‘Is it important to you that I see him?’
Ty shrugged, looking outraged at the question. ‘I don’t care, do what you want.’
‘I’ll think about it.’
The rest of the afternoon passed easily enough into the evening with Jermaine chattering away about his birthday wishes, and Kai playing with Chelsea on the floor. When the time came to go, Tyler offered to walk her to the train station. Carly didn’t do much beyond what she normally did, which was hand Chelsea any post with her name on, mostly pointless advertising that she would bin when she got home, and stand stonily, like she’d been called to attention, part of a parade that Jez had ordered. The only thing that comforted Chelsea about it all was that she imagined her mother did exactly the same thing she did as soon as she left, take a long, deep breath, close her eyes, and be relieved it was over for another few months.
She walked in step with Tyler, her strut softening to match his slow, lazy strides.
They didn’t talk – it seemed pointless trying to catch up on lives that barely made sense to the other. They just walked next to each other, happy enough in the silence. Every now and then she noticed that Tyler looked at her like she was from a different world, one that didn’t know anything about who he really was, or how they lived. She was an impostor. But the truth was, Chelsea had always existed in a different world, even when she was stuck on that estate in Badgeley.
She called Kit on the train back, and hearing the warmth in his voice as he insisted he’d meet her at the station was a balm.
‘I don’t know, I’m exhausted,’ she sighed, ‘I was just going to walk home from the station.’
‘I’ll get you! Come on, even if it’s just the five minute drive home, I want to see you.’
She’d relented, as she often did in the face of Kit’s enthusiasm. Most days, when she was her best, most Chelsea self, she’d match him quip for quip, egging on his excitement with ideas for new adventures.
Occasionally, when he’d been working on a horrible case that seemed to draw the life out of him, he’d become quiet and soft, and she’d be the one in control, the one caring for him and suggesting things to do. Often, she was relieved at the downtime. Life with Kit was a hundred miles an hour.
Chelsea stumbled out of Kentish Town Station and a car flashed its lights further down. Inside, Kit waved, a huge grin on his face. Chelsea got in the car and looked at him, this kind, gorgeous man who for some strange reason had picked her. Kit was tall, his blond hair shorter now that he was at a big office unlike the unruly mop he had when they first met. His skin was pale, but tanned instantly, his eyes an alarming blue that always looked kind. He had that adorable sloppy look, she noticed, like he’d relaxed for the night. She loved that most, when he took off the expensive suit and left the fancy education at the door so they could curl up in comfy clothes on the sofa to watch a stupid movie. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his collar unbuttoned, and she had never seen something that looked so much like home.
‘Hello, gorgeous.’ He reached for her, capturing her lips briefly. ‘I missed you.’
‘It’s only been a couple of days, you soppy git.’ She grinned as he pulled out into the road. Chelsea paused, feeling like somehow she had to readjust her language to her life.
‘Soppy git indeed,’ he laughed, nodding. ‘I like that. It’s been a long couple of days. I haven’t even seen you since you got the promotion – congratulations, Miss Big Executive.’
‘Why thank you,’ she said, twisting her wrist in a royal impression, ‘and they rewarded me for all my hard work by making me take time off after getting a bigger workload – it’s nuts!’
Kit raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips as he tried to stop the smile on his face.
‘Baby, do you think maybe that’s because you refuse to take your holiday and the accounts team are getting pissed with you?’
‘But still!’ Chelsea huffed. ‘Making me take three weeks in one go! I’m going to be so behind!’
‘You’re probably already ahead into next year, knowing you.’ Kit shook his head, indicating. ‘Want to get some stuff from yours and come to mine?’
Chelsea shrugged. ‘I’ve got some stuff at yours, it’s not like I’ve got to be anywhere tomorrow.’
Kit paused. ‘Yes, unless your charming, exciting, alluring boyfriend missed you so much that he booked a surprise trip for the both of us. Well, a surprise for you, obviously I know about it.’
Chelsea blinked. ‘You managed to get time off?’
‘I spoke to your assistant, who confirmed you had to take your holiday, so I booked three weeks for me too. Charlie can cover me, it’ll be fine.’
‘And you’ve booked something?’ Chelsea wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or exhausted. She’d been quite looking forward to a few days of doing nothing.
‘I booked a short trip with the option for further stuff. It’s all very relaxed though,’ Kit explained, placing a hand on her knee as he parked outside her flat. ‘I thought you’d want to relax, but I know you wouldn’t last longer than two days before climbing the walls.’
Chelsea grinned. ‘I love you.’
Kit’s face lit up. ‘So go pack some clothes.’
‘I’m assuming I’m not going to be told where we’re going?’
‘Pack…light layers? Pretty stuff for evenings. Shoes that can walk on cobblestones. And a swimsuit.’
‘City break meets summer holiday?’
Kit blinked. ‘It’s warmer than here, but you might want a jacket or scarf or something for the evenings. And I’m not saying anything else.’
‘You know I hate being out of control.’ She rolled her eyes, opening the car door.
‘And you know I’ll make it worth it.’
The man was not wrong. His surprises, whilst they tended to mess with Chelsea’s natural need to be in charge, were always flamboyant and unusual. The problem was, she often felt that they were too much, that she didn’t deserve them. Like the private booth on the boat for Valentine’s Day, the weekend away in that castle for her birthday, the extravagant Tiffany box at Christmas. Kit did nothing by halves, but it was at least a comfort that he also seemed to enjoy the simpler things in life too. The pint in a Wetherspoons, the McDonald’s on the way home from some posh work function where they’d both drunk too much and eaten too little. He responded to each of these experiences as if they were adventures, something exciting and unusual. And from what she’d heard of his childhood, they were.
Chelsea let herself into her brightly lit but undeniably cramped studio, stopping to water the sad spider plant by the door and dump the bundle of letters and adverts from her mum’s on the side. She pulled out a few slim-fit dresses and wrapped them in tissue paper, then haphazardly threw in some jeans, tank tops and cardigans. She fished out a bikini, her very favourite white dress with the roses printed on it, and a pair of strappy heels,
