DOMINIC
Flavia has suddenly frozen, while looking intently at a giant Lego model.
Something’s happened. I’m not really sure what, though.
It’s like the air around us has suddenly become thick with tension.
‘Do you like doing Lego?’ I ask, which has to be the most inane question ever for a stressed-looking thirty-four-year-old woman.
She looks up at me blankly.
‘Lego?’ she repeats.
‘Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. Are you okay?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Oh.’ I’m confused.
Flavia reverts to staring at the model. I really want to give her a big hug, help her feel better about whatever’s worrying her. Except… the tension that’s suddenly surrounding us… I feel as though it might be something to do with me, something about the way Flavia feels about me; and I suddenly feel very inhibited about hugging her, holding her hand again, anything.
From my side, even though I went into all of this knowing that this was no-strings, a just-for-now thing, these past few days have been huge. Maybe…
Maybe we need to have a conversation.
Except… what would I actually say? What would she say?
Flavia suddenly breaks the silence. ‘I think we should maybe talk,’ she says.
Okay, yes. Clearly this sudden tensionisabout me. Us.
‘Agreed,’ I say.
But I don’t think I’m ready to talk. I need to work things out in my head.
‘Could we…? Just… Could I have a moment alone?’ I say.
Oh fuck. I’m immediately sure that, going by her expression – part disappointed, part hurt – my phrasing wasn’t great. My first instinct was to suggest taking a break for a moment, but my mind madly went down a rabbit hole of thinking about Ross fromFriendssayingWe were on a break, and that is not the vibe I was aiming for. But nor wasmoment alone. Bugger.
Whywhydidn’t I just say yes absolutely but I just need to go to the loo first?
‘What Imeant,’ I try to clarify tactfully, ‘was that I need to use the bathroom. It came out like a weird euphemism.’
‘Right.’ She is – obviously – not buying it. ‘Okay, then. No problem. See you later.’ And she begins to walks off.
‘Flavia,’ I call.
She turns round, eyebrows raised. Her eyes look very bright, like they’re slightly glistening.
‘Should we meet…’ I start to ask.
‘Text me when you’re ready.’ And then she walks into and out the other side of the nearest store, a bookshop, her head facing directly in front of her the whole way. Maybe she’s fascinated by the airport-shopping view ahead of her; I think it’s more likely that she’s trying to hide an expression of hurt or sudden tears.
Okay. I take a deep breath. I’m panicking. I need to focus, andthink.
I find a space on a bench, between a large man eating a very leafy salad, and a very slim woman eating the most enormous triple burger and chips. If I commented on that to Flavia, she’d tell me never to judge a book by its cover, and she’d be right.
I think she’s right about everything. I mean, not alwaysrightright, but perfect.
