‘And you had a Land Rover?’
‘No, but my dad did, and so Iborrowedit one night and went a-wooing!’
‘Did it yield the result you were hoping for?’ She smiled.
‘It did indeed, and even the next day when I was getting leathered by my dad for taking his precious Landy for a spin without his permission, I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.’
‘Worth it then,’ she guessed.
‘Oh, more than worth it. Issy married the son of a local farmer who, rumour had it, was a collector of Land Rovers.’
They both laughed in a way that was natural when two people were so well acquainted – and yet they weren’t. No more than strangers. She looked back towards the bathroom door; Jonathan was staring right at her. It was as sobering as it was jarring.
‘I should go, I should, erm...’ Sitting up, she pulled the neck of her nightie closed.
‘Oh, you don’t want to know why I’ve had quite the day?’
‘Sure, go ahead.’ She spoke softly, turning her body away from the bathroom door. Speaking quietly, as if this might prevent Jonathan from hearing.
‘In all honesty, it had been quite the day leading up to the unfortunate incident in the car park, but post that it really has turned out to be one to remember.’
He was charming, his flattery well received, and she felt a flare of joy at the admission.
‘I signed the lease on a flat. A place of my very own.’
‘Oh!’ Embarrassment cloaked her; of course it wasn’t her that had made his day one to remember. ‘Well, that sounds exciting.’ She meant it. A flat,hisflat, single then. ‘I’m not sure,’ she coughed to clear her throat, ‘not sure why you called me back.’
‘I’m not sure why,’ he hesitated, ‘and everything I want to say is so clichéd that I don’t want to risk it.’
‘Probably best.’ She closed her eyes.
‘So, you were married in your twenties, and are you still, still married?’
It was the first time she’d heard a hint of nerves and was glad of it, giving the topic the attention it deserved.
‘I’m a widow.’ There it was again, that word, that dreadful, dreadful word. ‘My husband, Jonathan, he died three years ago.’
As was her habit, she twisted her wedding ring with the underside of her thumb.
‘I am so sorry. That must have been rough.’
‘Yes.’ She ran her hand along Pickle’s back, glad of the company. ‘And what about you, are you married, have been married?’
There, she had done it, asked the question on which everything else hinged. There was a second of silence before he spoke. ‘I am married.’
These three words were rocks that he lobbed through the glass of her happiness, leaving tiny fissures and cracks that spread far and wide, after which the whole energy of their interaction changed, and she felt a little foolish for having been so open. More than a little foolish, mortified was more accurate.
Her tone and demeanour changed immediately. She sat up straight.
‘I see.’ Closing her eyes, she fought the embarrassing desire to cry, the drop in her stomach far greater than if she hadn’t allowed herself the swell of excitement before. ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight, Dominic. It’s been lovely to talk to you and it was nice to meet you ever so briefly, today, but... well, you can... you can text me the details of your friend’s garage, or whatever.’ She couldn’t find the words to convey how his marital status was an absolute non-starter for her, and realised she didn’t have to. ‘I have to go now.’
‘I... I understand, but before you go, can I just say that the picture you are painting of me right now is not a true one. I am married and I could have pretended otherwise, but I never lie, never, about anything.’ She heard his lips, forming the words, sticky with nerves. ‘And so believe me when I tell you that I’ve been, I’ve been treading water, for the longest time, not unhappily, not desperately, but just, idling. And I want more. I think I deserve more; I don’t want to settle anymore! And today I signed the lease on a flat, so we can start to dismantle... everything.’
His justification was so predictable, possibly even untrue, that he may as well have addedshe just doesn’t understand me!
‘Well, Dominic, you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and that’s part of a much bigger conversation: what we want, what we deserve and what we settle for. And I am most definitely not the person to have that conversation with.’
In an instant, he turned ugly in her mind. His smile no longer enticing but rather forced, his floppy fringe not appealing, but probably cultivated to fall just so, a cad. And his friendly manner, no doubt well-rehearsed to snare unsuspecting widows who might be flattered by all that lovely attention.
