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Then they ran into each other at a party that some of the third years were throwing. Pressed together by their dancing classmates, heat and alcohol threw their friendship into a sexy new light. At least they did for Catherine. It took Richard a few weeks to catch up, but once he did they spent as much time together out of their clothes as they did in them.
Catherine did start wondering after a while whether there was more to Richard-and-Catherine than shared class notes and drunken fumbling. There was something about him. It wasn’t his looks – pale gingers were an acquired taste. But he was comfortable in his own skin, when most of the other boys covered up their self-consciousness with twattishness.
But she wasn’t about to spook him with any declarations. She’d done that to a boy once before, in school. He’d never spoken to her again. This time she planned to make a tentative query about their future that she could totally backtrack on if she needed to.
When he arrived for dinner with a bottle of wine, she kissed him hello like she always did when they were alone (rarely in public though).
‘Did you get me over here on false pretences?’ he asked, nuzzling her neck.
Had he guessed what she was planning?
‘If so, I totally approve,’ he said. ‘But I’ll need to have a snack before we …’
She laughed with relief. ‘No, dinner is in the oven.’ She untangled herself from his arms. ‘Wine?’
If he was disappointed that there’d be no naked starter he didn’t show it. That was the thing about Richard. He took everything in his stride. Their evening was as relaxed as usual, until they finished their meal.
‘I was wondering about something,’ she said.
Richard’s expression turned serious. She nearly chickened out then and asked if he wanted to watch a film instead of what she really wanted to know.
‘Have you lured me into some kind of relationship?’ she asked. Yes, a joke. That was good. It didn’t sound so threatening.
Her heart hammered as she twirled her wine glass by the stem, trying to look like she didn’t care too much about the answer.
‘You may have lured me,’ he said. ‘But I think we are. Aren’t we?’
Relief flooded through her. ‘I think so too. I just wondered because we didn’t start out in the usual way.’
‘What’s the usual way?’
‘You know. Dates and romance and all that.’
He laughed. ‘That’s never really been my thing.’
‘Nor mine. Relaxed and casual is much better.’
It was the first little lie of many.
So, relaxed and casual was how their relationship progressed until graduation. Neither asked the other to join holidays or family visits. They just rubbed along together, with Richard in her life but not part of it. She told him that was fine. Usually she believed it herself.
Besides, she wasn’t anxious to have her heart handed to her in pieces again. She did love Richard and she thought he probably loved her. It was enough to be best friends with her boyfriend. It was fun, relaxed and, above all, safe.
But soon their diplomas would be in hand. Decisions had to be made. Coming from England’s commuter belt, Catherine grew up dreaming of a career in London. Richard preferred Manchester and started applying for jobs there.
They were about to be geographically unsuitable and she didn’t fancy a long-distance relationship. But she didn’t want to call quits on it either. So she quietly applied for positions in Manchester too. When she got an offer before Richard, it looked a bit like he was following her. She liked that.
But when he was offered the job in the US a few years later, there was no way for Catherine to move there and make it look like an accident.
Chapter Five (#ulink_8a3a4d44-dd2d-5074-8114-fa26c5b78fa6)
Rachel (#ulink_8a3a4d44-dd2d-5074-8114-fa26c5b78fa6)
Rachel inspected James’s office from the doorway. How did he get any work done in such a tip? It looked like an overfull recycling bag had exploded on the floor. Magazines, hardback books and plans were piled everywhere, weighed down with coffee-stained mugs. He didn’t even bother putting his files on the shelves the right way around – they were shoved in there on their sides.
Scientists could grow disease cultures on his desk.
She felt her lips pinching with disapproval. It was a signature move inherited from her mum. Ordered space, ordered mind; that was her motto. Rachel had inherited that too.
He was hunched over, sketching furiously. She could see the red pen in his hand. That meant he was working on interior walls. He was as obsessive about his colour-coded pens as they all were.
‘James? Want to try the new sushi place with me?’
