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‘Yeah, that happens,’ Jack said with a grin. ‘Room for me on your side?’

Holly did a quick assessment of the sofa – there was probably enough space for the both of them. ‘Ah, sure, yes.’

He handed her a cocktail – a red one this time – and Holly noticed he had the same. She looked from the drink to him. ‘She thought I said two,’ he explained, ‘and I didn’t want to correct her.’

He came around to her side of the table and sat down next to her. This close, she could smell that aftershave or whatever it was he wore that reminded her of the outdoors – different types of wood, all mixed together. His leg briefly pressed against hers, and even though she shifted away to give them both space, she felt the warmth linger on her skin. They reached for their cocktails at the same time, their arms bumping into one another. Holly snatched back her cocktail so quickly that she sent some of the liquid sloshing over the rim.

She cleared her throat. ‘So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.’

One corner of Jack’s mouth crooked up as he looked at her, shifting so he was facing her. ‘Really? Well, consider me intrigued.’

Holly took a breath. ‘Why were you in that café three years ago?’

‘What do you mean?’ But his tone was too careful – he knew exactly what she meant.

‘Well, you live in London.’

‘So do you.’

‘Not anymore. But my point is, I was stopping off, on the way to a family holiday.’ She swallowed down the dull throb of pain that hit, using her drink to cover it up. ‘But why were you there?’

‘I was . . .’ He frowned down at his drink, as if deciding whether to tell her something, twirling the glass round and round in his fingers. And it didn’t feel right, because she was probing into a life she already knew so much about. She almost reached out to lay a hand on his, to stop him, but he started speaking again before she could. ‘My dad . . . It was the anniversary of his death. The fifteen-year anniversary, to be precise.’ He kept looking at the cocktail, rather than her. ‘And I was . . . Well, I was holding a kind of memorial. To celebrate his life, I guess, and to remember him – because it’s something you do less of as time passes.’

Holly couldn’t help the little spasm in her gut. He was talking about Richard – Emma’s son. But Emma hadn’t mentioned anything about seeing Jack three years ago, she had made it sound like she hadn’t seen him since he was a kid. So maybe she hadn’t been invited? But to not invite Richard’s mother . . . What could be so bad, to make Jack do that?

‘What happened, with your dad?’ Holly asked quietly. It’s what she would say, if she didn’t already know – but she also wanted to hear it from him, to see if he mentioned Emma at all. Was hoping it would be somehow easier to say what she needed to, if he offered her a way in.

‘He . . . There was a car crash. When I was ten. He didn’t make it.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be forcing him to talk about it this way. She couldn’t help it – she reached out, laid a hand on his. He looked up, met her gaze. And her hand stayed there, resting on his.

He shrugged, smiled sadly. ‘It was a long time ago.’

‘I’m not sure that kind of thing ever goes away,’ Holly said gently. She certainly didn’t think it would for her – and she hadn’t actually lost Lily. At least her sister was still alive, still healthy. Happy? She was never sure about that. She always thought she saw a tightness in her smile, whenever she got up the courage to check her out on Facebook – Lily hadn’t removed her as a friend, though Holly wasn’t sure why, when she’d cut her out of her life so completely in every other way. And maybe Lily would never totally get over the life she’d lost that day, either.

‘Yeah,’ Jack said with another shrug. ‘Maybe.’ He was looking at her like he was reading something more into what she was saying. She knew what he was going to ask – but she didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to talk about her own crash. She drew her hand back, slowly, as he started to speak again. ‘You say that like you—’

But at that point, someone from the table next to them slid out of the booth, bumping into her so that she was pushed towards Jack. So that the small gap that had separated them was closed, his thigh pressing firmly against hers. Her whole body went taut, suddenly very aware of the clothing separating their legs.

‘Ah, sorry,’ she said, tilting her head up to look at him. He was so close now – she could count his eyelashes, if she’d wanted to. And that stubble – she wondered how it would feel if he— Stop it, Holly. It was the cocktails. It was the bloody cocktails, making her lightheaded and infatuated. She looked away from his gaze and towards the piano, needing a direction to aim for.

‘No worries, bound to happen on a Friday night,’ Jack said easily. So, clearly he wasn’t as aware of their legs pressed together as she was.

‘Right,’ Holly agreed. ‘Right,’ she said again, reminded of the fact that it was Friday and she had to be up in the morning to help Abi get the students on the bus and see them off like a responsible adult. ‘And actually, on that note, I’d better go.’ But she made the mistake of looking at him again, and he caught her gaze with his own. She swallowed, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She saw him follow the movement with his gaze.

‘Ok,’ he said.

She blinked. ‘Ok?’

‘Ok, you need to go?’

‘Right. Right!’ She stood up with such force, determined not to sit there like an idiot for one moment longer, and lost her balance. Swearing slightly, she pressed a palm into his shoulder to catch herself, then took her hand back quickly. His hand just missed hers as he reached to steady her, their fingertips grazing.

‘Sorry,’ she said. She wasn’t usually this apologetic, was she?

He only chuckled as he got to his feet.

They both slung their coats on and Jack handed Holly her handbag, then placed a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the bar. Ok, she needed him to stop touching her. Or touch her a hell of a lot more – she couldn’t quite work out which.