فصل 16

16

They go out four times. The first time they have a pizza and she sticks to mineral water until shes sure he doesnt really think shes a soak, at which point she allows herself one gin and tonic. Its the most delicious gin and tonic she has ever had. He walks her back to her house and looks like hes about to leave, then after a slightly awkward moment he kisses her cheek and they both laugh as if they know this is all a bit embarrassing. Without thinking, she leans forward and kisses him properly, a short one, but with intent. One that suggests something of herself. It leaves her a bit breathless. He walks into the lift backwards and is still grinning as the doors close on him.

She likes him.

The second time they go to see a live band his brother recommended and its awful. After twenty minutes, she realizes, with some relief, that he thinks its awful too, and when he says does she want to leave, they find themselves holding hands so they dont lose each other as they fight their way out through the crowded bar. Somehow they dont let go until they reach his flat. There they talk about their childhoods and bands they like and types of dog and the horror of courgettes, then kiss on the sofa until her legs go a bit weak. Her chin stays bright pink for two whole days afterwards.

A couple of days after this he rings her at lunchtime to say he happens to be passing a nearby café and does she fancy a quick coffee? Were you really passing by? she says, after they have stretched their coffee and cake as far as his lunch hour can reasonably allow.

Sure, he says, and then, to her delight, his ears go pink. He sees her looking and reaches a hand up to his left lobe. Ah. Man. Im a really bad liar.

The fourth time they go to a restaurant. Her father calls just before pudding arrives to say that Caroline has left him again. He wails so loudly down the telephone that Paul actually jumps at the other side of the table. I have to go, she says, and declines his offer of help. She is not ready for the two men to meet, especially where the possibility exists that her father may not be wearing trousers.

When she arrives at his house half an hour later, Caroline is already home.

I forgot it was her night for life drawing, he says sheepishly.

Paul does not attempt to push things further. She wonders briefly if she talks too much about David whether somehow she has made herself off limits. But then she thinks it might just be him being gentlemanly. Other times she thinks, almost indignantly, that David is part of who she is, and if Paul wants to be with her, well, hell have to accept that. She has several imaginary conversations with him and two imaginary arguments.

She wakes up thinking about him, about the way he leans forward when he listens, as if determined not to miss a single thing she says, the way his hair has greyed prematurely at the temples, his blue, blue eyes. She has forgotten what its like to wake up thinking about someone, to want to be physically close to them, to feel a little giddy at the remembered scent of their skin. She still doesnt have enough work but it bothers her less. Sometimes he sends her a text message in the middle of the day and she hears it spoken in an American accent.

She finds it hard to tally Paul McCafferty with Mos assertions about men sleazy, chancing, self-serving, porn-obsessed slackers. He is quietly straightforward, a seemingly open book. It was why climbing the ranks of his specialist unit in the NYPD didnt suit him, he says. All the blacks and whites get pretty grey the higher up you get. The only time he looks even remotely uncertain, his speech becoming hesitant, is when discussing his son. Its crap, divorce, he says. We all tell ourselves the kids are fine, that its better this way than two unhappy people shouting at each other, but we never dare ask them the truth.

The truth?

What they want. Because we know the answer. And it would break our hearts. He had gazed off into the middle distance, and then, seconds later, recovered his smile. Still, Jake is good. Hes really good. Better than we both deserve.

She likes his Americanness, the way it makes him slightly alien, and completely removed from David. He has an innate sense of courtesy, the kind of man who will instinctively open a door for a woman, not because hes making some kind of chivalrous gesture but because it wouldnt occur to him not to open the door if someone needed to go through it. He carries a kind of subtle authority people actually move out of the way when he walks along the street. He does not seem to be aware of this.

Oh, my God, youve got it so bad, says Mo.

What? Im just saying. Its nice to spend time with someone who seems —

Mo snorts. He is so getting laid this week.

But she has not invited him back to the Glass House. Mo senses her hesitation. Okay, Rapunzel. If youre going to stick around in this tower of yours, youre going to have to let the odd prince run his fingers through your hair.

I dont know —

So Ive been thinking, says Mo. We should move your room around. Change the house a bit. Otherwise youre always going to feel like youre bringing someone back to Davids house.

