course – but I’d had far too much to drink – because of my leaving party – then I had loads more champagne after that – and I think that’s the reason why I leapt into bed with you actually. In fact, I’m sure it is.’
‘Oh.’ He’d withdrawn his hand. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I stuttered. ‘All I meant is I don’t normally have casual sex.’
‘What do you have then – formal sex? You wear a ball gown and tiara, and the guy wears a DJ?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Xan put down his glass. ‘I’m not. I just don’t understand why you feel you have to justify what happened. You don’t, Anna. We were very attracted to each other.’
I stared at him. ‘Yes …’ I whispered. ‘We were.’
‘And we still are,’ he said tentatively. ‘Aren’t we?’
My heart was pounding like a kettle drum. ‘Well … yes,’ I repeated. ‘But you said we needed to talk, which sounded ominous, as though you’ve got something unpleasant to tell me.’
‘Such as what?’
‘Well … that you’re already seeing someone, for example, or that you’re engaged, or married, or cohabiting, or that you take drugs, or think you might be gay. As we don’t know each other it could be anything – erm … that you murdered your father and slept with your mother for all I know, or that you once had an affair with a sheep – not that I remotely think you look the type to engage in anything as sordid as inter-species congress but …’
‘Anna …?’ Xan was shaking his head in bewildered amusement. ‘All I said was that I thought we should talk first – as in’ – he turned up his palms in a gesture of helplessness – ‘talk.’
‘Oh. Oh I see. About what?’
‘Well – anything – because we didn’t exactly talk much on Friday night, did we? But I obviously didn’t express myself very well – the flower shop was closing and I was in a hurry.’ He shrugged. ‘All I was trying to say was that I’d like to’ – he shrugged again – ‘get to know you.’
‘Oh. So … why did you hesitate before coming in?’
‘Because you’d clearly had a lot to drink and I wasn’t sure that I should. As I say, I do try to be gentlemanly.’ He sipped his beer. ‘Happy now?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’
He lowered his glass and peered at me. ‘Are you always this complicated?’
I smiled at him. ‘No.’
So, over dinner, we talked. The relief of knowing that Xan didn’t appear to have some hideous drawback restored my confidence. I waxed lyrical about my garden design course, which was due to begin the next day.
‘It’s based at the Chelsea Physic Garden,’ I explained. ‘It’s a wonderful place – like the Secret Garden – full of rare trees and medicinal plants. I’ll be studying horticulture and planting design, hard landscaping, technical drawing, garden lighting; how to use decorative elements such as statuary and water features …’ I shivered with apprehension. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’
Then Xan told me about his two-year BBC traineeship, which was just coming to an end. He picked up his knife. ‘I’m in the process of applying for jobs. It’s rather nerve-racking.’
‘Which bit of the Beeb do you want to work in?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m in the newsroom at the moment, which I like, but there are some reporting jobs coming up, which would be great as I’ve done quite a bit of on-screen work for BBC World. Or I might go for something at the business unit to capitalise on my financial background. There are various options, although the competition’s always stiff.’
Then he told me about his family. His father had worked for the British Council, so as a child he’d lived all over the world. ‘We were nomads,’ he explained. ‘Always packing and unpacking. Moving’s in my blood.’
‘How glamorous,’ I said wistfully, feeling suddenly dull and suburban. ‘I’m afraid staying put’s in mine. We’ve lived in the same house for thirty-five years.’
‘We being …?’
‘My parents – well, parent now.’ I felt a stab of loss. ‘My mother died three months ago. Three months ago today,’ I suddenly realised. ‘On Saturday June the eighth.’ As I said this I felt the familiar pressing sensation on my sternum, as though someone had left a pile of bricks on my chest.
‘Was she ill?’ Xan asked gently.
I shook my head. ‘She was very fit. Her death was totally unexpected. A bolt from the blue,’ I added bitterly.
‘So … what happened?’
I stared at the single pink rose in its slender vase. ‘She sprained her ankle.’ Xan was looking at me quizzically. ‘Dad said that she’d slipped coming down the stairs before lunch. Her ankle was badly swollen so he took her to hospital, where they bandaged it. And that evening she was lying on the sofa, complaining about what a nuisance it was, when she suddenly began to feel ill. She thought it must have something to do with the painkillers she’d been given, but in fact something terrible was happening to her – she’d got a blood clot in her leg, which had travelled round her body and reached her lungs. Dad said that she was struggling to breathe …’ I felt myself inhale, as if in a futile attempt to help her. ‘He called the ambulance and it came within ten minutes, but it was already too late – she’d died in his arms. She’d sprained her ankle and a few hours later she was dead. We couldn’t believe it,’ I croaked. ‘We still can’t.’
‘How terrible,’ Xan murmured after a moment. He laid his hand on mine. ‘You must feel … I don’t know … derelict.’
I looked at him. ‘Derelict …? That’s exactly the word.’ And in that moment I knew that was why I’d behaved so recklessly two nights before. It was so much more than physical lust. It was because for three months I’d been curled into myself – half dead with grief – and I’d wanted to feel … alive.
‘How old was she?’
His features were blurring. ‘Fifty-five.’
‘So young …’ Xan was shaking his head. ‘She could have expected another twenty years at least.’
‘None of us can expect it,’ I said quietly. ‘We can only hope for it. I know that now in a way that was only abstract to me before.’
We sat in silence for a moment or two.
‘What about the rest of your family?’ Xan asked, so I told him a bit about Cassie and Mark. ‘And your private life? Boyfriends?’
I shrugged. ‘I haven’t been out with anyone for quite a while.’
‘But you’re very
