‘That’s not fair, Spence.’ Her voice is shaking, anger and hurt all there.
‘Isn’t it? I’m not the one who slept with me and couldn’t get away quick enough.’ My words land into the room.
‘We both agreed that was a mistake.’
‘Did we? Or did you?’
She swallows, shaking her head. ‘Spence…’ She takes a step forward.
I move back. ‘I think you should go.’
‘But…’
‘Al, please.’ My words catch, broken. ‘Just go.’
I turn my back, the door closing sharply.
A dull ache crawls through me. I try not to wince.
But I do.
44
ALICE
My eyes are raw when I wake.
Sounds from outside screech into the room. I squint as my hand fumbles with my phone beside my bed. Half-seven. Nothing from Spence.Al, please… just go. I picture the hurt in his eyes, the pain, the plea for me to let him go. A wave of nausea flips in my stomach. I lean back, phone clutched against my chest. I replay every moment of last night over again, just as I have since I left his room. Everything he said, everything we did.
The tears come again.
Spence left in the middle of the night. I heard his door close, and all I could do was stand with my hand against the door, willing myself to open it. But I couldn’t, because everything he said was true.
I push off the covers, and sit with my head in my hands, my nose leaning into the collar of the shirt, still smelling of Spence. The images come again and again: the feel of his mouth, the weight of his body on mine, the longing for more of his touch. I pull the shirt off, unzip my bag and start throwing things in. I can’t go after him… can I? I stop moving. I could. I could get on the train and beg him not to… No. I need to let himmove forward. I push the thoughts away, even though every movement I make feels like I’m being pulled back to the room across the hallway, back into his arms.
* * *
Kate is smiling as she swings the door open. Her eyes scan behind me. ‘No Spence?’
I feel the ghost of his hand at the bottom of my back, his warmth at my shoulder.
‘No… he had to get back.’
‘Oh.’ I push my sunglasses onto my head, and her face softens. ‘Come in, let me get you a brew, eh?’
I follow her into the kitchen, an Echo Dot playing in the background. The Smiths playing ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’.
I smile up at her. ‘Michael loved them, didn’t he?’
She turns her head as she fills the kettle. ‘Yep. Slit-your-wrists music, I used to call it. But he liked the irony… looking for a job and not being happy when he found it? That was Mike.’ She smiles and shakes her head.
Spence’s voice whispers in my ear.Christ. Liked a good wallow, didn’t he, your old man? ‘You listened to the tape he sent you?’
I push the thought of Spence away. I need to focus on Michael. On his story. Not the mess I’ve made of my own.
‘Yes, well, I made a playlist.’
‘Every year he’d make one for the summer. Hours, it’d take him. I’ve got a whole box of them upstairs. You can have a look in a bit if you’d like?’ She busies herself with the tea, placing a packet of biscuits on the table and joining me.