Liv suspects it will feel like that however the furniture is arranged. But on Tuesday afternoon, when Mo is off work, they move the bed to the other side of the room, pushing it against the alabaster-coloured concrete wall that runs like an architectural backbone through the centre of the house. It is not a natural place for it, if you were going to be really picky, but she has to admit there is something invigorating about it all looking so different.

Now, says Mo, gazing up at The Girl You Left Behind. You want to hang that painting somewhere else.

No. It stays.

But you said David bought it for you. And that means –

I dont care. She stays. Besides — Liv narrows her eyes at the woman within the frame. I think shed look odd in a living room. Shes too — intimate.

Intimate?

Shes — sexy. Dont you think?

Mo squints at the portrait. Cant see it myself. Personally, if it were my room Id have a massive flat-screen telly there.

Mo leaves, and Liv keeps gazing at the painting, and just for once she doesnt feel the clench of grief. She has told him her sir name was, her maiden name. It seems symbolic. What do you think? she asks the girl. Is it finally time to move on?

Liv stares at herself in the mirror. It is three years since a man saw her body, and four since a man saw her body while she was sober enough to care. She has done what Mo suggested depilated all but the neatest amounts of body hair, scrubbed her face, put a conditioning treatment on her hair. She has sorted through her underwear drawer until she found something that might qualify as vaguely seductive and not greyed with old age. She has painted her toenails and filed her fingernails rather than just attacking them with clippers.

David never cared about this stuff. But David isnt here any more.

She has gone through her wardrobe, sorting through rails of black and grey, of unobtrusive black trousers and jumpers. It is, she has to admit, utilitarian. She finally settles on a black pencil skirt and a V-necked jumper. She teams these with a pair of red high heels with butterflies on the toes that she bought and wore once to a wedding but has never thrown out.

Whoa! Look at you! Mo stands in the doorway, her jacket on, a rucksack over her shoulder, ready to head off for her shift.

Is it too much? She holds out an ankle doubtfully.

You look great. Youre not wearing granny knickers, right?

Liv takes a breath. No, I am not wearing granny knickers. Not that I really feel obliged to keep everyone in the postcode up to speed with my underwear choices.

Then go forth and try not to multiply. Ive left you the chicken thing I promised, and theres a salad bowl in the fridge. Just add the dressing. Ill be staying at Ranics tonight, so Im not under your feet. Its all yours. She grins meaningfully at Liv, then heads down the stairs.

Liv turns back to the mirror. An over made-up woman in a skirt stares back at her. She walks around the room, a little unsteady in the unfamiliar shoes, trying to work out what is making her feel so unbalanced. The skirt fits perfectly. Running has given her legs an attractive, sculpted outline. The shoes are a good dash of colour against the rest of the outfit. The underwear is pretty without being tarty. She crosses her arms and sits on the side of the bed. He is due here in an hour.

She looks up at The Girl You Left Behind. I want to look how you look, she tells her silently.

For once, that smile offers her nothing. It seems almost to mock her.

It says, Not a chance.

Liv shuts her eyes for some time. Then she reaches for her phone and texts Paul.

Change of plan. Would you mind if we met somewhere for a drink instead?

So — sick of cooking? Because I would have brought a takeaway.

Paul leans back in his chair, his eyes darting to a group of shrieking office workers, who seem to have been there all afternoon, judging by the general air of drunken flirtatiousness. He has been quietly amused by them, by the lurching women, the dozing accountant in the corner.

I — just needed to get out of the house.

Ah, yeah. The working-from-home thing. I forget how that can drive you crazy. When my brother first moved over here he spent weeks at mine writing job applications, and when I used to get in from work he would literally talk at me non-stop for an hour.

You came over from America together?

He came to support me when I got divorced. I was a bit of a mess. And then he just never left. Paul had come to England ten years ago. His English wife had been miserable, had missed home, especially when Jake was a baby, and he had left the NYPD to keep her happy.

When we got here we found it was us, not the location, that was all wrong. Hey, look. Blue Suit Man is going to make a move on the girl with the great hair.

Liv sips her drink. Thats not real hair.

He squints. What? Youre kidding me. Its a wig?

Extensions. You can tell.

I cant. Youre going to tell me the chest is fake too now, right?

No, theyre real. She has quadroboob.

Quadroboob?

Bras too small. It makes her look like shes got four.

Paul laughs so hard he starts to choke. She smiles back at him, almost reluctantly. She has been a little strange tonight, as if all her responses are slowed by some separate internal conversation.

