Mum x
I sat on the chair and looked at that piece of paper for a long time. I wished my mum were there to do a handwriting analysis. But I could pick up enough between the lines to realise Matt had a complicated background.
And here I was, thinking mine was a little weird.
I went back upstairs with some chicken broth I’d made while Matt slept. I’d found some ingredients in the pantry and fridge and freezer and whipped up my classic cure-all. I set it out on a tray with a starched doily I’d found and carried it upstairs.
Matt opened his eyes as I came in. ‘You’re still here?’
‘I haven’t got anything on this evening.’ I set the tray on the bedside table. ‘Do you think you could manage a bit of broth once I take your temp?’
‘Did you make it?’
‘Don’t worry, it’s not laced with poison.’
He frowned. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound—’
‘I did, however, sprinkle some eye of newt in it.’
He smiled a crooked smile. ‘Don’t make me laugh. It makes my head hurt.’
‘Poor baby.’
I popped the thermometer in his mouth and waited for it to beep. I took it out and looked at the reading. ‘Hmm, it’s back to normal. The rest must’ve done the trick.’
I sat beside him on the bed as he worked his way through the bowl of broth. He didn’t manage it all but he seemed to enjoy what he had. He even had a glass of mineral water with a squeeze of lemon I’d brought up.
Once he was finished I got up to take the tray back down to the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you have a shower and I’ll sort out your bed for you? I’ll even do hospital corners.’
He frowned again. ‘Seriously, Bertie, you don’t have to do this.’
‘I know, but I want to.’
His eyes looked into mine. ‘Why?’
‘Everyone needs a friend now and again.’
His frown deepened as his eyes moved away from mine. ‘I’m not sure I’m the sort of friend you need right now.’
‘Because you haven’t got over H-her?’ I caught myself just in time. I didn’t want him to know I’d been reading his private mail, although he might put two and two together once he realised I’d been in the study to get his doctor’s bag. I’d left everything as I’d found it, but if he knew anything about women at all, he must know I would have read it.
He let out a long, uneven breath. ‘I’m not good at relationships, any relationships. I hurt and disappoint people without even trying.’
‘So you keep things casual with anyone who comes along who interests you.’
He gave me a measured look. ‘Is that how you see us? As something casual?’
I wasn’t sure how to answer. What exactly was he offering? Come to that, what was I offering? I couldn’t hope to hide my attraction to him. My body had its own silent language. I could feel it calling out to him even then. The tightening of my core, the flush running over my skin, the way my eyes kept going from his to his mouth and back again. The way my tongue moistened my lips. Even the way I’d turned up tonight, playing nursemaid, surely told him all he needed to know. But how could I have what I wanted without causing even more mayhem in my life?
His eyes had a dark glint in them. ‘I can see how it’s risky, given your … situation.’
My teeth sank into my lip. Here was my chance to confess what a fool I’d been. The words were assembled on my tongue like paratroopers about to leave a Hercules aircraft. I knew once I let them out I couldn’t take them back. How soon before he would tell someone at work about my game of charades? But there was no way I could allow him to make love to me while he thought I was married. ‘There’s something I have to tell you … I should’ve told you earlier.’
‘I know.’
I kept talking, barely registering he had even spoken. Now that I’d made up my mind to confess I had to get on with it without distraction. I had to get it out there before he kissed me or I lost my courage. Not that I’d had much to begin with. ‘I’ve been lying to you about my … situation,’ I said. ‘There was no wedding. I was jilted the night before. I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I went on my honeymoon alone and I stupidly wrote a couple of postcards when I was tipsy, pretending everything had gone ahead as planned.’ I shook my head at my own foolishness, not wanting to look at Matt in case I saw the derision I was sure he must feel. ‘Postcards. Can you believe it? Who writes postcards these days? How dumb is that?’
‘I know.’
‘But the thing is I never intended to post them,’ I said, without even acknowledging Matt’s calm insertion. ‘The housekeeping staff took them when I was out of the room and kindly posted them for me. I should’ve known something like that would happen.’ I took a breath and went on, ‘I seem to always get myself into ridiculous situations. And then when I came back to work that first day there was my stupid postcard on the noticeboard. If I’d been sensible I would’ve phoned or emailed ahead or something. But walking in like that to their smiling faces, I … I just couldn’t do it. How could I tell them that …?’
Somewhere in the workings of my fevered brain I finally registered what he’d just said. Twice. I looked at him with a quizzical expression. ‘You know what?’
His eyes had that spark of amusement shining in them again. ‘I know you’re not married.’
I gaped at him with my mouth so wide open you could have backed a London bus into it. ‘You know? ’
His smile had a teasing element to it that made my blood start to tick with anger. ‘I knew from the start.’
He knew?
A red mist came up in front of my eyes.
He’d known from the start?
My veins were so bloated with anger they felt like they were going to combust. It was rocketing through my body like a cruise missile. He’d known and not told me? Not given me a single hint?
Why?
I clamped my lips together to force myself to think before I spoke. But I was too upset to think. My thoughts were tumbling around my head like a handful of marbles in a glass bowl. It physically hurt to try and make sense of them. Had he been laughing at me behind all his casually posed questions? Questions about my ‘husband’ and where I went on my honeymoon. Grrr! He’d known the whole time how awkward I would find those questions and yet he had continued each time we interacted as if I were a new bride. What had motivated him? Had he enjoyed my discomfiture, my wretched squirming every time we spoke?
Of course he had. He’d led me on, teasing me, mocking me with his enigmatic looks and half-smiles. The crushing hurt was worse than my anger. It pressed down on my sternum like a chest
