‘Cute?’
‘Very. Gorgeous, actually.’
‘Well, that helps. And you like him?’
‘Yeah. He’s surprisingly sweet.’
‘Do youlikelike him?’
‘Oh no!’ Claire frowned. ‘It’s not like that. I mean I love, you know… being with him.’
‘Shagging him?’
‘Yeah.’ Claire smiled. ‘To put it bluntly. And we’re having all this…sex,’ she said, her mouth automatically widening in a grin at the thought of all that sex. ‘So I can’t help feeling close to him in a way. But Luca and I – we’re chalk and cheese.’
‘What does he do?’
‘He’s an artist – a painter. We have nothing in common, really. I mean, I don’t know if he reads, and I know nothing about art.’
‘I bet you know what you like.’
Claire laughed. ‘Yeah. And his paintings are amazing.’
‘Maybe you have more in common than you think.’
‘Well, let’s see.’ Claire tilted her head to the side. ‘We both eat food – and breathe air.’
‘You’re both creative.’
‘I suppose.’ Claire had never thought of it like that. But to her, Luca’s single-minded commitment to his art only made them seem more dissimilar. She admired his dedication, his willingness to make sacrifices to devote himself tohis painting, but she didn’t really understand it. She didn’t think she could ever be like that. She liked her creature comforts too much.
‘Anyway, I don’t think it’s all that important to have stuff in common. I have bugger-all in common with Hazel, really. Look at the child thing, for instance. She doesn’t want any. I already have one phantom child and another on the way.’
‘Well, you’re both women. That’s quite big.’
‘There is that.’
‘I do like Luca, but I just don’t think of him that way. He’s far too wild for me. And it’s an artificial situation. We’d never have got together organically.’
In the normal course of events, her and Luca’s paths would never have crossed again after that one night in Ivan’s bar. They wouldn’t have gravitated towards each other. Even if she’d slept with him when she’d brought him back to her house, it would have been a one-off. If it hadn’t been for her bizarre proposition, they would never have got to know each other properly. She would have made assumptions about him that weren’t true. Maybe he’d have made assumptions of his own about her. The thought that they would have remained strangers to each other seemed odd now, and made her feel sad. She liked Luca, and she was glad she had got to know him. But they still weren’t a natural fit. They didn’t belong together – not like her and Mark.
‘Anyway, like I told you, Luca isn’t interested in relationships. Total man-whore, remember? He likes to spread the love.’
When they had almost finished their drinks, Catherine asked Claire if she had time for another.
‘Better not,’ Claire said, glancing at her watch. ‘I wantto pop in to see Mum, and then I’m going over to Luca’s for the night.’
‘Another lesson?’
‘Yep.’
‘Probably just as well.’ Catherine sighed. ‘I need to get this piece on buggies finished – the deadline’s the day after tomorrow.’ She drained her drink, and they stood to go. ‘A fantasist’s work is never done.’
Claire’s days followed the same routine for the rest of the week. She would visit her mother on the way home from work, then go straight to Luca’s, where they would have dinner together and chat about their day, then spend the rest of the night having sex. She usually spoke to Mark or emailed him at some stage in the day, and it was like having a boyfriend, only he was split in two: there was Mark, whom she talked to, flirted with and was slowly falling for, and Luca, who took care of her physical needs. It was a strange set-up, and it would be nice when she could be with Mark and have the whole package in one person. But in the meantime she was enjoying herself, happier and more satisfied with her life than she’d been in a long time. She loved having sex with Luca, and she loved the emotional connection she had with Mark and their long chatty phone calls when they would talk about everything and nothing, from what they had for lunch to political and religious beliefs. Most often, the talk turned to books.
‘Favourite childhood book?’ he asked her one night.
‘Heidi! No… maybeThe Secret Garden. OrAnne of Green Gables…Ballet Shoes… Oh God, this is hard. There are too many good ones.’
