That part—the view, and the tour he gave me of his hotel room—actually made me feel a little queasy, brought back unwelcome memories. But I didn’t let it show. I just focused on his face, the balm of his voice.
I’ve met some interesting guys in the two weeks I’ve been here—friends of Jools, acquaintances of Sal or Reuben. But being with Max again has reignited that certainty I felt for so long—a certainty I still feel, deep down—that he and I were meant to be. I’ve not been able to stop replaying our three incredible nights together—the chemistry, the fun we had, the mind-blowing sex—after which I scroll further back in my mind to how it felt when we were together at uni. To thekinetic pleasure of kissing him, the drug of feeling his hands on me. But that inevitably leads to the sharp thunderclap of our split, a shock close to hitting black ice on a road and waiting to strike a tree.
—
On Friday afternoon, the day Max is back from Leeds, Jools knocks on my bedroom door as I’m watering the potted plant on my windowsill with a rinsed-out milk carton.
I’ve spent most of today trying to spruce up this room, because I’m vaguely aware that at some point, I might have no choice but to invite Max back to it. I headed out early this morning to buy fresh white bed linen, a couple of cheap framed abstract prints, three potted plants, a thick gray rug for the floorboards, and some throw cushions. I dithered over tea lights too, before deciding they were probably second only to joss sticks in the student bedroom stakes.
“Looks great in here,” Jools says, coming over to the window. She’s wearing a pair of tiny denim shorts and a peach-colored spaghetti-strap top, sunglasses pushed back into her wild hair.
“Not a patch on yours.” Jools spends time and money curating her possessions: she wouldn’t need to panic-buy half of Wilko in an attempt to impress a new boyfriend.
“Is this for Max’s benefit?”
I nod. “His flat is the kind of place that should have its own concierge.”
“He wasn’t exactly born with a silver spoon in his mouth, Luce.”
“I know,” I say guiltily, because I do. “I know that.”
She gives my elbow a consolatory squeeze. “Anyway, just came to say bye. Wish me luck.”
Jools is off to Shoreley for a couple of days, to celebrate her dad’s sixtieth. Her trips back there are rarely without drama—past visits have involved fistfights, bombshell revelations about affairs andillegitimate kids, and a permanent family-wide barring from one of Shoreley’s major hospitality chains.
“As long as no one ends up in A&E, I’ll be back on Sunday night,” she says, “so I’ll see you before you go.”
For a moment I can’t think what she means, before remembering it’s my first day at Supernova on Monday—otherwise known as the opportunity of a lifetime.Get your priorities straight, Lucy, for God’s sake.
Jools laughs, climbing onto my bed and pulling her legs into a yoga pose. “Do you actually need me to call you on Monday morning toremindyou?”
“Ha, no. I’m coming back here on Sunday night.” A pause, then a thought occurs to me. “Jools. Have I been a crappy friend?”
“What?”
I sit down next to her. “I mean, I move in here with you and then... I don’t know... I promptly disappear for days on end with Max.”
Jools places a hand on either side of my face, kisses my forehead. “I work shifts. We were always going to be ships in the night, a bit. I’mhappyfor you, Luce. You deserve some good karma right now.”
In the aftermath of my breakup with Max, Jools—unlike Tash, and many of my other friends—never disparaged or criticized him, or declared she hadn’t liked him all along. She helped me through my heartbreak without once running him down, something I realized afterward must have taken the self-restraint of an alcoholic at an open bar. I’m not sure I could have done the same, in her position.
We sit quietly together for a couple of moments, our skin scored with shards of afternoon sunlight. Then Jools smiles and says, “I actually always thought you’d get back together at some point. You were made for each other. Everyone could see it.”
“He might hurt me again.” It’s the first time I’ve voiced it out loud: that Max could just up and leave one day, exactly as he did before. Maybe he’s still scared of commitment. For a wild, crazy moment, Iwonder if I could get in touch with his ex, ask if any of this sounds familiar.
Jools nods. “Maybe. So, take it slow.”
“It’s a bit late for that.”
A smile. “I meant emotionally.”
“So did I.”
—
A few hours later, I meet Max at his flat, this time with a packed bag (he messaged earlier:Stay the weekend?). We’re heading to the house party of a friend of his tonight, in Balham.
He’s waiting just inside the front door when I arrive. Straightaway I drop my bag and we stumble toward the bedroom, our kisses wild and frantic as our clothes come off, no other thought than to be together.