He manages to control himself. So what do we think? he says, trying to make her relax. Is Quadroboob Girl going to go for it?

Maybe with one more drink inside her. Im not convinced she really likes him.

Yeah. She keeps looking over his shoulder as she talks to him. I think she likes grey shoes.

No woman likes grey shoes. Trust me.

He lifts an eyebrow, puts down his drink. Now this, you see, is why men find it easier to split molecules and invade countries than to work out what goes on in womens heads.

Pfft. If youre lucky one day Ill sneak you a look at the rule book. He looks at her and she blushes, as if shes said too much. There is a sudden inexplicably awkward silence. She stares at her drink. Do you miss New York?

I like visiting. When I go home now they all make fun of my accent.

She seems to be only half listening.

You dont have to look so anxious, he says. Really. Im happy here.

Oh. No. Sorry. I didnt mean — Her words die on her lips. There is a long silence. And then she looks up at him and speaks, her finger resting on the rim of her glass. Paul — I wanted to ask you to come home with me tonight. I wanted us to — But I – I just — Its too soon. I cant. I cant do it. Thats why I cancelled dinner. The words spill out into the air. She flushes to the roots of her hair.

He opens, then closes his mouth. He leans forward, and says, quietly. Im not very hungry would have been fine.

Her eyes widen, then she slumps a little over the table. Oh, God. Im a nightmare date, arent I?

Maybe a little more honest than you need to be.

She groans. Im sorry. I have no idea what Im –

He leans forward, touches her hand lightly. He wants her to stop looking anxious. Liv, he says evenly, I like you. I think youre great. But I totally get that youve been in your own space for a long time. And Im not — I dont — Words fail him too. It seems too soon for a conversation like this. And underneath it all, despite himself, he fights disappointment. Ah, hell, you want to grab a pizza? Because Im starving. Lets go get a bite and make each other feel awkward somewhere else.

He can feel her knee against his.

You know, I do have food at home.

He laughs. And stops. Okay. Well, now I dont know what to say.

Say That would be great. And then you can add, Please shut up now, Liv, before you make things even more complicated.

That would be great, then, says Paul. He holds up her coat for her to shrug her way into, then they head out of the pub.

This time when they walk it is not in silence. Something has unlocked between them, perhaps through his words or her sudden feeling of relief. They weave in and out of the tourists, pile breathlessly into a taxi, and when he sits down in the back seat, holding out his arm for her to tuck into, she leans into him and breathes in his clean, male smell and feels a little giddy with her own sudden good fortune.

The air is crisp with the approach of autumn it seems to bite her skin. They hurry into the fuggy warmth of the foyer. She feels a bit silly now. Somehow she can see that in the previous forty-eight hours Paul McCafferty had stopped being a person and started to become an idea, a thing. The symbol of her moving-on. It was too much weight for something so new.

She hears Mos voice in her ear Whoa, missus. You think too much.

And then, as he tugs the lift door shut behind them, they fall silent. It ascends slowly, rattling and echoing, the lights flickering, as they always do. It heads past the first floor, and they can hear the distant concrete echo of someone taking the stairs, a few bars of cello music from another apartment.

Liv is acutely conscious of him in the enclosed space, the citrus tang of his aftershave, the imprint of his arm around her shoulders. She looks down and wishes, suddenly, that she had not changed into this frumpy skirt, the flat heels. She wishes she had worn the butterfly shoes.

She looks up and he is watching her. He is not laughing. He holds out his hand, and as she takes it, he draws her slowly the two steps across the lift, and lowers his face to hers so that they are inches apart. But he does not kiss her.

His blue eyes travel slowly over her face eyes, eyelashes, brows, lips, until she feels curiously exposed. She can feel his breath on her skin, his mouth so close to hers that she could tip forwards and bite it gently.

Still he does not kiss her.

It makes her shiver with longing.

I cant stop thinking about you, he murmurs.

Good.

He rests his nose against hers. The very tops of their lips are touching. She can feel the weight of him against her. She thinks her legs may have begun to tremble. Yes, its fine. I mean, no, Im terrified. But in a good way. I – I think I —

Stop talking, he murmurs. She feels his words against her lips, his fingertips tracing the side of her neck, and she cannot speak.

