It’s as if her mum has a sixth sense. This is twice now that she’s called while Alex has been at her flat. Her mum has always loved gossip – from earliest childhood, Jess remembers copies ofParis Matchstrewn around the house.Just brushing up my French,she would say, when Jess looked up from her homework to find her mum lounging with a glass of wine and a magazine – never mind thatParis Matchwas mostly pictures and there wasn’t a pen or notebook in sight, let alone a dictionary. And now, it’s as if her mum can sense the presence of a hot man in Jess’s flat and can’t bear to be left out, wants to knoweverything. Or as much ofeverythingas she can glean in a two-minute phone call on her way to the airport, at least.
‘Hi, Mum,’ she says.
‘Just a quickie, love. Calling to see if you want anything from duty free? Are you running low on perfume? I’m just at the airport and they’ve got a special deal on that one you like, Woman by Ralph Lauren?’
It was three Christmases ago that she’d asked for that particular perfume. Jess doesn’t have a signature scent – she likes to play around, try different things. These days, she’s quite into Armani Sì – she likes how it smells, but also the name, Yes, the idea of embracing life. But still, it’s sweet that her mum remembers. And she’s not running low, but she knows her mum loves to treat her. Or that treats are a way of assuaging her guilt for not being around as much as Jess would have liked. Would still like now. But whatever: either way, Jess gets a treat.
‘Yes, actually, Mum, that would be great. Thanks.’
Behind her, Jess can hear the bustle of an airport shop. ‘On your way back from Spain?’
‘Off to Tenerife,’ she says. Jess can’t keep up. Does this make her a bad daughter? Or does it just make her mother an unhealthily frequent traveller? Opposite her, Alex is draining the dregs of his tea. And then he starts coughing.
‘Oh, sorry, love. Have you got someone with you there? I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.’
‘It’s just Alex,’ she says, and Alex can’t be choking to death, because he has the wherewithal, between coughs, to raise his eyebrows at her, as if to say,Just?‘Itold you about him, remember? We’re writing a book together.’
Alex is still coughing. Jess tries to communicate with her eyes,Are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?But that turns out to be too much to communicate with eyes alone. Her mum takes a breath, preparing, no doubt, to pelt her withParis Match-worthy questions.
‘I should probably go, though,’ Jess says. ‘Just check he’s not dying.’
‘Fair enough.’ Her mum sounds disappointed, and a part of Jess feels guilty, though a part of her feels vindicated.This is what it feels like, she wants to say,when you want to keep talking but the other person has somewhere more interesting to be.
‘Love you,’ she says, feeling oddly self-conscious about sayinglovein front of Alex. ‘Bye.’
And then she’s by his side in a flash, slapping his back. It’s not a romantic kind of touching; there are no sparks, metaphorical or otherwise. But there’s something oddly intimate about tending to him in the ordinary details of life, and that is enough to get the butterflies in the pit of her stomach dancing.
‘I’m all right,’ he says, between slaps. ‘But maybe some water?’
She rushes off to the kitchen.
‘Those tea dregs always get me,’ she says as she hands over the glass of water and takes the seat next to him. ‘The bits of limescale at the bottom …’ One of the less delightful aspects of London life.
‘I take it you don’t filter your water?’
‘Not for tea.’
‘You should,’ he says. ‘It tastes better. Also, it prevents needless choking-related deaths.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
It feels like the end of a conversation, rather than an easy segue to something else, and maybe that’s why silence falls between them, heavier and heavier as Alex looks at her deeply, as if drinking her in.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Anything.’
‘What’s the deal with the glasses?’
Jess can’t help but burst out laughing. She’d thought it would be deeper than this. More … Well, more romantic. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I can’t work out what you need them for. There doesn’t seem to be any consistency in when you wear them. Sometimes it’s for computer work, and sometimes it’s for being out and about, and sometimes you go for long stretches without wearing them at all.’
‘They’re not prescription. I just wear them when I feel like it.’
‘Ah.’ He is silent for an unsettlingly long time, processing this. ‘What’s the point, though?’
Back when she met him, Jess would have assumed this was judgement of some kind. Alex’s way of saying she was unserious or immature. But now she realises that he is only wanting to understand her better, that he gets that her mind works differently from his and this is something to be explored and embraced.
