Should she stay and say hi, have a chat? Would that feel awkward because it was his flat but currently her flat? And because they’d initially argued but were now getting on well? In a distrustful way, because there was a good chance that he was only being polite because he wanted something from her. Would it be better if she went out? And if she did go out should she leave him a note? Would it look weird if shedidgo out? And was she in a state of gibbering internal indecision about a really small issue because it actually seemed like quite a big issue, and why even was that?
Maybe it would be a good idea to get out of her shorts and uber-baggy T-shirt and into a dress. Just in case she did see him. James had looked great – as in outrageously sexy, despite being cross and unfriendly – when she’d met him. And he looked good in each one of the steady stream of photos that Dina supplied in which he just happened to feature.
Dress on, she arranged herself nonchalantly on a bar stool.
Nope. She was going out. He’d been very frosty when she’d stayed to meet him when he’d arrived on the island, and there was every chance that he’d be unimpressed if she were here when he came today. He’d probably only been friendly to her recently because he wanted to develop her land.
She’d better get her skates on, otherwise she’d bump into him on her way out.
Thirteen
James
Notting Hill Gate Tube station. The traffic. The heat rising off the pavement. The smell of petrol fumes. The sound of engines, car horns, sirens. People jostling, bumping into you, but minding their own business. And the relative peace of the side roads. Fantastic. God, James had missed London.
Good to know that the concrete jungle existence really was for him.
Great to have experimented with living somewhere else, but he’d be pleased when he came home for good.
Although, to be fair, the island had grown on him somewhat. You had to love the beach and ocean. He’d learned some new skills. Like totally pointless alpaca husbandry. And much less pointless cooking. He was fairly sure he’d continue with that at least a couple of evenings a week when he got home.
He rounded the corner into his road.
Would Cassie be in the flat? Did he want her to be? There was something odd about being in your own city, your own street, and about to go into your own home, when it was not in fact currently yourhome. It would feel even odder if she were there, underlining the fact that it was currentlyherhome. He wouldn’t mind meeting her, though. Since he’d started talking to her on the phone, he’d begun to enjoy their conversations. She’d grown on him. The way she lived – the way she seemed to be, the mad colour, the animals, the friendliness – had really annoyed him initially, but now he wasn’t sure why.
A movement along the road caught his eye. A woman, hurrying away in the opposite direction. She had a lot of dark-brown curly hair and beautiful light-brown skin and was wearing an orange sleeveless dress. Was that… Cassie? When they’d met outside her house, her face had been largely obscured by her hood, so he didn’t know exactly what she looked like. He’d seen her ID photos, but would you ever recognise someone from those?
It wouldn’t be surprising if it was her. A woman with a house and garden furniture like hers would definitely wear orange.
He was genuinely going to be slightly disappointed if he didn’t get to meet her properly today. Odd.
Right. Time to go inside.
He rang the doorbell first, just in case the woman in the orange dress hadn’t been Cassie and she was in the flat. He should have just asked her earlier in the week if she thought she’d be home.
Once he was up there, he knocked and waited, but there was no sound, so he put his key in the lock and opened the door.
If he was being fanciful, he’d have to liken being inside the flat to walking through a child’s nightmare. Everything was exactly as he knew it, except it wasn’t; it was like a distorted view of his own home. It was immaculate, but with little Cassie touches around the place. He could see that she used the kitchen regularly: not a surprise. It contained coloured tea towels and bright flowers and a large bowl of fruit, and smelled of bread baking. There were books in the lounge area, of course.
He should stop looking around. It felt intrusive. This was Cassie’s home for now. He should get his papers and go.
His study had had the full Cassie treatment. She’d added a bright-pink geometric velvet cushion to the chair. She had photos dotted around, including one of the bloody alpacas. There were a couple of jam jars containing flowers. Objectively speaking, it looked nice; but he didn’t like being here. It was unsettling. Time to leave.
On his way out, he saw an elderly man wearing a pale blue V-necked sweater going into the flat next door. He must be his neighbour. How come it felt like he’d never seen him before? He must have done. He must just have been paying zero attention.
‘Anthony?’ James asked on impulse. During one of their phone conversations, Cassie had told him about the neighbours. He should probably talk to them sometimes.
‘Yes? You must be a friend of Cassie’s?’ Yeah, objectively, London life could feel a little ridiculous. James had lived here for three years and Cassie had said Anthony had been here for decades. And yet, complete strangers.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Well, no. I own the flat. We swapped.’
‘Oh.’ Anthony lowered the shopping bags he’d been carrying to the floor and walked down the corridor towards James. He held his hand out. James transferred his document wallet to his left hand and shook Anthony’s hand. ‘Hello, James. Cassie’s mentioned you. Good to meet you.’
‘Good to meet you too,’ James said, not sure where he wanted to go with this. It was one thing saying hi to a neighbour; his London existence didn’t allow time for full-on friendship.
Anthony smiled at him. ‘Cassie’s wonderful,’ he said. And then he turned round and went back to his flat. Okay. Fine. That was an acceptable level of interaction.
James had some time to kill now. He had several godchildren – nothing like a well-paid job to make you an attractive godparent prospect – and was going to Bedfordshire this afternoon for the fifth birthday party of one of his god-daughters, but it wasn’t starting until three, and it was still only eleven. Probably best to have a walk in the park and then grab a coffee and brunch at Luigi’s.
