‘Laundry’s done,’ Tom laughed. ‘Is all your stuff okay to be tumble-dried? Do you want a cuppa while it goes round?’
‘Yes and yes,’ Rachel said. ‘I’ll shift the washing while you put the kettle on.’
‘Cool. Changing the subject entirely,’ Tom said as he put teabags into two mugs, ‘I think the shoot went brilliantly this morning. The photos look great, and I liked Zack – even though I was snarky about him to start with.’
‘Me too.’
‘He’s left us two tickets for his first gig. It’s at some tiny music venue in Highgate next month. D’you fancy it?’
‘Er,yes,’ Rachel said, as if Tom was being very stupid. ‘How could we not go? He might be this generation’s Bob Dylan.’
Tom snorted. ‘Let’s not get too excited – I have a feeling there’s a reason the tickets are free. I’ll text you the details.’
They moved back to the sofa and drank their tea, chatting over Tom’s plans for the next exhibition shoot. He got up to check the contents of the tumble dryer when it beeped, then said: ‘All done. I guess you’re good to go.’
‘Oh. Okay, thanks,’ Rachel said, realising that she was actually in no rush to leave. Oscar would wake up soon, though, and Tom needed to talk to Christine. It would be easier for everyone else if she went home now – and in any case, she had no reason to stay.
Tom stood aside as Rachel pulled her clothes out of the drum, perhaps aware that it would be weird for him to handle her smalls.
‘I’ll just go and change,’ she said.
In the bathroom, Rachel checked her reflection and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her hair was frizzy from using men’s shampoo, and her post-shower, make-up-free face looked washed out and tired. She couldn’t blame Tom for being so quick to deny they were an item when Oscar had suggested it; right now, she wouldn’t want to go out with her either.
Fully dressed, Rachel folded Tom’s shorts and sweatshirt before heading back to the living room.
‘Right. Guess I’ll see you next week sometime?’ she asked.
‘For sure,’ Tom said. ‘By the way … Will doesn’t know anything about any of this yet. Do you mind keeping it to yourself for a while?’
‘Of course not. Can you message me later, though? Let me know how Oscar is. Howyouare?’
‘I promise.’
Rachel handed Tom his clothes and put her coat on, deeply relieved it had been spared Death by Snakebite.
Tom saw her to the flat door, then pulled her into a hug. ‘Thank you again, for everything.’
‘My pleasure,’ Rachel said into his chest. ‘Well … mostly. Say goodbye to your brother for me, won’t you?’
‘Yeah,’ Tom laughed, stepping back slightly. ‘A very formal, platonic goodbye so he doesn’t get his hopes up.’
He smiled lopsidedly at her and for a split second her stomach twisted. Weird. Maybe she needed more food.
‘Rach,’ he said as she opened the door. ‘Keep this. Even I can see your jumper’s shrunk in our rubbish dryer. It’s only fair, and it looks better on you, anyway.’
He handed her the Montana sweatshirt and Rachel knew that she should argue. She loved it, though, and couldn’t bring herself to protest. She accepted the soft grey square, hugging it to her chest for a second before dropping it into her bag.
‘Bye, then,’ Rachel said, feeling strangely emotional as she pulled the door closed behind her. This really had been an odd day.
That evening, Tom’s list of Things To Feel Bad About was as follows:
1. Using the photo shoot set-up as a pretext for touching Rachel’s face. (Bad.)
2. Using the photo shoot set-up as a pretext for touching her hair. (Somehow worse.)
3. Almost confessing how he felt about her, then losing his nerve. (Pathetic.)
4. Putting Rachel in the position where his idiot half-brother could projectile-vomit all over her. (Unforgivable.)