And then they are at the top floor, kissing. He wrenches open the lift door and they stumble out, still pressed against each other, need spiralling between them. She has one hand inside the back of his shirt, absorbing the heat of his skin. She reaches behind her with the other, fumbling until she opens the door.

They fall into the house. She does not turn on the light. She staggers backwards, dazed now by his mouth on hers, his hands on her waist. She wants him so badly her legs turn liquid. She crashes against the wall, hears him swear under his breath.

Here, she whispers. Now.

His body, solid against hers. They are in the kitchen. The moon hangs above the skylight, casting the room in a cold blue light. Something dangerous has entered the room, something dark and alive and delicious. She hesitates, just a moment, and pulls her jumper over her head. She is someone she knew a long time ago, unafraid, greedy. She reaches up, her eyes locked on his, and unbuttons her shirt. One, two, three, the buttons fall away. The shirt slides from her shoulders, so that she is exposed to her waist. Her bare skin tightens in the cool air. His eyes travel down her torso and her breath quickens. Everything stops.

The room is silent apart from their breathing. She feels magnetized. She leans forward, something building, intense and gorgeous in this brief hiatus, and they are kissing, a kiss she feels she has waited years to complete, a kiss that does not already have a full stop in mind. She breathes in his aftershave, her mind spins, goes blank. She forgets where they are. He pulls away gently, and he is smiling.

What? She is glazed, breathless.

You. Hes lost for words. Her smile spreads across her face, then she kisses him through it until she is lost, dizzy, until reason seeps out through her ears and she can hear only the growing, insistent hum of her own need. Here. Now. His arms tighten around her, his lips on her collarbone. She reaches for him, her breath coming in shallow bursts, her heart racing, over-sensitized so that she shivers as his fingers trail her skin. He tears his shirt over his head. He lifts her clumsily on to the worktop and she wraps her legs around him. He stoops, pushing her skirt up around her waist, and she arches back, lets her skin meet the cold granite so that she is gazing up at the glass ceiling, her hands entwined in his hair. Around her the shutters are open, the glass walls a window to the night sky. She stares up into the punctured darkness and thinks, almost triumphantly, with some still functioning part of her I am still alive.

And then she closes her eyes and refuses to think at all.

His voice rumbles through her. Liv?

He is holding her. She can hear her own breath.

Liv?

A residual shudder escapes her.

Are you okay?

Sorry. Yes. Its — its been a long time.

His arms tighten around her, a silent answer. Another silence.

Are you cold?

She steadies her breathing before she answers. Freezing.

He lifts her down and reaches for his shirt on the floor, wrapping it around her slowly. They gaze at each other in the near-dark.

Well — that was — She wants to say something witty, carefree. But she cant speak. She is afraid to let go of him, as if only he is anchoring her to the earth.

The real world is encroaching. She is aware of the sound of the traffic downstairs, somehow too loud, the feel of the cold limestone floor under her bare foot. She seems to have lost a shoe. I think we left the front door open, she says, glancing down the corridor.

Um — forget the shoe. Did you know that your roof is missing?

She glances up. She cannot remember opening it. She must have hit the button accidentally as they fell into the kitchen. Autumnal air sinks around them, raising goose-bumps across her bare skin, as if it, too, had only just realized what had happened. Mos black sweater hangs over the back of a chair, like the open wings of a settling vulture.

Hold on, she says. She pads across the kitchen and presses the button, listening to the hum as the roof closes over. Paul stares up at the oversized skylight, then back down at her, and then he turns slowly, 360 degrees, as his eyes adjust to the dim light, taking in his surroundings. Well, this – Its not what I was expecting.

Why? What were you expecting?

I dont know — The whole thing about your council tax — He glances back up at the open ceiling. Some chaotic little place. Somewhere like mine. This is —

Davids house. He built it.

His expression flickers.

Oh. Too much?

No. Paul peers around into the living room and blows out his cheeks. Youre allowed. He — uh — sounds like quite a guy.

She pours them both a glass of water, tries not to feel self-conscious as they dress. They look at each other and half laugh, suddenly perversely shy in clothes.

So — what happens now? You need some space? He adds, I have to warn you – if you want me to leave I may need to wait until my legs stop shaking.

She looks at Paul McCafferty, at the shape of him, already familiar to her very bones. She does not want him to leave. She wants to lie down beside him, his arms around her, her head nestled into his chest. She wants to wake without the instant, terrible urge to run away from her own thoughts. It is time to live in the present. She is more than the girl David left behind.

