‘That’s not how it is. Archer knows what we agreed—it was his suggestion. And Barney isn’t expecting anything but for me to spend some time with him when he gets back. Archer and me, we’re both getting something different out of this.’
‘And which one of you gets the broken heart?’ Her gaze is almost piercing over the rim of her coffee cup.
‘It’s not like that,’ I answer quietly.
‘Isn’t it? Do you really think he agreed to this just for sex?’
‘No, not just for sex. I get that he’s doing it for me, too.’ He’s not the person I thought he was. I get that on some level he’s trying to protect me. Help me. ‘But there’s probably some novelty value in the experience, right?’ I look to both of the girls, but Daisy seems to be engrossed in the contents of her smoothie and Vee? Well, it’s obvious she doesn’t agree.
‘How many more weeks before the good doctor comes back?’ she asks.
‘Four.’ I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat. Is it nerves, or regret?
‘So, four more weeks of smiles and happiness and legs that no longer meet at the top?’
‘Have I put weight on?’
‘Think about it,’ Vee says with a huff of a laugh. ‘Then think about what happens afterwards. What happens for you. What happens for Archer?’
‘You’re in funny mood, Vee,’ Daisy mutters, throwing her a reproving look.
‘I suppose seeing my friend throw her chance at happiness away brings out the worst in me.’
‘I’m not throwing my happiness away. I’m taking a chance on it.’ Archer is too much for one woman. His appetites are too great—hasn’t he said so himself?
‘For fucks sake, you don’t even know this Barney! He might pick his toenails, or worse, his nose!’
I push away the childish recollections that Miranda had reminded me of. Lots of kids are grotty, it doesn’t mean they grow into grotty adults.
‘I do know him,’ I maintain. ‘And I’m being reminded I do by his emails. He’s kind and caring and he’s interested in me.’
‘And Archer is all of those things, too. And he’s here. And you’d know about his bad habits by now. You know what makes him tick and what kind of a person he is. This Barney? He could be a horror. And I know you don’t want to hear it, but not only has Archer been good to you—not only has he brought you out of your shell—but the man looks like a Greek god. Why do you want to throw that all away?’
‘Yes, he’s gorgeous. And funny, and kind, and caring, and he likes me. But he’s made it clear why he’s doing this. He has a life to return to. And it was a life he seemed to enjoy before, by all accounts.’
‘Exactly. Before. Do you think he’s enjoying himself now? Are you?’
Of course I’m enjoying myself. I’ve had more fun the past few weeks than I can ever remember. But it’s not real and I have to keep reminding myself of that fact because if I don’t, I might find myself in a much worse place than I am right now. A place where I love a man who doesn’t love me. At least with Barney we’ll be starting from the same place. We’ll be starting from scratch.
‘And what happens if, when blond boy returns, you find you have nothing in common with him? Or worse, there’s no spark? What then?
‘Oh, Vee, mind your own bloody business, would you?’
The table falls quiet. In fact, the restaurant falls quiet.
What is going on with me? I never snap at my friends. My family, yes. And Archer, too. Hang on; what’s with that?
29
Heather
‘I’m choosingthe red bird in the polka dotted skirt.’
‘The one who looks like she belongs in a magazine?’ I glance at the woman in question who’s wearing a rockabilly skirt, a white twinset, and her hair in a victory roll. It’s an absolutely cool look and very suited to the place we’re in. It’s a wine bar, I suppose you’d call it, near to Archer’s house in Shoreditch, though a little off the beaten track. He seems to know all the crazy places. Dark and atmospheric, the walls are red brick and the lights covered in purple ostrich feathers. Archer has a beer, a Camden Pils, and I’m nursing a pink cocktail inspired by the writings of Lewis Carroll. Though I don’t quite understand how.We’re seated at a high booth, the height advantage helping our evening game.
‘A magazine?’ Archer repeats. ‘Yeah, maybe a yellowing copy of Good Housekeeping.’ He snorts. ‘C’mon, Heather, all she’s missing are some rollers in her hair and a pinny over that dress. She’s more nineteen fifties housewife than nineteen fifties pin up.’
‘That’s very mean. I wear retro clothes. I hope you’re not saying these things about me while I’m not around.’
