‘And perhaps worst of all,’ she said, turning back to James after the door had closed again, ‘you ordered pizza to eat while you played your games. PIZZA. With actual DOUGH. For fuck’s sake, how many of those cauliflower-based abominations have I suffered through while you’ve been committed to eating less gluten?’
‘I … I know it’s bad,’ James mumbled, his face flaming. ‘I think I ordered it so I could stress-eat.’
Rosie felt her face tighten into what she hoped was the most withering look she’d ever given anyone. ‘Oh, I’m sure dumping me by letter after a few rounds of your favourite shoot-’em-up adventure would have beensuperstressful,’ she said, derision dripping from every word.
James heaved his bag off the floor. Leaving a healthy gap between them, Rosie reopened the flat door and stood aside for him. Head bent low, he slunk through it almost as though he was trying not to be noticed.
Before she could shut the door behind him, James turned. There was something like hope in his eyes, and it made Rosie’s blood boil. Instinct, plus a decade’s worth of experience, told her he was perilously close to suggesting that, after a little time, they could still be in each other’s lives platonically.
‘Don’t tell me we can get over this, James,’ she said. ‘We can’t. If you go now, there’s no coming back – not even as friends.’ She knew she meant it, even though everything she’d hoped for – her vision of the life she thought they’d live together – was caving in on itself like a dying star.
Then she noticed that James’s eyes were fixed on the hot, slightly soggy takeaway boxes she was still clutching.
‘Oh my god,’ Rosie breathed. ‘Youweren’tgoing to say we could stay close. You were going to ask if you could take your pizza with you.’
James recoiled as Rosie advanced towards the open doorway. Finally overcome with shame, he shifted his gaze to the floor at the same time as he raised his hands, ready to receive the long-forbidden contraband carbs he’d ordered. It made Rosie think of a Catholic churchgoer awaiting communion.
She took a long, hard look at him and wondered how she could have got so much so wrong. She’d put this man on a pedestal at the centre of her life – yet he’d been prepared to walk out of it without doing her the basic courtesy of telling her, to her face, that their relationship was over.
‘Goodbye, James,’ she said, praying that every scrap of the contempt she felt for him at that moment was clear in those two icy words. He backed away in shock.
Allowing herself one last look at him, Rosie nudged the flat door towards its frame. ‘Thanks for dinner, by the way!’ she called, as it clicked decisively into place.
Chapter 6
As Rosie munched on a large slice of Pepperoni Passion, a number of questions began to take shape in her mind.
First among them was how she’d ever allowed James to convince her they should no longer order takeaway on a Friday night. Even in these dire circumstances, the combination of melted mozzarella, spicy sausage and squishy bread base was heavenly.
More uncomfortable was the question of how she could have misread the state of her relationship so catastrophically. Had it been in terminal decline for months, or even years? How long ago had her idea of what she and Jamesshouldbe to one another parted company with the reality of how things were?
More prosaically, how would they divide up ten years’ worth of stuff? She felt nausea seize her as she contemplated what might happen to the flat, though there’d surely be some time to work that out.
Then again, James might even change his mind about leaving – think better of it and beg her to forgive him. She’d said there was no way back for them after this, but now the heat of the moment had cooled, she knew she might waver if the alternative was saying goodbye to the man she’d thought she’d marryandlosing the home she loved.
Briefly, Rosie considered digging out the ancient bottle of whisky that she knew lurked in the drinks cupboard – but the sound of the door buzzer intervened before she could start searching.
She pressed the button to open the building’s main door since she already knew who was there. She opened the flat door, too, only to see A. Thomas pushing a collapsed cardboard box into the recycling bin beside the post table. He had his back to her, and she was momentarily transfixed by the smooth movement of muscles beneath his white t-shirt.
It seemed he’d unpacked some garment made from a material Rosie could only describe as ‘rubbery-looking’, then draped it over one shoulder while he disposed of the wrapping. What on earthwasthat?
She locked eyes with Niamh, who had just appeared at the other end of the corridor. Her best friend threw a glance in A. Thomas’s direction, then mimed fanning herself as best she could with a bottle of wine in each hand.
Seconds later, an entirely oblivious A. Thomas straightened up and turned to acknowledge Rosie.
‘All right?’ he said to her in his still-unplaceable accent, then inclined his head politely towards Niamh.
‘Hi,’ Rosie managed. ‘Yeah. I’m good! Great! Thanks.’
She marvelled at her own inarticulacy – not to mention what her mouth had just said.Great?She was anything but.
As A. Thomas disappeared up the stairs, Niamh winced and shook her head despairingly at Rosie. Once they were inside the flat, she said: ‘I suppose I should be pleased that, even in this situation, you’re not beyond being flustered at the sight of a gorgeous man.’
‘I am notflustered,’ Rosie insisted, taking a bottle of pale, chilled rosé from Niamh and leading her towards the kitchen. ‘I’m in a general state of shock.’
‘Of course you are. Come here,’ Niamh said, depositing her own bottle next to Rosie’s on the counter and pulling her in for a hug. ‘For the record, though, it is one hundred per cent normal to come over all unnecessary when someone that hot is sighted in possession of a wetsuit.’
‘A what?’ Rosie asked, stepping back and frowning.