She does not turn on the light. She reaches for Pauls hand and leads him through the dark house, up the stairs and to her bed.

They do not sleep. The hours become a glorious, hazy miasma of tangled limbs and murmured voices. She has forgotten the utter joy of being wrapped around a body you cant leave alone. She feels as if she has been recharged, as if she occupies a new space in the atmosphere.

It is six a.m. when the cold electric spark of dawn finally begins to leach into the room.

This place is amazing, he murmurs, gazing out through the window. Their legs are entwined, his kisses imprinted all over her skin. She feels drugged with happiness.

It is. I cant really afford to stay here, though. She peers at him through the half-dark. Im in a bit of a mess, financially. Ive been told I should sell.

But you dont want to.

It feels — like a betrayal.

Well, I can see why you wouldnt want to leave, he says. Its beautiful. So quiet. He looks up again. Wow. Just to be able to peel your roof off whenever you feel like it — She wriggles out of his arms a little, so that she can turn towards the long window, her head in the crook of his arm. Some mornings I like to watch the barges head up towards Tower Bridge. Look. If the light is right it turns the river into a trickle of gold.

A trickle of gold, huh?

They fall silent, and as they watch, the room begins to glow obligingly. She gazes down at the river, watching it illuminate by degrees, like a thread to her future. Is this okay? she asks. Am I allowed to be this happy again?

Paul is so quiet she wonders if he has finally drifted off to sleep. But when she turns he is looking at the wall opposite the bed. He is staring at The Girl You Left Behind, now just visible in the dawn. She shifts on to her side and watches him. He is transfixed, his eyes not leaving the image as the light grows stronger. He gets her, she thinks. She feels a stab of something that might actually be pure joy.

You like her?

He doesnt seem to hear.

She nestles back into him, rests her face on his shoulder. Youll see her colours more clearly in a few minutes. Shes called The Girl You Left Behind. Or at least we – I – think she is. Its inked on the back of the frame. Shes — my favourite thing in this house. Actually, shes my favourite thing in the whole world. She pauses. David gave her to me on our honeymoon.

Paul is silent. She trails a finger up his arm. I know it sounds daft, but after he died, I just didnt want to be part of anything. I sat up here for weeks. I – I didnt want to see other human beings. And even when it was really bad, there was something about her expression — Hers was the only face I could cope with. She was like this reminder that I would survive. She lets out a deep sigh. And then when you came along I realized she was reminding me of something else. Of the girl I used to be. Who didnt worry all the time. And knew how to have fun, who just — did stuff. The girl I want to be again.

He is still silent.

She has said too much. What she wants is for Paul to lower his face to hers, to feel his weight upon her.

But he doesnt speak. She waits for a moment and then says, just to break the silence, I suppose it sounds silly — to be so attached to a painting —

When he turns to her his face looks odd taut and drawn. Even in the half-light she can see it. He swallows. Liv — what was your married name?

She blinks. Halston. Why? She cant work out where this is going. She wants him to stop looking at the painting. She grasps suddenly that the relaxed mood has evaporated and something strange has taken its place.

He lifts a hand to his head. Um — Liv? Do you mind if I head off? Im — Ive got some work stuff to see to.

Its as if she has been winded. It takes her a moment to speak, and when she does her voice is too high, not her own. At six a.m.?

Yeah. Sorry.

Oh. She blinks. Oh. Right.

He is out of bed and dressing. Dazed, she watches him hauling on and fastening his trousers, the fierce swiftness with which he pulls on his shirt. Dressed, he turns, hesitates, then leans forward and drops a kiss on her cheek. Unconsciously she pulls the duvet up to her chin.

Are you sure you dont want any breakfast?

No. I — Im sorry. He doesnt smile.

Its fine.

He cannot leave fast enough. Mortification begins to steal through her, like poison in her blood.

By the time he reaches the bedroom door he can barely meet her eye. He shakes his head, like someone trying to dislodge a fly. Um — Look. Ill – Ill call you.

Okay. She tries to sound light. Whatever.

As the door shuts behind him, she leans forward, Hope the work thing goes —

Liv stares in disbelief at the space where he has been, her fake cheery words echoing around the silent house. Emptiness creeps into the space that Paul McCafferty has somehow opened inside her.