Light and breezy, that’s what she was aiming for. No ulterior motives here.
He glanced up from his tracing paper. ‘Thanks, I would but I’m kind of busy right now.’
‘Come on. I’d rather eat in and you know I hate sitting by myself.’
He didn’t look up again. ‘Why don’t you ask Alison or Beth?’
Creeping across the litter-strewn floor, Rachel hovered over his shoulder. The sketch was good. ‘I’ll buy.’
He threw himself over the paper like she was trying to copy his exam answers. ‘Could you get me takeaway if you’re going? You know what I like.’
‘Come with me.’
His head snapped up. ‘What’s up, Rachel?’
Damn.
‘Nothing’s up. Can’t a friend buy another friend lunch?’
He sighed, putting the cap on his Sharpie. ‘How long have we known each other?’
‘Around five years, I think.’
Five years in January, actually, plus extra credit time for the year they went out.
‘And after that long don’t you think I can tell when you’re up to something?’
‘You’re no fun to try to manipulate, do you know that?’
She pushed the rolls of tracing paper off his extra chair so she could sit. She’d hoped to do this over maki rolls.
‘James.’
‘Yes, Rachel.’
She didn’t expect him to make it easy for her. ‘Do you feel like you’re getting everything you want, romantically, from your life? Because I don’t.’
She felt too wooden, rehearsed, but she had to push on.
‘I keep going out with these guys I meet, and they keep disappointing me. If they don’t just want sex then they’re too clingy. If they’re not too clingy they’re emotionally unavailable. If not that then they have a girlfriend already. I’m so sick of it all.’
He nodded. ‘Uh huh, I see. Just so I know, Rach, are you just telling me about your dates or is there a question in here somewhere?’
‘There’s a question.’
‘Then can we please …’ He made a winding-up motion with his finger. ‘Make this as painless as possible?’
‘You don’t want any background at all?’
‘Well, you’ve already told me about the bloke who wanted to wee on you.’ He pulled a face.
Rachel sighed. ‘Exactly my point. I can’t keep meeting random guys in pubs. I need a more structured approach if I’m going to meet anyone worthwhile. I’m joining Catherine’s website.’
‘Fine, good for you.’
‘You know, James, this is exactly why we broke up!’
‘Why, Rachel? What do you want me to say? That I’m thrilled you’re joining a website to meet guys? Maybe I don’t really want to listen to you talk about the shitty men in your life.’
‘No! Because you’re totally dismissive. Not to mention that you’re an absolute pig,’ she added, looking again around the office. ‘I’m asking for your help.’
‘Calling me a pig isn’t really making me warm to your request, you know.’
She shrugged. ‘I had other words in mind, so I was actually being kind.’
He smiled. ‘Tell me what you need, Rach.’
Her tummy churned at the way he said this. It was easier being his friend when he wasn’t being tender.
‘I can’t join unless I bring an ex with me. It’s really simple. We sign up and give each other feedback about what we were like in the relationship. You know, an assessment about what we did right and wrong.’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Do I really want to know what you think is wrong with me?’
‘But you’ll get to do it to me too. Just imagine, James. You can outline every single one of my flaws and I’ll have to sit there and take it. Besides, nobody else sees the assessment. Only us. Then I write an endorsement telling women why they should go out with you.’
‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Tell me more.’
‘That’s it, really. Once we’re on the website we can go out with whomever we want to.’
‘No, I mean tell me more about why women should go out with me. You’ll throw me this tiny bone, won’t you? It might be the only ego stroke I get this year. Come on, Rach, tell me, tell me. Is it my hair? It’s my hair, isn’t it?’ He flicked his head and pursed his lips.
She laughed. James was many things – cheapskate, workaholic, smart-arse – but he wasn’t conceited. He never minded making a fool of himself to make her laugh. ‘Yeah, I guess you have good hair.’ It was a thick dark mop, long and shaggy. He wore it side-combed over his forehead like they did in the boy bands. ‘And you’re not too short. That would be a plus for women who aren’t very tall.’
