The view was quite spectacular. I felt as if I was on top of the world, empowered, ennobled. Alex’s observation that Martin had been a wreck after the breakdown of his marriage suddenly seemed immaterial, replaced by a clear and romantic sense that everything was exactly as it should be.
‘Why aren’t you married?’
I laughed but he just looked at me, waiting for an answer.
‘I’ve never been good at relationships.’
‘I’d say we’re doing pretty well so far.’
I felt as if we were both stripped naked, as if I could tell him anything. I took a breath before I spoke again.
‘When I was nineteen I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Manic depression,’ I added, to clarify.
‘The scars on your arms … I never wanted to ask.’
‘Self-harm, not a suicide bid. They’re old,’ I said, rubbing my hand self-consciously. ‘Second year at university. It was a difficult time. I almost dropped out of college but I got through it, thanks to Clare, my tutors and good medication. It’s under control, but I find relationships difficult.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s just easier to stay single.’
‘Is it?’
I shrugged, fixing my gaze on a distant red neon sign.
‘I’ve always wanted to keep my life as uncomplicated as possible, control things as much as I can. When you’ve had quite literal ups and downs, you just want things to be predictable.’
‘Everyone needs someone, Fran. Deserves someone.’
‘But letting people in brings problems. We find it difficult enough to control our own emotions, let alone other people’s. I like you, you like me, but what happens when Donna wants to talk again or says she wants to give your marriage another go?’ I said, thinking back to the night when he went to meet her, when I called him up, longing to hear his voice and his reassurance, and was met with nothing but a cold and sterile recorded message.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ he said finally.
‘It might.’
‘Come here,’ he murmured, inching towards me on the roof. He pulled me close then shifted his position so that he was facing me. He stroked my hair and held my head between his hands.
‘We just have to hang in there and soon, really soon, it’s going to be this. Just us. No Donna, no sneaking around, just me and you.’
‘Do you promise?’ I wanted to stay up here, almost touching the clouds, forever.
‘I promise,’ he whispered, and I shivered as he kissed me, knowing how completely I had fallen for him and how much that could damage me.
‘Have a good night on Friday?’
I was filling the kettle in the small chambers kitchen when I turned and saw Tom standing in the doorframe.
‘Yes, thanks. It was fun,’ I replied, busying myself with lids and plugs so I wouldn’t have to look at him. Please leave, I said in my head, hoping it would work like a spell, but my magic was weak because Tom leant against the counter. Clearly he was in the mood to chat.
‘Hannah wanted to know where your dress was from.’
I froze, wondering if this was his way of saying that I was very dressed up at the gallery. Men didn’t usually notice those sorts of things, but then Tom Briscoe was the kind of man who didn’t generally miss anything, especially if he could use it to his advantage.
‘Hannah seemed nice,’ I said, dropping a teabag into my cup. ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.’
‘I don’t,’ he shrugged.
‘Does Hannah know that?’ I asked, sliding the box of Twinings English Breakfast Tea towards him.
He stood in silence as we listened to the kettle bubble and finally click off.
‘So why were you there on Friday?’ he said. ‘Was it a date?’
So it wasn’t just a casual chat, Tom had smelt something in the air at the gallery.
I shook my head.
‘You really can’t believe I have anything resembling a glittering social life, can you?’
‘I’m sure you do on the quiet,’ he said. ‘All I meant was, that was a bloody hot ticket. Hugh Grant turned up after you’d gone.’
‘Should have stuck around then, shouldn’t I? Shame I’m so dedicated to my job.’
‘That’s why you left?’ he said with disbelief. ‘To go home and work?’
‘If you had my dedication, Tom,’ I said, filling my mug with hot water, ‘you might get on in your career. Instead, you’re hobnobbing with film stars and not having a girlfriend.’
‘Hannah? Well, Hannah’s … she’s a friend,’ said Tom defensively. I waggled a spoon at him.
‘Exactly what every woman wants to hear.’
‘It’s a complicated relationship.’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, well, aren’t they all?’
‘Ah, so it was a date,’ he said with a teasing smile.
‘Nope. But it’s nice you’re spending so much time thinking about my love life. Hannah will be pleased.’
I took my mug and backed out of the kitchen, waving. He gave me a sarcastic smile, but there was still something in his face. A curiosity, a hint that he knew – or at the very least suspected – something. It scared me more than it should have.
Brooding on what Tom might or might not know put me in a terrible mood. Outside, the sky echoed my mindset: dark clouds that looked like they could burst at any moment. Even so, I decided to go the long way round to get to my next appointment. The route took me past the river and the view of the silvery Thames always soothed me.
It was an unremarkable café. A chalkboard sign outside advertised tea and bacon sandwiches, there was an unappetizing selection of factory-made cakes in the display cabinet, the smell of old cooking fat was so strong it seemed to have soaked into the walls. Few barristers came here – and that was precisely why Phil Robertson liked it.
He was waiting for me at the back of the room when I arrived.
‘You’re late.’
‘So sue me,’ I grinned, glad to see him.
I’d
