this.
Shane, who’s lived a life and driven Doris for hundreds of miles and cared for me when I had a driving freak-out.
I don’t know him at all, and yet I do, more than anyone.
I want to wrap myself around him and never let go.
Then, rudely, daylight beams through the flimsy curtains, and just as I’m de-crusting my eyes, an unfamiliar ringtone fills the room. Shane peels away from me and reaches for his phone, then climbs out of bed. Still naked, he stands by the bathroom door, taking the call.
‘Hey, you okay? Oh, right!’ He grabs his boxers, jeans and T-shirt from the floor, as if caught out, and steps into the bathroom, leaving the door partly open.
‘Yeah, I get that… You remember I’m away, don’t you?
I’ll be back soon. Oh, that sounds a bit shit…
We can talk about it then? When I’m home?
’ He clears his throat, and something falls over me like rain.
The reality of what happened last night.
How drunk we were, and whether that’s why it happened, and whether he regrets it now.
I sit up in bed, mentally slotting together the jigsaw pieces. Lloyd’s message. All those cocktails. The way I instigated this – launching myself at him like a missile. The way I climbed on top – oh God!
Still in the bathroom, Shane finishes the call. He reappears, looking a little sheepish with a bath towel wrapped around his waist. ‘Sorry about that,’ he says.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask, duvet pulled up to my chin.
‘Just Ryan. My son.’
‘Yes, I know.’ I know your kids’ names, is what I mean.
‘Stuff at home with his—well—with Paula’s partner.’
‘Oh?’
‘Nothing serious,’ he adds, then disappears into the bathroom again. This time he shuts the door. Perhaps he even locks it! Who knows? What I do know is that the mood has changed, and I feel lost and stranded and utterly foolish in this giant bed.
I hear the shower blasting, and then, what feels like moments later, Shane emerges, fully dressed. I blink at him, trying to figure out how he has managed to do this so swiftly while I’m still lying naked beneath the billowing duvet. And why this is more crushing to me than Lloyd’s missent message.
‘Shane… is something wrong?’ I ask.
‘Ryan’s just a bit upset.’
Anything you’d like to talk about? I want to ask him, but I don’t.
I watch him opening the curtains a chink, examining the complimentary biscuits, filling the kettle and switching it on.
And then he stops, as if he has run out of things to do.
Neither of us says anything. At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, my whole body tenses, as if the clamped-hairband receptionist/bartender is about to burst in on us.
When that doesn’t happen – when nothing happens – I slide out of bed, feeling horribly naked, somehow more naked than I was when I was wrapped round him last night.
I dart to the bathroom and shut the door. I shower quickly, failing to be charmed by the sherbet gel, wrap myself tightly in a bath towel and come out.
Perched on the bed now, Shane looks at me and motions for me to sit beside him.
I study his face, trying to read his expression, and sit a good metre away.
He clears his throat, and this is how it starts, the joy swilling out of me like bathwater down the drain: ‘Josie… I just wanted to say I, um… I realise you were pretty upset last night.’
I stare at him. ‘I didn’t do it just because I was upset!’
‘It’s okay! You don’t have to explain it. You’re hurt, and he hasn’t been honest with you. And you thought—’
‘Shane?’ I cut in.
‘Yeah?’ His eyes widen.
‘Can you stop telling me how I feel?’
He reddens and looks down at his hands. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘You think I slept with you to get back at Lloyd? Like some kind of revenge?’
‘I don’t know, I—’
‘Why are you saying all this?’ Tears spring to my eyes and I jump up from the stupid bed and turn away so he doesn’t see them.
Back in the bathroom, having gathered up my clothes and brought them in with me, I dress quickly and sit on the closed loo seat.
Thirty-seven years it’s been since the last time we did it.
How many times have I thought about him since then, wondering where he was?
And who he was with? Peeking at his Instagram, gathering clues – Paula’s too.
Like picking at a spot, I couldn’t resist. In a recent one she was grinning at a restaurant table, with her and Shane’s teenage children (they looked so like him, they had to be his), and an extremely buffed-looking bloke in a black polo neck.
I checked the caption: Copenhagen, you’ve been a blast!
I’ve trawled Shane’s account for pictures of him and Paula together, or him with any woman who might be a girlfriend or a wife.
Home alone, after a bottle of wine, I’ve considered dropping him a message.
Hey, just stumbled upon you here! How are you?
DON’T DO IT, YOU STALKING LOON! I’ve actually said that out loud.
STOP IT! PUT YOUR PHONE AWAY! It’s a benefit of living alone, being allowed to shout at yourself.
And this is what he thinks? That I only had sex with him because I was upset by a missent message from a man I’m not in love with – or, worse, that I wanted to pay him back?
It’s true. I liked and fancied Lloyd, but I wasn’t in love with him. The man I love is right here, on the other side of the bathroom door.
I stand up, readying myself to do this, fully aware of how mad it is.
Could it be the meds? They warn you that you shouldn’t come off them abruptly, but taper down.
I haven’t tapered. I’ve gone from the prescribed dose to zero and as part of the process I’ve had wild, thrilling sex with the only person who’s ever made me feel that way.
Clutching my washbag, I step out of the bathroom and stuff it into my rucksack. ‘What are you doing?’ Shane exclaims.
I look at him, and then I gaze down at the bed. Just like at that guest house – the last place we stayed on our tour – the sheets are rumpled. Only this time it’s different. We won’t even get there because this is where it ends.
‘I’m going home, Shane,’ I say.
‘What?’
‘I can’t do this any more. I want to go back to London.’
‘But why?’ He gets up and puts his arms around me, but I pull away. ‘What about Huddersfield?’ he asks, looking distraught.
‘We’ll always have Huddersfield!’
He stares at me. What made me do that? Make a terrible joke at a time like this?
‘I don’t think it’s funny,’ he mutters.
‘No, I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘So we’re leaving now? You really want us to go back to London today?’
‘No, I’m taking the bus.’
‘The bus? Why?’ His face pales and his beautiful eyes fill with hurt.
‘Because it’s cheaper than the train and—’
‘I mean, why are you doing this, Josie? Why d’you want to leave without me?’
‘I just think it’s better,’ I say firmly, hating myself already.
‘So… you won’t travel back to London with me?’
‘No,’ I say firmly.
‘But why not? Please tell me!’
Because I can’t bear it, is the answer. Because I loved you so much back then, and all these years I haven’t been able to shake you off me.
It’s why I fell into a thing with Dale Watson and moved to London with him.
It’s why I stayed with him, when it should only have been a fling, if that – all the better to push my love for you right out of my brain.
And right now, the thought of five hours in the van with you is more than I can bear.
‘I’d just prefer it,’ I say.
Shane rubs at his eyes and exhales loudly and finally regards me with a look of resignation. ‘Okay then, if you’re sure.’
‘I am sure. I’m sorry.’
His mouth twists and I see that his eyes are wet. ‘Fine,’ he murmurs. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter about Huddersfield, does it? It’s not as if Ravi will ever know.’