I knew this was my moment to offer him the same in return. But something held me back. A tiny voice saying,Tap the brakes, Rachel. Just to check they’re still working.Because, over the past couple of weeks, it’s been beginning to feel that this is no longer a fling, or a friends-with-benefits situation – but a relationship.
Commitment doesn’t scare me. I want certain things from my future. It’s just that I don’t feel quite ready to say that Lawrence is the guy I will be doing them with.
But I cannot say he is not, either. It’s all very confusing.
After mulling it over for a few days, I had a key cut to my flat too, without telling anyone – not even Ingrid or Polly. I left it in an envelope with a kiss on the front, propped up on Lawrence’s desk at the office.
It would hardly be fair to start walking Josh through all these mental gymnastics, though. So instead, I say, ‘He’s just someone from work. We’re having fun. We’re not serious, Josh.’
And this – mortifyingly – is the point at which my bedroom door opens.
Lawrence must have let himself in with his key. He’s fresh from the office, still in his suit and shoes. But he looks the exact opposite of happy to see me.
‘Just someone from work,’ he repeats, striding away from me into the living room.
Oh, this is bad. Iknowhow bad that sounded. ‘Lawrence, I—’
‘Well, fuck this.’ He grabs his wallet and keys.
I stand and watch him, heart thumping miserably. ‘Thatiswhat we said, though. That we were going to keep it casual. No strings.’
‘Yeah, seven months ago, Rachel. And youknowhow I feel about you.’ He pauses by my front door, fixing me with simmering eyes. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? That’s why you’re not divorced yet. You still love him. How many of these cosy little phone calls have you been having?’
‘None. I swear, you’ve got it all wrong.’
A slammed-door silence lands between us.
‘You know what?’ Lawrence says, after a couple of moments. ‘You need to decide what you want.’
What I cannot confess, of course, is that, right now, it’s hard to know. Because being with Lawrence, I have realised, is a bit like living life on a fulcrum. A feeling of constantly pivoting, non-stop movement in directions I can’t always control. The same part of his personality that wakes me with a smile when he’s operatic in the shower first thing, and doing six a.m. sit-ups in my living room, is also what has led him to fall out with my neighbours over the pre-dawn motivational music and his insistence on grinding coffee beans before it’s even light outside. Compromise doesn’t interest him; middle ground may as well be a foreign country.
Mercurial is not usually my thing. And yet. I can’t deny being with Lawrence is a low-level thrill. He’s never fazed by anything, and can turn me to liquid with just the tug of his smile. He’s always trying to make me laugh, even if sometimes the jokes miss their mark. He puts effort into everything, is determined to turn each moment into an experience. And isn’t that what life is for?
And the sex is good. Although, is it possible, I recently felt the need to ask my friends, that it’s too good?
‘What the hell istoo good?’ Ingrid said, bluntly.
It was hard to fully explain. Only that, sometimes, what we do feels a little performative, like something ripped from the pages of a lads’ mag. Fucking, not making love. Which is fine, mostly. But occasionally I find myself in seduction mode, flirting a little harder, trying to tease out the foreplay. Weirdly, though, this only ever seems to frustrate him, not turn him on.
It could have gone better, too, when I introduced him to Polly and Ingrid, who are not easily charmed. Lawrence expressed surprise that Polly had had her kids so young, telling me later he’d intended it as a compliment. He then asked Ingrid about her company turnover, responding to her answer by saying, ‘Well done you.’
Sometimes, all this stuff feels like tiny red flags fluttering in my gut, ones I know I shouldn’t ignore.
‘Maybe we should take a step back,’ I whisper to him now. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I’m ready for this.’
‘Didn’t you leave your husband because you wanted kids?’
Perspiration is beading on my skin. The flat is hot, humming with trapped summer heat. ‘That isn’t—’
‘So am I not good enough?’ He spreads his arms. ‘What is this – some kind of fucking audition process for the father of your child?’
‘Lawrence,’ I say, surprised. ‘We’re nowhere near—’
‘No. But we could be.’ He steps forward, voice trembling. He really is hurting, I realise. ‘You and me... we could be so good. We want the same things. We could have a great life together. You’re holding back over nothing.’
I swallow, feeling sweat sliding down between my shoulder blades.
‘I love you,’ he says, eyes glassy with emotion.
