I laugh and make my way back towards Shane, hoping I’m also bringing a little of the man’s joie de vivre to our table.
‘Hello, Huddersfield!’ calls out one of the men from the big group, mimicking a frontman with a mic.
‘We have fans,’ I tell Shane as I sit back down opposite him.
His face softens and I catch a hint of a smile. ‘Nice place, this,’ he remarks.
‘It actually is. Very friendly…’
He looks around, as if trying to figure out something. ‘We must have set up over there, in that corner?’
‘Guess so,’ I say. And then I add – because I can’t help it – ‘I’m a bit sad, Shane.’
His forehead furrows and his gaze settles on mine, unwavering. ‘Are you?’
‘Yeah,’ I say quietly. ‘I mean, after tomorrow, this will be over?—’
‘I know,’ he cuts in. ‘I’m sad too.’
My heart quickens. ‘Really?’
There’s a proper smile this time. A big, warm grin that crinkles his eyes. ‘Yes, really!’
‘It’s been all right, hasn’t it?’ I ask.
He bites his lip and the moment seems to shimmer between us. ‘No, not really,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘I mean, it’s been better than all right,’ Shane says quickly.
‘You really think that?’
‘I do!’
I look at him, and my heart seems to swell. ‘Shane, I know we haven’t talked about this,’ I blurt out, ‘but I wanted to say, all those years ago, that night in Huddersfield?—’
‘Hey, it’s okay.’ He stares at me.
‘No, it’s not.’ I clear my throat, trying to wrestle myself under control. ‘What I said that night?—’
‘Josie, it’s all so long ago. We were young, it doesn’t matter.’
‘I know, but—’ I stop and then I lean towards him over the little circular table, and throw my arms around him, and his arms are around me and we’re hugging tightly, narrowly missing knocking over our drinks.
Finally, we pull apart. ‘You don’t still feel bad, do you?’ he asks softly.
‘I do a bit,’ I admit, aware of my cheeks burning.
‘Well, yeah.’ He forms a grim smile. ‘I do too.’ I inhale, looking around the pub, at the bunch of men all clustered around the big table, who have fully resumed their football chatter. ‘We don’t need to, though,’ he adds, ‘any more.’
‘No, we don’t,’ I say as we get up and leave the pub, amidst a flurry of good lucks and ‘Hello, Huddersfield’s! And once outside I link my arm in his, simply because we are friends, and it feels like the right thing to do.
28
Back at our boudoir I shower and change into my terrible PJs and examine my face in the bathroom mirror. Is it the sun I’ve caught, from our Bridlington day, or an alcoholic flush? The wine has rushed to my head tonight. Not enough carbs – those ‘Picky Bits’ weren’t exactly tempting – to mop it up.
I emerge from the bathroom to find Shane lying on his side of the bed, shoes off, but still in his jeans and a sweater. He jumps up. ‘I’ll have a shower too,’ he announces. I watch him disappear into the en suite and lie on my side of the bed, on top of the duvet. How funny, I reflect, that in just three nights together we have ‘sides’. But not for much longer because very soon, all of this will seem like a bizarre dream.
