‘Right now?’ I run my hand across the mattress in the spot I’d like him to be. ‘Probably snuggle into your side and go to sleep.’
A car passes under my window, the sound somehow echoing stereophonically down the phone line.
‘Archer.’ I sit up a little straighter. ‘Where are you?’
‘Where would you want me to be?’
‘Close.’ I reply. ‘Near me.’Here.
‘Shall I use the key you gave me?’
I’m out of the bed and in the living room in ten seconds flat, and for the second time today, I launch myself at him. The difference is, I think he knows what I’m going to say.
Archer, we need to talk.The words are on the tip of my tongue but that’s as far as they’ll go.
‘Come on.’ His hands on my shoulders, he turns me in the direction of the bed. ‘Up the apples and pears and into the garden bed.’
‘But I don’t have any apples or pears.’ Or in rhyming slang, stairs.
‘Hush. You’re spoiling the effect.’
In the bedroom, I pull the corner of the quilt back but don’t yet slip into it.
‘Aren’t you staying?’ My heart squeezes when it becomes clear he’s not stripping.
‘I can’t stay. I’ve got to get back for the mutt or I’ll have no home to go back to.’
‘You should’ve brought him.’ I drop the corner of the quilt and turn back to him.
‘He’s got doggy day-care in the morning. Better I drive back tonight, or I’ll need to be up at four to avoid the traffic.’
Two steps and he suddenly wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight. His hugs have come in all shapes and sizes, from those one-armed lacklustre affairs to the all-encompassing bear-hug type squeezes. This hug is on the latter end of the scale. It feels like he doesn’t want to let me go. I don’t know how long we stand there, our arms entwined and our hearts beating together, but as we pull apart, I think we both realise we’ve lost something.
34
Archer
I looklike shit and I’ve barely slept.
And I know what’s coming today.
And I feel like an idiot because the way I’ve been living these last few weeks? A case of hope over fucking experience.
It’s laughable that I’d even consider she’d choose me.
So why aren’t I laughing?
Because it fucking hurts, this empty and achingly hollow reminder of why I don’t get involved.
Of why there’s safety in numbers.
Of why there’s security in anonymity.
Of why you never let people get too close because they only feel the weight of your baggage.
I went to her last night knowing she was hurting. Feeling in my bones that she’d say she was having second thoughts. That she’s say she couldn’t think of another man over me.
But she didn’t say a fucking thing. Worse, she seemed resigned.
