‘In what way?’ She cocks her head to one side, causing her long chestnut hair to swing in its high ponytail.
‘I know Lachie has hung out with Fliss in the past when I’ve been at work, but she was so comfortable at our place.’ I shake my head despairingly. ‘You should’ve seen her making herself at home, offering her pals tea and biscuits.’
‘What?!’ Lucy pulls a face, outraged.
‘She’s obviously been there loads. Lachie clearly chose not to tell me how much because he thinks I’ve got it in for her. And he’s right.’
‘Does he think she fancies him?’ Lucy asks, tucking her bare legs up underneath herself on the sofa and nursing her mug between her hands.
‘He’s adamant she doesn’t, but he’s wrong. I don’t know if he’s blind to it or if he’s just kidding himself, but I’ve seen the way she looks at him. She absolutely adores him.’
‘He is pretty adorable,’ Lucy says, her eyebrows pulling together.
I smile at her, but then my face crumples. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me. Lachie and I have been together for so long and he’s always been tactile with other women. I’m usually cool with it – in fact, I usually like it. I love how he was with Bridget, for example, but I’ve always been so sure about his feelings for me. But seeing Fliss jokily push him over the back of the sofa and then climb on top of him was—’
‘She did what?!’ Lucy blanches.
‘She sort of fell on him and they both cracked up laughing and he had his arms around her. They were just being silly and were both really drunk, but… Argh! I hated it!’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Lucy looks aghast.
‘Like I say, I like that Lachie is tactile. It was one of the reasons I fell for him. But I don’t like seeing him be that way with Fliss. There’s something about her…’
‘You have to tell him,’ Lucy states firmly.
‘I have!’ I cry. ‘He thinks I’m nagging him!’
‘You’re not,’ she states firmly. ‘You have to talk to him about this! If she makes you uncomfortable, then he should stop seeing her.’
‘They work together,’ I say hopelessly. ‘She gets him most of his gigs.’
‘That’s tricky,’ Lucy replies with a grimace. ‘But at the very least he should try to wean her out of his life socially.’
‘I couldn’t make him do that.’ I shake my head.
‘Why not? Nathan doesn’t have any female friends, not any more. It’s just… not necessary.’
‘But Lachie has always had female friends.’
‘People change and grow and adapt – they have to. We can’t always stay the same.’
‘That’s just it, though. Lachie doesn’t want to change. He likes his life exactly as it is. In fact, he wants me to change. He thinks I’ve become boring. But I don’t want to stay out late and get hammered all the time. I want a more chilled life. I want a family. And he doesn’t. Not any time soon. We’re on completely different wavelengths and I can’t help but think it’s because of the age gap between us.’
Lucy appears thoughtful.
‘Did you ever have this problem with Nathan?’ I ask. He’s two years younger than she is – they got together when he was twenty-four.
‘Not really. He wanted to get engaged super-fast.’
‘You’re a catch,’ I say with a grin.
Lucy laughs. ‘And, anyway, we waited years to have kids. We wanted to be on our own for a while before bringing a family into the mix.’
I smile at her again, my eyes drifting to her bump. ‘I’m so happy for you. You’re right about Lachie. I need to speak to him about it. But let’s talk about something else, now. How’s your pregnancy been so far? And I want to know all about your trip!’
The rest of the afternoon passes by pleasantly.
I wait up for Lachie that night, hoping he’s too hungover from his birthday bash to go out drinking again. He appears at eleven.
‘You’re awake!’ he says with pleasant surprise when I get up from the sofa.
He puts his guitar case down as I step forward for a hug.
‘You okay?’ he asks softly.
‘I missed you,’ I murmur.
I miss you.
‘Aw,’ he replies with affection.
‘I thought you might go out drinking again.’
‘Nah, I’m shattered.’
‘Bed?’ I step back and take his hands in mine.
His blue eyes smile down at me, and then he lets go of my hands and hooks his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans, tugging me forward so we’re hip to hip. Bending down, he plants his lips on mine.
It is the sweetest kiss we’ve had in ages, but all too soon it grows into something more. His fingers find the hem of my T-shirt and our mouths are forced apart as the fabric comes up and over my head.
‘Bed?’ I repeat, breathlessly.
He shakes his head. ‘Here.’
It’s been so long since we’ve had sex outside the bedroom – the idea feels strangely illicit. We both get very busy unbuttoning each other’s jeans and stripping down to our underwear. He pulls me against him again and now only the flimsy fabric of our underwear separates me from what is a pretty impressive show of how turned on he is.
Our lips lock together with increasing urgency as he lifts me onto the table and unclasps my bra. I wrap my legs around him, gasping at the intense sensation. A moment later, he steps away to wriggle out of his boxers, reaches between us to pull my lacy knickers to one side, and surges forward.
I grip his muscled back and hold on for dear life.
It is the best sex we’ve had in I can’t remember how long.
‘Lachie?’ I say the next morning as he sleepily traces circles on my arm in bed.
‘Mmm?’
‘I need to talk to you about Fliss.’
He sighs. Loudly. ‘You’ve got nothing to worry about.’
‘I can’t stand her,’ I state. ‘I don’t like the way you are with her. I hate the way she is with you. I don’t want her hanging around the flat when I’m not here.’ I say these three sentences without pausing, but, by the time I’ve finished, he’s already taken his arm out from behind my shoulders and is sliding out of bed.
‘You’re being unreasonable,’ he says, pulling on Friday night’s jeans. Yesterday’s are still out in the living room.
‘I’m not. I’m trusting my instincts and I don’t trust her.’
‘What about me?’ he asks emphatically. ‘Do you trust me?’ He irately tugs open a drawer and swipes a fresh T-shirt, pulling it over his head.
I don’t answer.
‘What. You don’t?’ he demands to know.
‘No, I do,’ I say reasonably. ‘But I don’t see why you have to be friends with someone who makes me so uncomfortable. I wouldn’t do that to you.’
He rolls his eyes, unhappy about being backed into a corner.
It’s true, though. I still feel unsettled by that whole episode with Alex. It might’ve helped me to see him again while he was here, but I didn’t out of respect for Lachie.
‘I saw the way you sang that Catfish and the Bottlemen song to her,’ I state.
‘What?’ He recoils.
‘You looked at her when you sang that bit in “Cocoon” about her outdrinking you and her friends all hating it.’
I’m startled to see that he looks guilty. ‘What was that about?’
‘It’s nothing,’ he says.