He scratches the back of his neck, eyes wide.Then – miraculously – he smiles.
‘I mean … I was gonna ask if you wanted to order Ben and Jerry’s.’
I laugh.It’s awkward.Unstable.Borderline manic.
He shifts on his feet.‘Do you want me to go?’
I think about it and then shake my head.‘I don’t know.All I know is I’m sick of the lies.’
Tom steps closer and cups my cheek gently, almost as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he’s too rough.
He kisses me softly.
It feels weird.
So, when I kiss him back and fumble with his jeans, I close my eyes and pretend I’m somewhere else – where the floorboards creak, and the air smells of dust and worn leather.And when I sink into the bed and feel the weight of a body above me, I imagine it’s Luke settling between my legs.
‘I think I’m in love,’ I say to Abbey and Issy before my first sip of coffee.Abbey flinches.Issy blinks.The latter lifts her latte and takes a long, deliberate sip – placing the cup back on the overturned milk crate between us with all the drama of someone acknowledging the weather.
‘With Tom?’Issy asks, voice neutral in that slightly maternal way she gets when she’s trying to decide if one of her kids needs a hiding.
I shake my head, eyes fixed on the thin layer of foam on my flat white.‘No.Luke.’
Abbey groans as if it physically hurts her.‘For the love of—’
‘I know.’
‘Jamie,’ Abbey says, exasperated.‘We’ve been over this.You need a hobby that doesn’t involve dick or alcohol.Why do I feel like I’m repeating myself?’
‘I know, okay?’I rub at my temples.‘But I can’t get him out of my head.He’s like—’
‘A tumour?’Abbey suggests helpfully, a woman who’s had this conversation one too many times.
‘Exactly.’
She offers a tight smile.‘Tumours are fatal, babe.That’s why they’re supposed to be cut out.’
Issy glances at the park next to the café, eyes on Gemma and Billie tangled in laughter on the swings, then turns to me.‘This isn’t you being bored again, is it?’
‘No,’ I say, too quickly.‘This feels different.’
Abbey snorts.‘Does it?Because to me, this is the same thing you always do.’
I look towards the street where more emotionally regulated people stroll by in colour-coordinated activewear, radiating stability.‘It … it feels as though I made a mistake.’
Abbey sighs.‘Okay.What’s this really about?’
‘It’s about me being in love with Luke,’ I say again, even though I can hear the hollowness in the statement.
Issy raises an eyebrow over her cup.‘And how’s that going for you?’
‘Leave the psychoanalysis to Ella,’ I mumble.
Abbey cuts in, ‘Speaking of – have you returned any of her calls?’
I squint at her.‘I feel like you already know the answer.’
‘Call her,’ she says flatly.‘Fix it.’
