phone cheeped a text alert.
Katie. Just answer the damn phone, will you? Please! I need to talk to you!
I didn’t want to talk to him. I had no intention of embarrassing myself in front of him again and, if I actually spoke to him, I wasn’t entirely sure that wouldn’t happen but clearly I had to do something so I opted for another tactic. Settling into a bench seat in the basement café, I popped my books next to me. A sweet man brought my tray of tea and cake – needs must – out to me, laying it gently on the low table in front of me. I thanked him and pulled the phone from my bag. Opening my email account, I chose ‘new message’.
Dear Michael,
I’m sorry not to have got back to you today. It’s all been a bit of a rush with one thing and another.
This was sort of true. Besides, telling him that I didn’t get back to him because I might end up saying something I couldn’t take back and cause myself mortifying embarrassment as a result, wasn’t really the tone I wanted to go for.
Thanks for a lovely evening last night. As I said in the text, it seemed to be going well from what I saw, which was great! I know from your texts you feel bad that you didn’t see me home, but it was no problem. It’s not like we were on a date or anything so you have nothing to feel bad about. I had a lovely meal and met some very nice people – and I may have even got some work out of it, so I must thank you for that too.
I hope you are happy with how everything turned out at home and that you can now enjoy your beautiful house. I sincerely hope that your grandfather approves too when he visits you over the holidays. I’m sure he will. We were both a little (a lot!) sceptical at the beginning of this project – you as to how it all worked and me as to whether you would actually commit to it. But I think that we have both been pleasantly surprised – at least I know I have been. I’d like to say how much I enjoyed working on this project with you and helping you bring the house back to a place you love to be again.
I’d also like to thank you for giving Pilot a wonderful home. Please give him a hug from me.
And lastly, although this may not be my place to say, and perhaps I am overstepping the mark, but I saw the way your ex-wife looked at you last night and how you were together. I know she hurt you before but it’s clear that she wants to try again. I wish you all the luck and happiness in the world with this and for a wonderful, family Christmas in your ‘new’ home – as well as for the New Year and beyond.
Take care of yourself Michael.
Of course the next question was how I signed off. ‘Yours sincerely’ seemed way too formal, but ‘lots of love’, although nearer to the truth, was a definite no-no. I settled on ‘Best Wishes, Kate’.
My finger hovered over the send button. Goodbye Michael. The thought ran around in my head as I lowered my thumb onto the button and the message shot off into the ether.
Pouring my tea, I plopped in some milk, took a big forkful of lemon cake and picked up one of the books and started reading. Another pot and another slice of cake later and I thought I’d probably better start heading home. I took the books to the counter, paid and got my loyalty points, feeling slightly guilty but reasoning that they were Christmas gifts to myself. And if the festive TV schedule turned out to be a bit naff I at least had these and Netflix to disappear into as others around the country contemplated the wisdom of having eaten that ninth sausage roll.
The snow was still falling as I plodded down the stairs of the nearby Underground entrance, entering the swarming flow of humanity down there. A woman next to me slipped on the wet floor and I automatically put out a hand out to steady her.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled. I returned it, unable to dismiss the flash of joy at the thought that the Christmas spirit was apparently even permeating the depths of the Victorian tunnels, and causing a break in that cardinal sin of strangers actually talking on the Tube.
After arriving at my station, I marched carefully up the pavement, enjoying the sound of my boots crunching and squeaking on the freshly fallen snow. But no matter how much I tried to push them away, thoughts of Michael kept barrelling back in: his voice, his laugh, the way he’d pulled me closer to his body as he’d bent to talk to me last night. Tears pricked at my eyes and I knew that this time it wasn’t just from the cold weather.
Turning up the pathway of the flats, a gust of wind blew tiny shards of icicles and snowflakes across my face. Lowering my head against it, I shoved my hand into my bag to grab my keys. As I lifted my head back up, keys now gripped in one hand, I jumped. Sat on the front step of the building, looking decidedly damp, cold and serious – not to mention, wantonly gorgeous – was Michael. He stood as he saw me approach.
‘What are you doing out here?’ I asked. ‘You’ll catch your death!’
‘Waiting for you.’ He reached out and took the bags from me. ‘You wouldn’t answer my calls or texts so I came in person.’
I plugged the key into the lock and turned it, opening the door as another gust of wind practically blew us both in the door.
‘I did answer them.’
Sort of.
Michael frowned as he closed the door against the wind, putting some effort behind it. ‘Even when you were pissed off at me that first time I called, having sent Bernice back, you picked up the phone. You’ve never avoided me before, even when you hated me. But now you do?’
‘I told you I was busy. I wasn’t…specifically avoiding you.’
Nice one, Pinocchio.
‘And I never hated you.’
‘There was a rumour you wanted to hit me with a snow shovel.’
‘Yes. Well. All right. There were moments that might have crossed my mind.’
A ghost of a smile played on his lips and I wanted to catch it with my own and trap it there. I looked away.
‘And like I said, I did reply to you.’ I cast a glance back out of the glass doors. ‘That snow’s not letting up. You should get –’
‘This is the reply you’re referring to?’ He held up his phone, the email I had sent from the bookshop open on it.
I headed towards the stairs, avoiding the lift as I always did. And having just snarfed two pieces of cake, probably the best option anyway.
‘Yes. See? Not ignoring you at all.’ I turned on the stair and leant to take the bags back from him.
He inched them back out of my reach. ‘I’ll bring them. We’re not done talking yet.’
I lifted my gaze to his and he met it evenly. The green eyes softened for a moment and he lifted his free hand to my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin.
‘You’ve been crying. I thought it was just the wind blowing at you out there, making your eyes water.’
‘It
