‘I won’t send a bill,’ he says, standing up to take his.
We sit at the kitchen table drinking slowly, not talking, and I enjoy the subtle sweetness of the Irish coffee. I used to have a drinks measure, I think. This is definitely a double but I know I’ll sleep after it.
‘Another one would be lovely but a mistake,’ says Nate, finishing his and getting to his feet. I finish mine too and stand up. He’ll need a taxi now, I think, and wonder where I put my phone so I can check the taxi app.
But suddenly, Nate smiles that lazy smile, pulls me towards him as if we were still going out like crazytwenty-year-olds, and I’m held in Nate’s arms, my whole body pressed up against his body. He’s lowering his mouth to mine. The first flare of wrongness disappears.
It’s the first time I’ve been held like this sinceJean-Luc died.
And, oh forgive me, I don’t push him away.
It’s like some ancient body memory, this being held.
You’ve missed this, my body is saying and I lean into him and as if I have no control, I kiss him back. My hands go round to hold him and he fixes his on my waist, large hands, then splaying down to cup my buttocks and pull them closer.
I know this is wrong, wrong on every level, wrong because he’s Marin’s husband. Marin, my friend! Wrong because me and Nate were in the past when we were kids.
But then his hands are in my hair and he’s whispering to me, and even though I know it’s utterly wrong, I don’t stop him.
I’m held against his chest and he’s murmuring into my ear about how beautiful I am.
‘Fragile and elegant,’ he murmurs.
When his fingers reach up under my silky sweater, I moan. It’s like having somebody point something out to you that you had never known you’d missed and I am lost. I kiss him back, just one kiss, I think, letting my body press even more closely against his and it feels so lovely just for once to have this closeness, this tenderness, in my life.
It’s dark. I wake up and sit bolt upright in the bed. There’s something wrong. And I can’t think what it is and then I realise; there’s a strange smell of alcohol and beside me in the bed is Nate. Nate is in bed beside me and he’s naked and snoring. I’m in bed with him. Naked. Oh Jesus. We had sex. Actual sex. I can’t believe this, I cannot believe I did this. I know I was at a low ebb with the sense of a sweet date that would never mean anything behind me, and no sign of true love ahead of me, and he was there. I just wanted to feel held and not the person who was always in charge ... but how could I let this happen?
What have I done?
I have to get Nate out of the house and nobody must know.
But I know.
I know, oh God, I know.
I close my eyes and I cry, great heaving sobs. I wriggle out of the bed, because I don’t want to be beside him.
I’ll have to burn the bed. I can’t have him in it. I can’t have his memory in it. This was the bed I shared withJean-Luc and it’s old and needs a new mattress and now it’s tainted for good.
I reach for my phone. Half two in the morning. I’ve got to get him out of here. Now.
I go into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror and I look the way I always look: pale, my hair dark, grey bits, my eyes shadowed.
Why now, why now? Look at all those stupid men people have been pushing towards me at parties for years, people’s nephews and friends and ‘oh he’ll be perfect for you’. Men like the Teds of this world who are never going to be perfect for anyone. And I said no, because I didn’t need them. I didn’t want them.
Me and Luke are perfect together and now in this moment of weakness, not long after the pain from that bloody Family Tree project, just because I was lonely, I have fallen into this hole of disaster.
Just then, a thought occurs to me. Maybe he’s done this before. Marin had told me about Rachel and that horrible night when she was missing in town for an hour. Nate was supposedly off with colleagues and his phone wasn’t working, or he didn’t hear it or some ludicrous excuse. Is this what he’s been doing with other women? And now I’m just as bad, worse even, because I’m her friend.
I can’t ever be her friend again. The thought makes my heart ache.
I run back into the bedroom, grab a pair of jeans, boots and pull on a sweater. Downstairs I make some very strong coffee and order him a taxi.
I bring up the coffee and I shake him hard.
‘Drink this,’ I say loudly. He wakes up blearily and looks at me.
‘Hi, baby, that was sexy, you were always sexy.’