They were nearly the same height when she wore her high heels and, though he wasn’t classically handsome, his regular features were a decent backdrop for the most startling blue eyes she’d ever seen. His mouth was perhaps a bit too small, but it suited his narrow chin which, in turn, suited his slender frame. His personality would attract women as much as his looks.
Of course, he’d rather hear that he was devastatingly god-like handsome.
‘Will you do it?’ she asked. ‘Will you join with me? I have to bring someone with me.’
‘Are you saying you need me?’
‘Yes, James,’ she muttered. ‘I need you.’
Thank God that was no longer really true. A few years ago it would have been.
‘And all I have to do is fill in a few forms and you’ll let me go back to work? I can do that. Wait, this doesn’t mean the sushi offer is off, does it?’
‘I’ll still get your sushi, James.’
‘Cool. Extra wasabi please.’
Rachel beamed all the way to the restaurant. That wasn’t as hard as it could have been.
The house was empty after work when she unlocked both deadbolts and the door lock to let herself in. They weren’t paranoid, fortressing themselves in like this. When they’d first come to look at the house, the door had been patched at the bottom where someone had kicked through it. One of the first things they’d bought was a solid replacement. The little buggers would break bones now if they tried forcing their way in.
Even with the risk of burglary, Rachel loved their house. Back when it was built, Victorian families needed lots of rooms. Clapton wasn’t overrun by Poundlands and chicken shops then.
There were little traces of those more affluent days left – ornate cornicing and plaster roses on some of the ceilings, tall sash windows and wide-beam oak floors. But cheap dividing walls scarred the floors where they’d been put up in haste and disintegrated at leisure. Big holes and cracks pockmarked the plaster. Wires and pipes ran in the shortest distance between two points. Basically, they lived in a semi-derelict building site.
But that’s what they’d signed up for when they bought the house. None of them could afford their own flat in the area. It might be dirty and dangerous but property prices there were rising faster than Jude Law’s hairline. So they bought something together that could eventually be subdivided. One day, when the time came, they’d each have their own flat. Till then they added a working fridge and settled into the original shabby chic decor. Pictures hung on wires straight from the mouldings. Those covered up the damp-stained walls, and threadbare rugs were strewn over the scratched and splintery floors. They’d scavenged through the charity shops to find velvet sofas and reading chairs to fill the cavernous sitting room.
People paid good money for decorators to give them that kind of distressed look. Their home’s distress was authentic.
Still, what a huge tick on her Adult To-Do list. She’d got the degree, she had the job and she’d invested in the house with Catherine and Sarah. Soon she’d be working on the relationship.
Sometimes she had to remind herself that there was nothing wrong with her. Just because she wasn’t married or doing the school run each morning didn’t mean she had a tail or anything. Millions of women were in the same boat, with high standards and a low tolerance for wankishness.
She made her way down to the kitchen to flick on the kettle, glancing at the 1950s black Bakelite wall clock as she went. It was after seven. She’d kill for a cup of coffee, but the bags under her eyes were now suitcases and she had to sleep. Herbal tea wasn’t top of her favourites list but it was better than nothing. And she did feel virtuous drinking grass clippings.
She spotted the Bake Off application still in the tea drawer, as unfilled-in as when she’d first printed it off. Not surprising. Sarah was the last person to sing her own praises.
Her eyes darted to the kitchen doorway.
She’d be coming back from Sissy’s on the train now, like she did every Tuesday and Thursday. And often at weekends too.
Rachel stared at the application. The teabags were under it anyway …
She picked up the sheets.
When the kettle finished its furious boil she poured her tea and rummaged in her bag for the thriller she’d been devouring. There were only around fifty pages left and she was pretty sure she knew who’d done it.
Her glance bounced between the book and the application.
She should read her book and drink her tea.
