Now it was a surprise to learn that Bridie must have mentioned her, and Jules had remembered her name. Which maybe halfway explained why she had trusted Catherine with a key and her cat. And her underwear.They’re not as tasty as they look.
Heat prickled Catherine’s neck at the sudden,very tastyvision of Jules wearing the lacy underwear she’d seen strung out on the airer.
Oh, behave yourself!She pulled her thoughts out of the gutter and made a quick decision to walk off some of the weird energy thrumming through her.Two quick laps around the park, you perv. And no Snoots for you today because you can’t behave yourself.
Catherine laughed out loud when she saw her reflection in the bathroom mirror; her hair was a wild mess. She’d answered the door looking like that.Christ.
She dressed quickly and made herself a coffee in her reusable mug before heading out. She noted with relief that Jules hadn’t left the main door open this time, but she would make a point of mentioning it, particularly as Juni was a little escape artist. He wouldn’t fare well on the main road outside their building.
Another sunny spring day met her outside — cloudless blue skies above and the sweet smell of blossom in the air. Catherine set a quick pace, trying to focus on the steps and stop her mind from wandering because every time it did, itended at the same destination.That smile.How had she not equated the photo on the fridge with the woman in red?
On the one or two occasions she let her thoughts wander beyondthat smile, she’d ended up ogling her imaginary projection of Jules modelling lacy underwear. An image that seemed to summon a silly grin, which she couldn’t squash no matter how hard she tried. She forced herself to do a third lap of the park. She even considered a fourth as her thoughts were still spiralling, but her stomach growled so she headed home.
She tried her best not to imagine bumping into the other woman in their shared space and the future conversations they might have, but the task was impossible so she gave into it. By the time she’d reached the door and turned her key in the lock, she was so lost in conjured conversations that she didn’t notice the man coming down the stairs until she face-planted into his chest, which felt like a solid wall of muscle.
Catherine stepped back, eyes trailing up the man’s skinny jeans and tight black T-shirt until she reached his grinning bronzed face. He wore a black Yankees cap, had perfectly trimmed facial hair, and teeth so white the glare hurt her eyes.
Shit.She’d been so swept up in everything else, she’d forgotten abouthim.
She blinked, hoping to will him out of existence. But no, there he stood — a very real and solid Adonis of a man, who was no doubt very capable of putting together the flatpack furniture she’d spent two nights labouringover like an absolute mug. All the elation she’d felt at this morning’s surreal turn of events slipped away, and she suddenly felt very foolish.
“Hiya,” he said in a chirpy Northern accent, which irrationally made her dislike him even more. “Sorry about that, you seemed miles away. I hope I didn’t startle you.”
Yep, miles away thinking about your wife in her underwear, for goodness’ sake.
“Well, you should look where you’re going and not jump out at people like that.”
“Alright,” he laughed, a kind laugh that almost made her regret being awful to him. “I’m Will, by the way.” He held out a paw-like hand.
“Yes, I know,” she said and instantly wished she hadn’t because she shouldn’t know that, not yet. “Sorry. I had an unexpected early start, and I’m hungry now, so…” She gestured to her door, hoping he’d take the hint and move aside, but he didn’t.
“Oh, I’m a right diva when I’m hungry, you know, like the Snickers ad? I get proper hangry. Anyway, I’m nipping down the shop, do you need anything?”
“No, thank you.” She forced a small smile and pushed past him and his stupid white teeth and too-tight clothes. “And make sure you close the door after yourself. You people keep leaving it open,” she called after his Dorito-shaped back.
She let herself into her flat and crumpled against the door, feeling completely winded.
After one liberating conversation with Francesca and one revealing conversation with Penny, she’d let herself getswept away in a delusional fantasy.Not for the first time,mocked the voice inside her head.
Maybe Penny was right; maybe she did need therapy. And clearly, she was by no means ready to start dating again when she’d so tragically misread Jules. Now she needed to bury any thoughts she’d had about that lucky bastard’s gorgeous wife and scrub the image of Jules’s flawless smile and ridiculous sparkling eyes from her head.
18
WHERE IS MY MIND?
1989
In the stuffy train carriage, Jeremy flicked through a well-thumbed textbook, while Francesca rested her head on his shoulder, pretending to sleep — I could tell by the way her eyelids fluttered.
“Your mood’s up and down like a bride’s nightie, Trusty. Are you sure you’re okay?” Jeremy’s voice practically dripped with smugness, like the stupid grin that had spread itself over his thin lips ever since we’d boarded the train and Francesca had chosen the seat next to him. She hadn’t breathed a word to me all morning, only dusted the occasional sultry look over me. It was a cruel, deliberate game, and the hollow ache of rejection throbbed in my chest.
I grunted a response and clenched my jaw, focusing on the barren grey landscape rolling by outside the misted windows.
Since the night we’d spent together, Francesca had shown up at the cottage again, but I buried myself undermy duvet and ignored the muffled pleas and raps at the door until she gave up.
I spent the rest of the Christmas break alone in my room, filling my head with resolutions about what I would and wouldn’t stand for. I hoped the distance I’d wedged between us over the last few days would give Francesca space to figure out what she really wanted.
Me or him.I wasn’t prepared to let her have us both.
