‘Why do you say that?’
‘Nobody ever says “sweet girl” about someone they were in love with. It’s like the whole “we’ll still be friends” thing. It means you didn’t feel enough.’
He was briefly amused. ‘So what would I have said if I had been in love with her?’
‘You would have looked very serious, and said, “Karen. Complete nightmare,” or shut down and gone all “I don’t want to talk about it.” ’
‘You’re probably right.’ He thought for a bit. ‘If I’m honest I didn’t really want to feel much after my sister died. Being with Ellen for the last few months, helping look after her, kind of knocked me sideways.’ He glanced at me. ‘Cancer can be a pretty brutal way to go. Jake’s dad fell apart. Some people do. So I figured they needed me there. If I’m honest, I probably only held it together myself because we couldn’t all go to pieces.’ We sat in silence for a moment. I couldn’t tell if his eyes had gone a bit red from grief or soap.
‘Anyway. So, yes. Probably not much of a boyfriend back then. So who was yours?’ he said, when he finally turned back to me.
‘Will.’
‘Of course. Nobody since?’
‘Nobody I want to talk about.’ I shuddered.
‘Everyone’s allowed their own way back, Louisa. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
His skin was hot and wet, making it hard for me to hold on to his fingers. I released them, and he began to wash his hair. I sat and watched him, letting the mood lift, enjoying the bunched muscles in his shoulders, the gleam of his wet skin. I liked the way he washed his hair: vigorously, with a kind of matter-of-factness, shaking off the excess water like a dog.
‘Oh. I had a job interview,’ I said, when he finished. ‘For a thing in New York.’
‘New York.’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘I won’t get it.’
‘Shame. I’ve always wanted an excuse to go to New York.’ He slid slowly under the water so that only his mouth remained. It broke into a slow smile. ‘But you’d get to keep the pixie outfit, yes?’
I felt the mood shift. And, for no reason at all other than that he didn’t expect it, I climbed fully clothed into the bath and kissed him as he laughed and spluttered. I was suddenly glad of his solidity in a world where it was so easy to fall.
I finally made an effort to sort out the flat. On my day off I bought an armchair, and a coffee-table, and a small framed print, which I hung near the television, and those things somehow conspired to suggest someone might actually live there. I bought new bedding and two cushions and hung up all my vintage clothes in the wardrobe so that opening it now revealed a riot of pattern and colour, instead of several pairs of cheap jeans and a too-short Lurex dress. I managed to turn my anonymous little flat into something that felt, if not quite like a home, vaguely welcoming.
By some beneficence of the shift-scheduling gods, Sam and I both had a day off. Eighteen uninterrupted hours in which he did not have to listen to a siren, and I did not have to listen to the sound of pan pipes or complaints about dry-roasted peanuts. Time spent with Sam, I noted, seemed to go twice as fast as the hours I spent alone. I had pondered the million things we could do together, then dismissed half of them as too ‘couple-y’. I wondered whether our spending so much time together was wise.
I texted Lily one more time. Lily, please get in touch. I know you’re mad at me, but just call. Your garden is looking beautiful! I need you to show me how to look after it, and what to do with the tomato plants, which have got really tall (is this right?). Maybe after we could go out dancing? x I pressed send and stared at the little screen just as the doorbell rang.
‘Hey.’ He filled my doorway, holding a toolbox in one hand and a bag of groceries in the other.
‘Oh, my God,’ I said. ‘You’re like the ultimate female fantasy.’
‘Shelves,’ he said, deadpan. ‘You need shelves.’
‘Oh, baby. Keep talking.’
‘And home-cooked food.’
‘That’s it. I just came.’
He laughed and dropped the tools in the hallway and kissed me, and when we finally untangled ourselves, he walked through to the kitchen. ‘I thought we could go to the pictures. You know one of the greatest benefits to shift-working is empty matinées, right?’
I checked my phone.
‘But nothing with blood in it. I get a bit tired of blood.’
When I looked up he was watching me.
‘What? Don’t fancy it? Or is that going to stamp all over your plans for Zombie Flesh Eaters Fifteen? … What?’
I frowned, and dropped my hand to my side. ‘I can’t get hold of Lily.’
‘I thought you said she’d gone home?’
‘She did. But she won’t take my calls. I think she’s really upset with me.’