“Is this about the paint work at the lido?” I ask. “You don’t have to do it.”
“No, that’s fine. The boys are joining me on Wednesday to do the foyer. I also need you to decide on the final color for this room,” he says, giving me a stern look. “I know you’ve narrowed it to three different blues, but just take the plunge, Mara.”
“Yes, yes, I will,” I say.
“But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”
He puts down the plate he’s cleaning, and I suddenly feel the air come out of me. I glance at the shirt again, and then the clean jeans, and then I look at the back of his head and notice the crisp edges of a fresh haircut.
“I’ve got a date tonight...”
No, don’t say it. Don’t say it.
“A date with Kate,” he says, pulling a face when he hears the ridiculous rhyme.
“Oh,” I say, as nonchalantly as I can. “Okay.”
It hits me like a sucker punch to the stomach. My eyes hit the floor and then I notice his shoes. His nice, going-out shoes. No. No. No.
“Yes. She contacted me, not long before we went up north. I met her for a coffee after we got back,” he says pointedly. “And she wants to try again. And, you know, I miss her.” He shrugs.
“I see,” I say.
“Yes. So, I thought I’d tell you.” He turns back to the dishes now and then stops and puts the dish towel down. I can hear him sigh. He pulls a beer out of the fridge and turns to me, twisting the top off as he does.
I can’t bear it. I can’t bear the thought of it. I shake my head involuntarily.
“Mara?” he says gently, and I lift my eyes up to his, and when they connect I have to look away immediately. My leg starts to jig up and down. “Is this... is it weird for you?”
“It’s great. I’m happy for you guys,” I say quickly, and I glance up at him again and see a flicker of resignation on his face.
“Okay,” he says, putting down his beer and heading to the door.He pauses before he reaches the door and looks back to me. “I’m sorry.”
“Why?” I snap. He and I lock eyes for a moment, and then I see the intensity leave his and a resignation take hold.
“I’m just sorry,” he says again.
“Stop saying that,” I say. I don’t care. I do not care. I’m not in love with him, after all. I’m waiting for Joe. I rejected Ash. Surely if he’d been right for me I would have known it right there on the wall. I made a clear decision, didn’t I? Flashes of the kiss start to disorientate me, the real, true feeling of his lips on mine as I jostle with the images of Joe. They are just images, with hope projected onto them. My blood runs cold. It isn’t real, this thing with Joe. The kiss with Ash was warm and wet and very real. And Ash is right here.
“Just go, Ash. She’s waiting for you,” I say, hands to my face, stepping back from him.
I have never moved so fast into the safety of my room as after the door shut behind him.
I’m thrown. I sit back on the bed. Slump, rather. I want to shake him and ask if he’s really sure about this.Reallysure, I mean.
I look down at my phone and hastily pull up Joe’s Instagram. I zoom in all my energy to his latest photo. The one of him in Vienna, by the Natural History Museum. Then I stand up, look at myself in the mirror again, and open a bottle of prosecco that has been sitting on the hallway shelf since the floating cinema night. I tear out the cork and pour myself a glass.
And then I start to pace. I look at the paint swabs for a few minutes, staring blankly at them until all the blues look the same. Then I head back to my phone to look at Joe again.
Then I wander to Ash’s room and push open the door.
His laptop is closed and his pad ripped clean of his notes. His books are in a carboard box next to his desk. I spin around. His bed is made. He has new bedsheets.
His whole room is tidy, neat. The walls are freshly painted cream, the new window frames fitted, and there’s a single dangling cord where the new light fixture should be. I recall the brochure he slid under my bedroom door with the note that he’dfound these nice pine lampshades at a fire damage job and did I want them for the bedrooms?
I hadn’t replied.
His room is transformed. It feels lighter. Clearer. And like he might be thinking of moving out.
