He frowned a little. ‘What do you mean?’
I shrugged beneath the cups of his hands, which were holding the tops of my shoulders. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was a one-off or … or something else.’
His hands tightened for a moment before he relaxed them, but he didn’t let me go. ‘You want to go and grab some dinner somewhere after work?’
I bit my lip again as I thought of the implications of us being seen out in public. There was already gossip about him seeing a married woman in the hospital. I hadn’t realised until then that my lies were not just hurting me, they had the potential to hurt him. ‘Can we just get some takeaway and have it at your place?’
He gave me a levelling look. ‘The longer you leave it the worse it’s going to be.’
I dipped out of his hold and crossed the floor, hugging my arms to my body again. ‘I know. I know. It’s just not that simple.’
‘It seems simple enough to me.’ There was a thread of impatience in his voice. Hard and tight, like a fine wire under strain. ‘You just have to be honest, Bertie. People will talk for a while but it’ll eventually go away.’
‘I need more time.’
‘For what?’ he said. ‘For you to rule out the possibility your ex will come crawling back to you?’
I looked at him in affront. ‘You think that’s what’s stopping me? Really?’
His expression was marble cold. ‘Be honest with yourself, if not with anyone else.’
‘Maybe you should take a lesson from that pulpit you’re preaching from,’ I threw back.
His eyes were suddenly flinty. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
I flashed him a little glare. ‘You’ve waited for over a year to get involved with someone else. Doesn’t that suggest you’re still moping over the one who got away?’
He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets as if he was trying to stop himself from reaching for me. ‘We haven’t got a hope of this progressing past a one-night stand if you don’t tell everyone the truth about your situation.’
I drew myself up to my full height, which isn’t saying much as I barely came up to the top of his chest. ‘I’ll tell you why it won’t progress past a one-nighter. Because you won’t allow yourself to feel anything for anyone because you’re frightened they’ll pull away from you when you least expect it. You’ll never give anyone that power again, will you?’
A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘I have work to do, so if you’ve finished listing my faults, I’d appreciate it if you’d let me get on with it.’
I swung away with a haughty toss of my head. Not literally. It was still firmly on my straightened shoulders. ‘Fine. I’m out of here.’
I glanced at him when I got to the door but he had already dismissed me. He was sitting behind his desk and scrolling through his emails or whatever was on his computer screen.
BY THE TIME I got home I’d cooled down, although that might have had something to do with the weather. The snow was falling in earnest and I’d heard on the news they were expecting more overnight. I didn’t fancy a long, lonely night alone and I didn’t have the enthusiasm for a session of painting and decorating. I looked around the half-painted walls and the threadbare carpets, the tired kitchen with its out-of-date appliances.
My house suddenly looked a bit like my life. A mess.
I was considering what to do about food, not that I had much appetite, when the doorbell rang. I peered through the peephole, toying with the idea of pretending not to be home if it was Margery. It wasn’t.
I opened the door and Matt stood there, with snow falling all around him. There was even some clinging to the ends of his eyelashes. He was carrying a bag with takeaway food containers in it and a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. ‘Have we just had our first fight?’ he said.
I felt every last residue of anger melt away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘No apology necessary.’ He held up his peace offering. ‘I took a gamble on food. Curry all right?’
‘Perfect for a cold winter’s night.’ I ushered him through to the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry the place is a bit of a mess.’
‘Was your ex a home handyman?’
I gave him a cynical look. ‘Are you joking?’
He frowned. ‘You’re doing it yourself?’
‘I’m trying to … but as you can see it’s not going according to plan.’ Was it my imagination or did the paint job I’d done the other night look patchy? There was a drip of paint on the skirting board I hadn’t noticed before.
‘It’s a big job for one person.’
‘Yes, well, it was supposed to be two people doing it but you know how that turned out.’
He took the wine out of the paper bag. ‘You want some help with it?’
I wasn’t sure what he was suggesting. But as olive branches went it was a good one—even better than the curry and the wine. ‘Don’t tell me you’re handy with a paintbrush, otherwise I mightn’t let you leave.’
He gave a sudden grin. ‘I did up my place in Notting Hill before I went to the US. I enjoyed it. It was a change from work, where stuff can’t always be fixed.’
I knew exactly what he meant. Sometimes the hopelessness of some patients’ situations ate away at me. ‘I spent some time with Jason’s wife today,’ I said, as I handed Matt a couple of wine glasses.
‘How’s she doing?’
‘I think she’s struggling a bit, as anyone would in her situation.’ I took the glass of wine he had poured for me.
He looked at me across the Formica kitchen table that separated us. ‘You’re doing a good job. I can see how the things you’ve set up help. The little touches that make people feel less alienated by the environment.’ He waited a beat and then continued, ‘I had a brother two years older than me. He died when I was fifteen.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘Jill told me. She said her sister-in-law is your mother’s school friend or something.’
He gave me a quirk of a smile. ‘What used to be six degrees of separation is now two with social media.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Tell me about it.’
There was a little silence. I didn’t feel so uncomfortable with them now. But after a moment I asked, ‘What was it like for you and your parents when Tim was in ICU?’
He looked at the contents of his glass, swirling it as if searching for the memories in the dark cherry-coloured
