She nods and walks off, quickly swallowed by the day, and I duck into a quiet café. I hope I made a difference. I hope I’ve altered the course of events for Jade, and that in time she might pay it forward and do the same for someone else, who in turn might form another link in the chain.
There wasn’t a have-a-go superhero around when I needed one. I did it alone, and I see now that all of the effort I’ve put in from that day to this one will be for nothing if I’m unable to take my own advice. Am I really prepared to allow Adam to sit thousands of miles away and pull the strings of my life for his own perverse kicks? I know how his mind works. He’ll have been keeping a regular eye out for me online, sure that I was flailing miserably somewhere in London. He must have been boiling in a vat of his own vitriolic piss when he found me performing onstage in New York. Bobby was right, I should never have responded to his message, but the added complication of Bella backed me into a corner, cowed. I’m not cowed anymore. I pull my phone out and open messages.
Hey Bells! Great to see the video has so many views—in your face, Ellen Connelly! By the way, someone contacted me through you—a guy, he’s trying to organize a school reunion, bleurgh! I’m going to say no—so glad I’m in a different country as a good excuse. I’m sorry he messaged you, he was always a bit random! If he messages you again, could you do me a big favor and just ignore it? He probably won’t, but just in case—block and delete! See you soon xx
There. Another link in the chain soldered into place. Eat glass, Adam Bronson.
23.
ROBIN HAS WHISKED BOBBY AWAY on an overnight surprise. It’s the first time I’ve been properly alone in the building and it feels kind of weird. Even the cat’s deserted me. I’ve splashed out on a decent steak and a bottle of red, an impulse buy on the way back from my stint as a superhero earlier. I’m just about to warm the griddle pan when someone presses the buzzer down on the street. I go perfectly still. Is he here? Has he jumped straight on a plane and tracked me down? I tiptoe to the rain-spattered window and peer around the edge of the frame, hoping he won’t look up as I look down. He does, and I almost slump against the glass in relief. Gio. I pull up the sash.
“Special delivery,” he shouts, his face turned up into the rain. He’s holding a box in his arms. “Can I come up?”
I slam the window shut and buzz him in.
“You must have some serious muscles to have carried this thing to the gelateria,” he says, rainwater spiking his dark lashes as he stands in my doorway. “It weighs a ton.”
My gelato maker has come home at last.
“I’m stronger than I look,” I say, a glass of wine down and full of bravado.
“Can I come in?”
“Oh. Yes, yes.” I step aside to let him put the box on the kitchen work surface.
He looks at me, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders lifted high around his ears. “Look, you can tell me I’m wrong here if you want, Iris, but I don’t think you meant the things you said this morning.”
I bite my lip because all I want to do is tell him how right he is, and he fills my silence with words.
“Monday nights and all my mornings will be too lonely without you.” He reaches into the box and pulls out a paper bag. “I got you something.”
I’m so entirely charmed by this man. I take the bag and look inside.
“You went back to the Christmas store,” I say softly, dangling the glittered silver whisk ornament from my fingers.
“And you know how much I hated it in there,” he says.
“I remember.”
“Don’t end this,” he says, his eyes urgent on mine. “If you don’t want to be more, I understand, but I don’t want to lose what we have.”
I step onto the island of us and hold my hand out to him, pulling him close. “You’re wet,” I say, even though I couldn’t care less.
“Rain,” he murmurs. “It’s filthy out there.”
“You better stay here tonight,” I whisper against his mouth.
“I really should get out of these clothes,” he says, holding my face.
“I’ll run you a bath,” I say, and he sighs into my mouth as he kisses me.
“It’s been a real long time since anyone did that for me.”
He talks me into getting into the bath with him, which is never going to go well as it’s a small, old-fashioned tub with large, bulbous taps, absolutely not made for two people.
“This isn’t as romantic as it was in my head,” he says, exasperated when he shifts to give me space and traps my knee against the side, making me yelp.
“This is every bit as romantic as it was in my head,” I say, when he sweeps me up and carries me to my bedroom a few minutes later.
“My back disagrees,” he says, laughing as he tumbles us both onto the bed in a heap.
* * *
—
WE SHARE THE SINGLE steak on one plate a while later, sitting pressed together at the chipped kitchen table. My wineglass from earlier becomes our wineglass, and we don’t care at all because this is the best steak anyone ever tasted and the wine is nectar in our mouths.
“I’m imagining that we’re on a desert island,” I say. “We’ve checked into the only place on the island, and it only has one room.”
“Ocean view?”
I nod and slice a sliver of steak. “One of those wraparound porches with sunchairs, uninterrupted turquoise as far as the eye can see.”
“Sunshine?”
“Sunglasses every damn day.”
“What’s it called, this place?”
“The Monday Night Motel,” I say.
“I mean, I meant the island, but I kind of like that now you’ve said it.”
“Service is a bit shit, though,” I say, tapping our empty wineglass.
He looks over my shoulder. “I’ll try to catch someone’s eye.”
“Forget it, I’ll do it myself,” I say, topping us up.
“We should complain to management,” he says, taking a sip of wine.
“Better not,” I say. “We might come again next Monday.”
“Let’s take our drink through to the bar,” he says, when we’re done eating.
I follow him to the sofa, lying with my head in his lap when he sprawls in the corner seat, his arm flung out across the cushions.
“This is turning out to be a pretty fine vacation,” he says, resting his head back and closing his eyes.
“An easy five stars on Tripadvisor,” I say, my legs propped on the back of the sofa.
“Oh no, let’s not tell anyone else about this place,” he says, looking down at me.
“You’re so right,” I say. “We don’t want word getting out.”
He strokes his index finger down the bridge of my nose. “You look peaceful,” he says.
I find I can’t easily answer. It’s been a tumultuous day, and I didn’t expect it to end with Gio. I move up the sofa into his lap and lay my head on his chest, relieved he didn’t take me at my word this morning. He pulls the blanket from the back of the sofa and settles it over us, then closes his arms around me so I’m warm and held and safe. I listen to his breathing as he strokes my hair, and it’s the dictionary definition of bliss. I haven’t felt this depth of peace for as long as I can remember. Maybe ever.
24.