“Mm,” he said, looking at the satnav, ignoring my question. “What’s his postcode?”
“How did you know, though?”
He shrugged. “You must’ve mentioned it. Yeah, I remember now, you mentioned it ages ago.”
I was sure I hadn’t. He stared at me. “Postcode?”
I typed it in, and we made off. It should have only been a fifteen-minute drive to our – his – flat in Southwark, but it was late afternoon in summer, so the road was packed with taxis, buses, and a million office workers who’d clocked off early and were spilling into the streets as the pubs were already chock-a-block.
This time, Simon did let me give directions – even a shortcut that contradicted his satnav.
We arrived about half an hour later, after I directed him to a place he could park. I was glad, for once, that Ollie had always had a car, even if I’d rolled my eyes when he used to talk about his parking woes. You’d be amazed at the number of people in London who, when asked about parking, looked like you’d demanded they translate the Dead Sea scrolls. I’d been one of them before I’d met Ollie.
We made our way along Borough High Street, and then into the courtyard where you could enter our – his – block of flats.
Our luck was in, because once again, someone was coming out as we were going in. This time, we were acknowledged.
“Arden?” said a voice I recognised. I looked to see a thirty-something woman holding the hand of a toddler and staring at me like I was a ghost.
“Hello, Kasia!” I said in Polish.
“Oh my God, it’s been so long. What on earth are you doing here?” she said and grabbed me for a hug. “It’s good to see you! I wish I had time to stop and chat, but I have to get this one to the babysitter before my shift starts.”
She kissed me on the cheek, gave Simon a quizzical look, and then stopped as she was about to head off – “Are you and Oliver getting back together?”
“Um, it’s complicated,” I said, glad we were still speaking Polish. Simon was following our conversation but, thankfully, couldn’t understand.
She raised an eyebrow and then leaned back in. “He’s been a wreck. I made him soup. He never ate it. But I think you did the right thing. Or maybe not … maybe you should come back.” She shrugged.
“Thanks, Kasia. Edifying as ever.” I rolled my eyes. She grinned.
She gave me a wave and then hurried off, dragging poor wee … I wanna say … Philip behind her? No, Marcin. Kamil?
“Friend?” Simon asked.
“My downstairs – myolddownstairs neighbour. Kasia.”
Simon said nothing and held the door open for us instead. Inside, the cloying familiarity was almost too much. I had to stop from turning heel and bolting. The last time I’d been here was to move my stuff out.
I took a deep breath and called the lift. In we got and I pressed the button for the third floor. I felt sick, and that urge to bolt was still there. What would Ollie say aboutme turning up on his doorstep like this? Oh, God, it was going to give off all the mixed signals, and I had no energy for that. No, it was for Simon. For Riz. We needed info. Would Ollie be able to tell Simon and I had once had sex? Would we act weird? Could he smell it?
I must’ve been giving off a vibe because Simon spoke up. “Are you okay? You’re basically vibrating.”
“Yup, fine. Finefinefine.”
The doors opened and I walked down the corridor to our – Ollie’s – flat and knocked. No answer. “He might’ve gone out, we should go—”
Simon pounded on the door.
I cringed at the volume.
Footsteps approached from the other side.
The door opened. “Hi, Ollie,” I said.
He had been on the phone. “Riiiiiight,” he said slowly to either us or the person on the line. “Katharina, I’m going to have to call you back. Yup, yup, great. Bye.” He hung up and then looked at me and then at Simon.
He was wearing a pair of linen sleep pants, which I’d never seen him in before, and an old white T-shirt, barefoot and with his hair mussed from running his hands through it.
