We had definitely crossed a line, stumbling together into new territory. The rest happened almost accidentally

I’m dithering in the middle of the path, pretending to gauge a particularly deep puddle. I risk a backward glance. He’s standing in the car headlights, a dark lonely man-shape in a halo of gold and raindrops. “The pub’s still open,” he says. I turn back. “Go on then. I suppose we could have just the one.”

I begin to retrace my steps, walking back towards him just a shade too quickly. I hope he won’t notice.

Lucie

July

I struggle to open my eyes. Light is pouring through the window. Why hadn’t I closed the curtains last night?

Frantically I backtrack, but something has forced me awake.

My phone is ringing in the depths of the house. I sit up, but then the ringing stops, and I find that I don’t care enough to get up and investigate further.

I sink back into the pillows and look at the man snoring softly beside me. Arthur.

After drinks in the pub that first night, we quickly fell into a pleasant routine, away from Mac and Reuben and other concerns.

We’d meet in the pub after work, just talk. Or Arthur would talk and I would whine or find fault with things.

I’d order pints, determined to out-man the baker with his gin and tonic. It suited me to think of him as shy and boring, and therefore not quite worthy of my attention.

But last night, something changed. Last night he was all I needed.

We’d sat in a dark beery corner, under amber lamplight, shielded from real life by dusty tapestry curtains.

I’d spoken about Reuben, about how much I hurt, cursing my fate while shredding beer mats. I couldn’t bring myself to mention Mac.

That was something I needed to process in my own time. Arthur just nodded and cradled his tall glass and gazed at me as if the words spilling out of my mouth were really, really important.

I’d soon moved on to wine, which went straight to my head and made me think I was irresistible.

Who doesn’t want to be irresistible? I never stopped to consider the consequences.

I remember both of us dissolving into laughter, Arthur putting his arm around me.

We were sitting side by side on the banquette and it was easy for him to hug me.

I let my arm snake around his waist and we sat like that as a new awareness bloomed between us.

We had definitely crossed a line, stumbling together into new territory.

The rest happened almost accidentally.

We ticked off all the required clichés: he walked me home; I asked him in for coffee and discovered an unopened box of almond slices.

We scooched up together at the table, heads leaning in, mugs aligned.

He went all Paul Hollywood for a bit, holding his cake up for inspection, pointing out the delicacy of the base and banging on about Madagascan vanilla.

Finally, bored, I leant over and took a massive bite of his cake, leaving him holding a mere stub.

There I was, giggling and spluttering crumbs, with him glaring at me, mock fierce, and telling me I was in big trouble.

Like the best of fights, we took it to the bedroom. It was different. Reuben was still in the sad bits of my mind.

I think Arthur knew that, and worked hard to banish him for good.

Determined

He almost succeeded. I almost lost myself in Arthur, but a bit of my brain refused to let go completely.

It watched me from a corner of the room, standing apart like a shy girl at a party.

Afterwards, I lay cradled against his hairy chest. He kissed the top of my head, cupped my breast as if I were some kind of goddess, and a slow, sad tear trickled from my eye.

It must have landed on his bare skin, causing ripples like something falling into the millpond, because he gave a start, twisting round to look in my face, determined to see the things I don’t want people to see.

“What is it?”

“Tears of joy.” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Are you staying?” The look on his face told me he’d never considered otherwise.

“Fine,” I said, rolling over to switch off the lamp. “Just don’t snore.” I consider him now with something like sadness.

I can’t afford to let him in.

When my phone rings again, a little later, I scrabble for last night’s T-shirt, haul on yesterday’s knickers and stub my feet into flip-flops.

My phone is doing that curious little jig in the middle of the kitchen table, disturbing all the crumbs. The inevitable cake box is still sitting there from the day before, and two empty coffee mugs.

I grab the phone. I see that it’s Jane and my heart misses a beat. I think about not answering, but what good would that do?

“Jane? Hi.”

“Hi, Lucie. Is this a bad time? I know it’s early but,” She sounds friendly enough. Her voice is tight, but not angry.

“It’s as good a time as any. Are you okay?”

I know what she’s going to say. I know I have to pretend not to know.

I’ve been waiting for this phone call, this conversation, since Reuben’s visit two weeks ago.

Appealing

She dissolves into tears, and I find myself trotting out all the usual rubbish.

Maybe it’s for the best. Some things aren’t meant to be. Plenty more fish etc.

She ended it, finally – not him. But she doesn’t tell me why.

“Will you come home, Lucie. Just for a bit? I know you’re busy, but I could use a friendly face. That’s what sisters are for, right?”

I take a deep breath. “You know I’m always here for you. I’ll see if I can get away this weekend.”

It would mean not having to face Mac. The idea grows very appealing.

“Okay. Stay as long as you want. Surely you can take a week off? You’re entitled to holidays.”

This makes me smile somehow. I have a vague memory of Jane kicking off about rates of pay when she took on a paper round at 14.

She always had a strong sense of right and wrong. We make arrangements. Jane promises to pick me up from the train station.

I break off the call and stand for a moment, gripping the edge of the table.

More tomorrow.