“Yeah, of course. There’s some of your stuff in our room still. Ever didn’t grab everything.”And I’d been too dependent to give it back.
Would she find it weird I’d left it on the side? That four months after seeing her, her perfume and toothbrush were beside mine?
But she was off, and I was left staring at the place on the sofa she had sat. Fia was back home.Here. With me.
She’d had‘a bit of a journey’which probably meant she hadn’t eaten properly. I got to work, preparing a pasta with the kale she had planted in the summer.
When she came down, Vincent following her every step, I was transported back months by her perfume and the smell of her skin, remembering just how I ran my nose and tongue down her neck.
Her hair was wet around her temples, and she was make-up free, looking refreshed, her face still flushed from the hot water.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I saw what I looked like and… I showered. I put the towel I used in the washing basket.” She came to the stove and inhaled deeply through her nose. “That smells amazing.”
She dipped a finger in the pasta sauce, and I took her hand before she could taste it. “Hey, hey, chef gets first taste.”
It was a running joke we had, but I realised what I said, what I wanted — her finger in my mouth — and dropped her hand immediately.
The laughter froze on her face, and she cleared her throat before taking a napkin and wiping her finger clean.
“Sorry. I forgot where I was for a minute.”
Not where we were. Who we were now.
“Have you got somewhere to stay tonight?”
She stopped wiping her finger and went to the bin. “Yeah. A hotel not too far.”
“You could stay here.”
She kept her back to me as she put the paper towel in the bin.
“In the guest room,”I added quickly.“Every hotel is miles away.”
She turned on her heel.
“I just know how quickly you like to get into your pyjamas.”
“I didn’t bring any with me. I left in quite therush.”
A rush to see me?I stirred the sauce into the pasta, trying not to smile because it wasn’t the time. “You can borrow my clothes.”
She was quiet, and I worried the awkwardness might have crept in again, but then she was in the cupboards, getting out cutlery and bowls. Our domestic simplicity. As if nothing had changed.
“Maybe we should talk first.”
I nodded, trying to swallow down my fear. “After dinner?”
“Okay.”
We never sat at the dining table. We would watch awful reality TV or documentaries while eating and critiquing. But Fia placed her plate next to the papers Marnie had left behind, looking them over. “You’ve learned a lot. I was stunned by your letter. I’ve never seen you write in English.”
I tried not to look embarrassed or chuffed as I sat beside her. “I wanted you to know how much I’ve been trying.”
“Is this kale?” she said, lifting her loaded fork.
“Yeah. Yours. From the garden.”
“You’ve looked after them?” she asked, voice high with surprise.
