I shut my eyes.Stop thinking about her. Just... stop.
Still, I find myself lingering. She might have heard the outside door clunk closed as I came in. Perhaps she’ll pop her head out, suggest a nightcap, ask to borrow some sugar. She’ll make me laugh, maybe, like she does every day in the coffee shop. The queen of dry anecdotes, self-deprecating jokes.
But then I take a breath. Make an effort to come to my senses.This will pass, I tell myself. Like a squall, or a tidal surge.It feels bigger than it is. Give it time, it will pass.
•••
The next night Callie and Murphy walk through the front door as I’m just getting in. I’ve been at Kieran’s: a catch-up over curry with him, his wife, Zoë, and their two kids.
“Anything interesting?” Callie lets Murphy off the lead so he can pelt toward me. His tail swipes the air as though it’s been weeks since he’s seen me, not hours.
I’m sifting through mail. “Sorry. Unless you fancy my gas bill. Or taking out a personal loan in Steve’s name.”
Callie’s snug in a green parka with furry hood, a gray knitted scarf looped around her neck. “The best I can usually hope for is a bank statement. Or a circular from that frozen-food hellhole down the road.”
I smile. “How’s the flat?”
“Love it. It’s loads better than my last place. More space, less damp.” She sighs happily, then raises an eyebrow. “Jury’s still out on the downstairs neighbor, though.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I’d give him a wide berth, if I were you. Looks dodgy.”
She laughs too, pitching her door keys from palm to palm.
“Are you just getting in from work?” I say. “It’s late.”
“Oh, no, I... went somewhere afterward.”
It’s like the engine’s cut out in my brain. “Sorry. I was aiming for neighborly concern there, not trying to sound like your dad.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m essentially my mum in disguise. I told a customer he’d catch his death today.”
“Ha. What did he say?”
“Nothing at first. Then he frowned and asked what I meant. He was early twenties, tops. Probably still a student.”
I’m relieved she doesn’t seem to be holding my lack of social skills against me. Still, give it time. “Right.” I lift the wad of envelopes. “Better get on with this personal loan. These forms won’t falsify themselves.”
She laughs politely, smooths a wayward wave of hair back behind her ears.
I hesitate, then tilt forward slightly (because there’s nothing quite like someone leaning in to explain their own joke). “Just kidding. I’d be the world’s worst fraudster. Can barely buy booze without breaking into a sweat.”
Obviously, I can’t get into my flat quickly enough after that.
Why—why—was I talking to her about booze and sweat and financial crime?
I haven’t felt clumsy like this in a while. Fat-tongued and foolish, struggling to make sense. Like an amateur actor bungling lines. No wonder she laughed so politely, hesitated before we parted like she was waiting for some sort of excruciating closing gag.
How have I even got to this point? What happened to turning away from girls I get a feeling about, from smiles that tug at my gut, looks that land in my spine?
•••
I’d fallen for Kate, hard. After coupling up at the end of our second term at uni, we’d been dating for nearly a year. Had she not been on my course, I doubt our paths would have crossed. But we saw each other most days, and she was funny, gentle, warm.
Kate always put my flaws down to the stress of studying, I think. Patchy sleep and restlessness, bouts of distraction, the occasional disappearing act? Well, that was all fairly consistent with being a student.
But then I dreamed about her sleeping with someone else six years into our supposed future. She was in a flat I’d never seen before, naked on a mattress I assumed to be half mine. The guy she was with looked older than either of us (a colleague-to-be?). Anyway, he seemed pretty confident, life-choice-wise.
It was the photo of us both on the nightstand that told me she was cheating. I debated hanging in there, wondered if I could stop it. Butspending the next six years on the edge of my seat? That wasn’t how relationships were supposed to be. Anyway, the damage was already done. Some things in life you just can’t unsee.
