And it is small. We’re in his flipping en-suite. I jerk my head towards the door. ‘Let’s go back downstairs.’
He leads the way out, but I quickly spritz his aftershave onto my wrist before following him. He throws a look at me over his shoulder, his pursed lips telling me that he knows full well what I just did. I shrug cheekily and he laughs.
‘Well, you have a very nice place,’ I say decisively when we’re back downstairs. ‘I like it. It’s very grown up,’ I add.
‘That’s a good thing?’ he checks with a frown.
‘Yes.’
He goes into the kitchen. I pull up a stool at his bar table. The whole of the downstairs is open plan with a countertop bar area separating the kitchen from the living room.
‘Drink?’ he offers.
‘Sure. What are you having?’
‘I fancy a beer.’
‘What else have you got?’
He peers in the fridge. ‘Beer,’ he states, glancing over at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’
‘I’ll have one, then,’ I tell him with a grin.
I have a flashback to Lachie cracking open a couple of bottles and chinking them as he hands them over. The image makes me wince and suddenly my nose is prickling. I quickly hop down from the stool.
‘Is this a loo?’ I call of the door under the stairs, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.
‘Yep,’ he replies.
I go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection through blurry vision.
There’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball and suddenly I miss Lachie so much, I want to sob my heart out.
I try very, very hard not to, but it’s a while before my throat returns to normal and the pricking at the back of my eyes recedes.
I return to the living room.
‘Are you okay?’ Alex asks with concern.
I nod quickly and smile brightly. ‘Fine!’
‘You’re not,’ he states.
‘Don’t,’ I cut him off. ‘Please.’
He goes over to the sofa, running his hand through his hair and scruffing it up as he sits down.
‘How did you break up?’ he asks.
I swallow, the lump back in force as I join him at the other end of the sofa. I shake my head quickly.
‘Was it you or him? Or mutual?’
‘More him than me,’ I reply unsteadily. ‘I wanted kids. He didn’t.’
‘Ah.’
‘I guess our age difference finally caught up with us.’ I drag my fingers under my eyes to catch a couple of stray teardrops.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly.
‘Yeah. It only happened a few days before I came away.’
‘Do you think he just needs space?’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No, he’s adamant. We want different things.’
He nods, scratching off the label on his beer bottle with his thumbnail as he stares at it in a daze.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Yours is not a shoulder I ever had any intention of crying on.’
He gives me a rueful look.
‘Do you think you and I could ever be friends again?’ I suddenly feel compelled to ask.
‘Of course,’ he replies.
I choose to ignore the fact that there was a moment’s hesitation before he spoke.
I wake up to the smell of bacon and freshly ground coffee. For a moment, I stare up at the ceiling, scarcely able to believe that I’m in Alex’s home. I climb out of bed and sweep up yesterday’s clothes, then walk through to the bathroom, glad of the oversized T-shirt covering me down to my thighs.
I don’t look too horrendous, I note as I check my reflection. I had nothing to take off my make-up with last night, so I went to bed with it on and it’s still pretty much intact this morning.
I say a silent thank-you to the clever people at Clinique who created their high-impact waterproof mascara and reach for the toothbrush Alex gave me from an unused airline travel kit. Then I drag the same kit’s comb through my hair, take a quick shower and get dressed in yesterday’s clothes.
‘Hey,’ Alex says warmly when I appear at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hi.’ I smile back at him, my heart doing a funny little flip.
He’s wearing faded black jeans with a tear at the knees and a light-grey T-shirt.
‘Sleep well?’ he asks.
‘Surprisingly. Your spare bed is ridiculously comfortable. How about you?’
He screws up his nose. He looks tired, so I’m guessing that’s a no, but I don’t ask why.
‘Orange juice? Tea? Coffee?’ he offers.
‘The coffee smells good,’ I reply by way of an answer.
He grabs a mug out of a high cupboard, the bottom of his T-shirt riding up to reveal a brief glimpse of dark hair trailing from his bellybutton downwards.
I quickly avert my gaze, my heart quickening as I’m hit with a sudden flashback to the night we slept together. It was over six years ago, but it was pretty unforgettable.
‘Can I open your outside doors?’ I ask, feeling hot as I wander across the living room. His garden really is stunning. Compact, but gorgeous.
‘Sure.’ He comes over and unlocks the doors for me before pushing them open, letting a whoosh of cool air spill into the room. He goes back to the kitchen.
‘Full fry-up, right?’ he calls back at me.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly.’
‘I’ll get out of your way after that,’ I vow. ‘I’m sure you’ve got a ton of work to do.’
He doesn’t respond.
Later, I help carry the breakfast things into the kitchen, looking around for a dishwasher.
‘I’ll take them,’ he says, our fingers brushing as I hand them over. I jolt, as though I’ve been given an electric shock, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine. Shaken, I walk out of the kitchen.
‘Well, it was good to see you.’ I’m attempting breezy, but my voice is wavering.
He clatters the plates onto the countertop and follows me.
‘Bronte,’ he says quietly, swiping my hand.
It happens again. The shockwaves quiver all the way up my arm. I pull my hand away.
He stares at me, helplessly.
‘Why do you have to go?’ he asks. ‘Spend the day with me.’
I shake my head. ‘I can’t.’
‘Why not? Polly’s at work. Why are you rushing back?’
‘I haven’t got any clothes.’
‘I’ll take you shopping.’
‘Really?’ I ask with a laugh, feeling all of a sudden weirdly tearful.
‘Really. We can go into Hampstead, go for a walk or something, have lunch.’
‘Haven’t you got to go to your niece’s birthday party?’
His face falls and he stares at the floor, lost. ‘I forgot about that.’ He glances up at me. ‘Come with me?’
My mouth drops open. ‘You’ve got to be kidding, right? Come hang out with your entire family for the day?’
‘Why not? Anyway, it’s not the whole day: it’s a couple of hours.’
‘Don’t they hate me?’
He looks aghast. ‘Of course they don’t!’
‘You never told them what happened between us?’
He recoils. ‘Yeah, I did, but nobody blames you.’
‘Your mum doesn’t think I’m a complete hussy?’ I can’t help feeling a small spark of hope.
He rolls his eyes. ‘My mum would give anything to meet you.’
‘She has,’ I say drily. ‘On your wedding day. I was, “Bronte, there to do the photos”.’
He looks pained. ‘Yeah,’ he says, looking away. ‘I’m sorry about that.’