fabric of his shirt. He huddles nearer to me, cupping his hands around his lighter as he sparks up his cigarette, the tip crackling and glowing as he takes a puff and then offers the packet to me. I haven’t smoked in a long time, but I take one gratefully, thankful that I have a use for my hands. He lights it for me and I inhale deeply, instantly calmer as the nicotine travels to my lungs. Oh, I’ve missed this.
‘So,’ he says, exhaling puffs of smoke that disappear into the dark night. ‘I hear we’re going to be housemates.’
I stamp my feet against the cold and nod. ‘Not until mid-June. I’ve got to give my landlord a month’s notice on my flat.’ I take another drag on my cigarette.
‘It’s a shame you’re moving in,’ he says, a shy smile on his lips. I stare at him mutely, disappointment coursing through me that Ben doesn’t want me to move in. Have I offended him in some way? We seemed to get on well at the party on the night of the open studio.
‘We have a house rule, you see,’ he says gravely. ‘No romances between housemates. Beatrice is very particular about it.’
My face flames and I try and hide it by blowing on my hands theatrically even though it’s not that cold.
‘And I was hoping that maybe you would come out for a drink with me sometime? But I’m not sure that would go down too well, now that you’re going to be moving in.’ He regards me intently over the tip of his cigarette.
I’m speechless. He’s attracted to me, I can hardly believe it. He flicks his cigarette butt into the flower bed where it glows orange against the brown soil before slowly burning out.
‘Well, I’m not a housemate yet,’ I say shyly.
‘That is true.’
We stare at each other and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me; my heart bangs against my chest at this unexpected turn of events.
‘So you will come out for a drink with me?’ His voice is hopeful, his pupils dark as he inches closer.
‘I will,’ I almost whisper, without breaking eye contact. We stand together for a few moments, neither of us speaking. Come on, kiss me, I think.
A far-off peal of laughter breaks the moment and he moves away from me slightly to retrieve his mobile from the back pocket of his jeans. When he asks me for my mobile number, I reel it off to him and he taps it into his phone. Then he rings my mobile so his number is stored on my phone as well.
‘No excuses, no saying you’ve lost my number,’ he jokes. ‘The joys of modern technology.’
I laugh, knowing I’d never have the nerve to ring him unless he called me first. I’m about to open my mouth to say something when I notice Ben stiffen. His eyes shift away from me to look at someone or something over my shoulder. I turn and see Beatrice standing in the doorway, her long fingers toying with the stem of a champagne glass, staring at us thoughtfully. Cass is nowhere to be seen. She smiles but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes and I can tell she’s annoyed about something. ‘There you are,’ she says. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’ I’m unsure if she’s talking to me or Ben.
‘I’m having a cigarette,’ says Ben.
‘Oh, Ben, you’re so naughty,’ she laughs, although I’m not sure she’s really amused. She steps on to the patio and stands next to her brother, holding out the palm of her hand and batting her eyelashes at him. Ben sighs and rolls his eyes at me in mock annoyance then rummages in his pocket for his cigarette packet, taps one out on to his hand and places it between her lips where he dutifully lights it. ‘I shouldn’t,’ she says to nobody in particular, snaking her arm around his waist while his languishes over her shoulder and I’m envious of their closeness.
She takes a few heavy puffs. ‘Pam and Cass are here too, somewhere,’ she says, turning towards Ben and avoiding meeting my eyes. I feel a stab of panic at the thought that I’m being slighted by her. Since she’s come outside she hasn’t glanced my way once. What if she suspects that I was tempted to kiss her earlier and no longer wants to be friends with me, regrets asking me to move in? I couldn’t bear to be cast aside now, not after everything. I don’t want to go back to my own, lonely life, rattling around that flat, terrified every time the sun goes down because I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I want to move in with her, be part of her life. ‘They’re having a great time,’ she continues, still not looking at me, ‘although Pam’s a little drunk and flirting with Monty. She’s convinced she can turn him.’
I laugh as if this is the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages. Beatrice turns to me and flashes me a puzzled smile. ‘Are you okay, Abi?’
‘Actually, I’ve got a headache coming on.’ I urgently need to get away from this party, from this situation. ‘I think I’ll go home.’
Ben’s hazel eyes fill with concern. ‘Do you want me to see you home?’
‘I will see her home.’ She shoots Ben a warning look and uncoils herself from him. ‘Come on, Abi. I’ll call a taxi.’ She puts an arm around my shoulder and steers me back into the house, away from the garden and away from her twin brother.
It’s the second Saturday in June when I finally move in. The sky is a cloudless powder blue and as we drive by the tennis courts I notice a couple of teenage girls in short swishy skirts, showing off tanned, lean legs, rackets insouciantly slung over their shoulders as they chat by the net, and I feel it, the unfamiliar stirrings of excitement at the thought that this is my new life. A new me. For once I am optimistic about the future, hopeful that maybe I can have a semblance of a life without Lucy.
‘Nice part of town,’ says Dad. He reverses his Mazda in between two parked cars to the right of Beatrice’s house. My house. I peer out the window and with a twinge of disappointment I see no sign of Ben’s little Fiat. Dad switches off the engine and points to number nineteen. ‘Is that it?’ When I nod he lets out a low whistle of approval. ‘You’ve done all right for yourself.’ He chuckles. ‘And you don’t even have to pay rent.’
‘I’m not sure about that,’ I admit. ‘Mum said I should insist.’
Dad shrugs, then tells me, as he always does, that my mum is probably right, before climbing down on to the kerb. I snatch my mobile phone from the dashboard and follow him around to the back of the car as he opens the boot, revealing my life packed up in an array of cardboard boxes and black bags. He turns to me and my heart pangs at the concerned look in his sea-green eyes. ‘Are you sure about this, sweetheart? You can always come and live with us if you don’t want to be on your own. Your mum was never happy about you moving into that flat by yourself, and after everything …’ He clears his throat, but when he speaks again his voice is gruffer. ‘Anyway, you don’t really know much about these people, do you?’
His concern brings a lump to my throat. A stranger wouldn’t be able to see it – his grief – but I can. He wears it like a heavy trench coat, one that he refuses to remove so that he’s buckling underneath its weight. It’s evident in the greying of his dark eyebrows, the hollowness of his once-rounded face, in the new
