Page 18

If it’s possible, he might grin harder. ‘Ah, c’mon, Kate, no one will be at work. We haven’t had snow like this for years, not in London. We could…build a snowman? Snowball fight?’ He looks at me from beneath his blond hair that falls over his eyes like yours used to, maybe a little more artfully. He’s my age. You would be older now; you would have wrinkles. Youwouldn’t be this pretty; your teeth wouldn’t be so white.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘The snow wasn’t forecast to be as heavy here.’

‘This was expected?’

His smile is cute if I let it be. His smile tells me to come back to bed, this time for something gentler. I consider it. Could this be my life now? Roleplaying you back, fucking your shadow, and then, over time, morphing you into somebody real, letting you change? Could this new world start now?

He throws a pillow at me. ‘Don’t you watch the news, Kate? It’s been saying snow for days.’

‘I watch the news,’ I say. The Australian news. The internet news. I watch for news of you.

My eyes flick from his face back to the tattoo. Could I ignore it?

‘Remind me what you do?’ he says. ‘What’s so important that requires you to work on a day like this?’ He reaches for me again, runs his fingers up my arm until he’s clasping my shoulders. ‘I know, you’re a spy? That would explain everything, why you disappear at a moment’s notice, your mysterious exterior…’

‘I work from home,’ I say, still contemplating the ink on his skin.

‘Aha! Spy, website-maker, writer maybe. I know, raunchy blogger!’

I laugh, can’t help myself. ‘I work for a travel agency.’

Panic grips immediately: he knows too much; he’s getting too close. I turn away from him and pull on a T-shirt.

‘I don’t have any milk,’ I say. ‘Or bread.’

His smile drops as if I’ve slapped him. But rather than leaving, he pats the space on the bed beside him.

‘C’mon, Kate, I don’t want your milk. It’s you I want.’

I flinch and he sees.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘That was corny, wasn’t it?’

I raise my eyebrows. ‘A little.’

I see the blush in his ears. Perhaps this is the kind of cheesy conversation that happy couples look back on for years, the kind of thing to put on anniversary cards.

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘But I do have to work.’

He gets up, throwing off the blankets. ‘So, I can get the milk, then make you tea as you work. Simple!’

When he reaches for his jeans beside the bed, I see his arse: bigger than yours, though not unattractive (you always did have a scrawny one). I could get used to an arse like that. I could even get used to a boy like Nick, in time. He sees me staring at him, and I hate myself again.

‘Full of secrets,’ he says as he passes me, reaching out to touch the tip of my nose. ‘I want them.’

And I want to tell them to him, but I know that if I do, he’ll be gone. And you’ll be gone too. That scares me more than anything.

‘It’s only just past eight,’ Nick says. ‘Plenty of time. Have a shower, Kate. Let me make breakfast. I know you have bread; I saw it when we came in last night.’

‘How?’ I frown.

‘I wasn’t as drunk as you.’ He winks. ‘It’s fine, seriously. You’re fine. Just breakfast, then I’ll go. Promise.’ He sighs dramatically. ‘I’ll brave the blizzard by myself, make a snowman alone.’

I almost nod, but somehow manage to keep his gaze. I think I want him to stay. What’s happened to the woman I waslast night? Does he not hate that I’m now so different? I think I hate it. He grabs the towel on the back of the chair, passes it to me.

‘Why are you being so nice?’ I say.

Is he being nicer than you?