Tom sighed heavily as he walked towards home. The air was wet. A chilly mizzle was soaking his face, ears and hair; every exposed inch of him was cold.
He wondered how he’d got into this mess with Rachel, and how, every time he tried to improve things, he managed to make them worse.
Will had made a face at him earlier when he’d said he was going to meet her at the station – shaken his head while Anna’s back was turned, as if to say:Bad move, mate.
The bastard had been right as well. Tom hadn’t intended turning up at Finsbury Park to be a romantic gesture, exactly – but the thought that it might push him further into the Friend Zone hadn’t entered his head until Rachel detonated the F-bomb.
God, the way she’d looked at him as they stood outside the door to her flat: her big eyes full of feeling, as dark and wide as he’d ever seen them. Alive, shining like she was about to say something secret and significant … He’d felt like there was a fireball trying to burn its way out of his chest.Give me a reason, he’d thought –give me a reason to just sod everything and tell you.
And then she’d said that thing about what a good friend he was. It was like being shot in the heart. He wanted to scour the scene from his memory, bleach the words off his brain.
Tom had never exactly told Will about his feelings for Rachel, but somehow they’d reached an understanding that those feelings existed andweren’tto be talked about. It was as if they’d shared a particularly painful sporting defeat that didn’t bear analysis after the final whistle; better just never to mention it.
Tom wondered how Rachel would cope –ifRachel would cope – when Anna and Will finally moved in together.Maybe she could just live with me, he thought. A simple housemate swap would certainly be a neat solution to the problem.
But the soaring feeling that seized him at this notion was all the proof he needed: it was a terrible idea. Tom would never cope with being in such close proximity to Rachel – every day would be delicious, dreadful torture. It had been bad enough when she brought Laurence, or whoever she was dating, to the pub some Friday nights … If he lived with Rachel, Tom knew he’d want to murder any man she ever came home with.
As he rounded the corner onto the street where he and Will lived, Tom asked himself what the hell he was going to do. Mooning and moping wasn’t his style, but he’d come close to perfecting it over the past year or so. Asking Rachel to help him out with the exhibition had seemed like a way to add a new dimension to their relationship – to move things on or help her see him in a different light. Now he cursed himself for his hopefulness; the project merely promised more hours and new locations in which he’d have to hide how badly he wanted to touch her.
None of this sat easily in his stomach. Tom was a fundamentally sensible person, which meant he was almost always honest: the truth was so much lesscomplicatedthan a lie in nearly every situation … But not this one, he reminded himself. He’d done the sums plenty of times, and the idea of confessing his feelings to Rachel simply didn’t add up.
Despite occasional flickers of something between them (which he couldn’t be sure weren’t imagined), she’d never given him any reason to suspect that she fancied him. And if he told her the truth without being sure of a return, things could get very weird, very fast. He didn’t want to put Will or Anna in an uncomfortable position, or risk destabilising the easy friendship the four of them shared. This was for Rachel’s sake as much as his own.
When he pushed his way into the flat it was hot and dark, and the knackered old windows had begun to cloud up with condensation. Will had clearly left the heating on again, the fool.
Tom didn’t bother turning on any lights as he shrugged off his jacket, picked up a clean glass from the draining board and then dragged himself to the bathroom. He laughed at his reflection when he caught it in the mirror above the sink; his blondish hair was dark and damp from the rain outside, and where he let it grow longer on top it had fashioned itself into full-on ringlets.
He rested his head against the glass, allowing himself a few seconds of unalloyed self-pity. Tom knew it was better to have Rachel as a friend than risk losing her altogether, but right now he felt the full force of several inconvenient facts.
1. This was really fucking painful;
2. Laurence was off the scene – but if Tom didn’t get in there first, she’d eventually start seeing someone else;
3. That might actually kill him; and
4. He probably couldn’t go on like this.
Theremusthave been a point at which he wasn’t hopelessly in love with Rachel, he told himself. Maybe with a bit of effort he could get back there.
The trouble was, he couldn’t remember a time before he’d lived to make her laugh – or when he hadn’t felt maddened by the urge to kiss her every time she did.
Deep down, he knew he didn’t want to.
February
New Year’sOngoing resolutions
1. Consider exercise an act with actual benefits – both mental and physical – not merely grim punishment for pizzas consumed. Have a proper go at yoga.
2.Also re-downloadComplete Couch to 5Krunning app andactually do the programme.
3. Apply for promotion at work at first chance. Move to bigger account and try to get pay rise. Avoid, if possible, further projects concerning dog biscuits, disinfectant, high-quality printer ink cartridges, ‘miracle’ grass seed, organic vegetables, etc.
3a. Try to hang on to job (and temper) despite presence of evil ex-boyfriend.
3b. Ignore everyone who keeps banging on about how fit he is.
3c. Ignore how fit he is.
