Why? Why did he have to feel the same? Wasn’t it perfectly okay to feel differently when there was a different woman involved? Surely a guy was allowed to find love more than once in his life, and it would be a unique kind of love, depending on the other person.
‘Tell me honestly that you feel the same way about Lila as you did about Mel.’
Of course he wouldn’t feel the same. Absolutely not.
Because, he knew he didn’t.
Mel had… He swallowed back an obstruction that seemed to have formed in his throat. For ten years, Mel had been the first thing he’d thought of when he got up in the morning, yet he’d kissed her only once. In a nightclub. They’d gone there, Mel, Josie and Cammy, to cheer her up after her marriage fell apart. They’d ate too much, drank too much, and then somehow, inadvertently, gatecrashed an Elvis tribute night in one of the function suites. Josie had been swept off her pop socks by some bloke called Ernie, in blue suede shoes… Christ, even the thought of it made his sides hurt. It was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Meanwhile, he’d been dancing with Mel, her wild mane of red hair all messed up and falling down over her shoulders, both of them far too drunk to care that four Elvises and a Priscilla were questioning their right to be there, when the music had switched from an up-tempo number to ‘One Night With You’.
They were dancing, laughing, and then suddenly he was kissing her, slowly, tenderly caressing her lips. She reciprocated, her tongue running softly, teasingly across his.
Their hips seemed to press even more tightly together, their arms came up higher and hands found their way on to faces that they’d never touched in that way before.
Suddenly, as if Mel’s brain caught up with what was happening, she broke it off, panicked, and then she was gone.
That had been it. Their moment. All those years of quietly loving her and that was all it ever came to. A few weeks later, Mel had discovered that he’d been having an affair with Suze, her very married sister-in-law, and any chance they’d ever had blew off in the wind. Gone. Dream over. He couldn’t bear to see her disappointment in him every day, so he’d left, moved to LA – and the next thing he’d heard, Josie’s son, Michael, had come home after spending years working in Italy, he’d married Mel and they’d gone off back to live in Milan. Or Venice. Or somewhere else fricking romantic that would be perfect for living a life of bliss with the woman he’d adored.
Did he feel the same way about Lila? No. Theirs was a different kind of love. A ‘can’t keep your hands off each other’ kind of love. There was a connection, a meeting of two similar souls. He couldn’t explain it. All he knew was that when he came home to Scotland and decided he wanted to be with someone, there she was. Beautiful. Positive. Upbeat. Loving life. With a vulnerable side that he just saw a tiny hint of every now and then.
By some miracle, she’d fallen in love with him too.
And no, Mel had never done that.
He’d only had a few sips of the beer, and most of that he’d sprayed over his jeans, but it was starting to make his guts ache. Or maybe it was the step into the past that was turning his stomach. Either way, he was beginning to feel decidedly nauseous.
He got up, went into the office, to where Digby had left the till tray with today’s takings. He quickly cashed it up and stored it in the safe, then grabbed his suit and headed out, setting the alarm, before locking the door and pulling down the shutters. Just as the beeps of the alarm stopped, a taxi came down the street. First lucky thing that had happened to him all day. He flagged it down and gave the driver the address for home, then gave himself a pep talk the whole way there.
Her late appointment was bound to be done by now and she should be in when he got back so he had to act natural. Do not act weird. Do not seem suspicious. Be cool. She doesn’t know. You can pull this off. Yes you can.
Outside the door to the flat, he paused, took a moment, steeled himself to be casual and nonchalant, then opened the door.
‘Hey babe,’ he shouted out, the same way he did every other night when he got home.
Nothing.
‘Lila?’
Still nothing. Maybe she was in the shower. He checked the en suite. Nothing.
Every other room. More nothing.
She wasn’t home. He checked his watch. Almost 7.30 p.m. Lila was a woman who took at least an hour to get ready to go out. When she’d left the shop she’d said that she had one more appointment, but she should definitely be back by now.
He pulled his phone out and called her, relief soaring when she answered.
‘Babe, is everything okay?’ he asked.
‘Of course it is, darling.’ She sounded fine. Normal. Maybe a bit tired.
‘I thought you’d be back home to change before we go out to dinner. I just got here and there’s no sign of you.’
‘I’m sorry, honey, I just got held up with this meeting. Anyway, I picked up my pink dress from the dry-cleaners this afternoon – you know, the Cavalli one – and it’s in the back of the car. I’ll just change and meet you there.’
Pros and cons.
Cons first. He’d been hoping to start the night with a glass of champagne at home, just to have a moment together before they went to the restaurant. If she was going straight there she was bound to be a bit harassed.
Also, she would absolutely, definitely, positively be late. It was only his constant prompting that got them anywhere even remotely close to being on time. Her parents were exactly the same so it was obviously a family trait.
