Page 6 of Sorry, Not Sorry

FOUR YEARS EARLIER…

Delilah stared at the blue recycling bin, wondering how to get it open without dropping the armful of packing boxes she had just crushed.

‘Hey, do you need a hand with that?’

The voice came from behind her, and she turned, craning her neck to see around the precariously balanced pile of cardboard. It took one look at the man with chocolate-brown skin and full, sensuous lips standing on the pavement for Delilah’s mouth to fall open and her heart to wobble.

He walked up the garden path towards her without waiting for an answer – which was just as well since she suddenly found herself struggling to find the most basic of words.

A moment later, he was standing close enough for her to see the dark flecks in his light brown eyes and a faint stubble along his sculpted jawline.

His sudden proximity set her heart racing, and the faint lemon scent of his cologne wafted into the small space between them.

She could feel her face burning and couldn’t prevent the tiny gasp that escaped her when he leaned in closer to flip open the dustbin lid.

‘Um, thanks,’ she mumbled, mortified by her body’s response to the attractive stranger. She quickly crammed the torn cartons into the wheelie bin, dropping a few pieces of cardboard in her haste.

He dropped down to pick up the bits just as she crouched to retrieve them, and their eyes locked.

Mesmerised, she couldn’t look away, and for a moment neither of them moved.

Then Delilah blinked and stood up abruptly, trying to catch the breath hovering somewhere around her chest. He slowly straightened and without the cardboard barrier between them, she had a clear view of a lean, muscular body in jeans and a T-shirt.

‘Hello again. I’m Noah. Noah West.’ He towered over her petite frame, forcing her to look up at him.

‘Delilah… um, Braithwaite.’ She swallowed hard and squeezed out the words, her voice sounding breathless and wispy.

‘So, you must be the new neighbour. My parents live next door.’

‘Oh, right! But not to me. To – to my sister. Salome,’ she stammered. ‘She and her family are the ones that live here.’ Her neck and cheeks burned with embarrassment as she heard herself babbling like a starstruck teenager.

‘Are you close?’

‘Excuse me?’ She looked at him, perplexed, and he smiled impishly and cocked an eyebrow.

‘Close. You know – like, do you visit her often?’

‘Oh right! Yes – very!’ she added fervently. Then, unaccountably, her nerves vanished, and she felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. ‘What about you? Are you close?’

‘I don’t even know her!’ His disarming grin revealed white teeth that sparkled against the dark brown of his skin.

‘I meant as in close to your parents!’ Delilah said with a giggle.

‘I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist that. Yeah, I usually come by on Sundays to see my oldies.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, I’d really love to chat some more but I’m running late. Maybe I’ll bump into you again? Soon?’

She exhaled, feeling her chest relax and her breath flow freely again. ‘Sure.’

She tossed the bits of cardboard she was still clutching into the bin and closed the lid before turning to watch him stride down the road, not caring if he turned around and caught her.

* * *

‘Isn’t that right, Delilah?’

The sudden silence in the room catapulted Delilah back into the present to find two sets of eyes staring at her.

She flushed, embarrassed at the irony of not paying attention while leading a session on mindful communication.

It was a struggle concentrating on the real-life people in the room after a restless night of fitful dreams about a man she had forced herself to forget, but she was already skating on thin ice, and annoying more clients was not an option.

She smothered a yawn and smiled brightly at the woman who had posed the question.

‘Well, I suppose that depends, Sammie,’ she said cautiously, trying to remember what they’d been talking about before her mind had wandered off.

Sammie, a freckled redhead in her thirties, had clearly been expecting more productive feedback, and she frowned and tucked her hair behind her ears, turning to the ruggedly built man sprawled in the armchair opposite. His muscular legs were outstretched, and he looked visibly bored.

‘I don’t understand why you’re being so moody, Ross,’ she said plaintively. ‘We agreed in the last session that we’d do the questionnaire and share our results today, didn’t we, Delilah? Look’ – Sammie waved a purple notebook in the air – ‘I wrote all mine down off the computer.’

She glanced at Delilah, who gave her an encouraging nod, and then continued.

‘My results show that my dominant love language is words of affirmation.’ She paused and looked across at Ross, who responded with a careless shrug.

‘That means it’s really important for me to hear you say nice things about me.

It really wouldn’t hurt you to pay me a compliment every now and then or tell me how you feel about us.

’ Her voice wavered, and Delilah gave Sammie an enthusiastic thumbs up.

‘That’s brilliant, Sammie. You’ve expressed yourself very clearly.

Ross’ – she ignored his audible sigh and continued – ‘now, I appreciate this might feel a bit uncomfortable, but like we’ve discussed, if you understand how Sammie prefers to receive love, it will help you communicate so much better.

It’s your turn. What was your primary love language? ’

Suddenly animated, Ross leaned forward and rubbed his hands vigorously, his beefy biceps straining the sleeves of his sports jacket.

‘Physical touch, 70 per cent,’ he said with a smirk, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

No surprise there , Delilah thought, trying not to scoff out loud.

From the first counselling session, Ross had made it clear that right at the top of his long list of grievances was what he’d bluntly described as ‘not getting enough of the old S-E-X’.

His refusal to acknowledge any responsibility for his relationship crisis had led Delilah to set the couple the love languages exercise, which she hoped would help Ross better articulate his needs and – with any luck – provoke him to reflect on how to meet Sammie’s.

‘Is that all you care about?’ Sammie asked reproachfully.

‘Well, what’s better than sex, eh?’ Ross said, chuckling. When Sammie refused to look at him, his smile turned into a frown. ‘For God’s sake, lighten up, will you? I was only joking!’

‘Yeah, well I don’t think it’s funny!’ Sammie’s eyes moistened. ‘When you go on about sex all the time… it makes me feel devalued. It’s like that’s all I’m good for.’

Ross clutched his head and groaned dramatically. ‘Jesus, you’re too bloody sensitive, d’you know that? Delilah said we had to be honest about our scores.’

Delilah cleared her throat, and they looked at her expectantly.

‘Okay, so Ross, your scores indicate that feeling close to Sammie is important to you. Whether it’s holding hands, hugging each other…

’ She tailed off in exasperation at his incredulous expression.

‘Ross, physical touch doesn’t just mean sex!

It’s about all the ways Sammie can show you how she loves you.

It can be through touching or caressing or just cuddling.

There’s scientific evidence that cuddling releases oxytocin, which helps us bond with each other. ’

‘It’s all a bit soppy, this. No offence, but I thought you’d be helping me sort out my missus not wanting to – well, you know…’ He shrugged again and crossed his legs to rest his ankle on his knee.

‘You and Sammie both made a commitment, as part of this counselling therapy, to be willing to open up and try new approaches to deepen your connection with each other,’ Delilah said patiently.

‘You know, I once went out with someone who was… well, a bit emotionally closed off, I suppose you could say. But when I started to get more tactile with him, doing things like holding his hand and stroking his arm and – and giving him lots of hugs, it made all the difference.’

When Ross muttered something unintelligible, Delilah persisted.

‘Ross, would you be willing to offer Sammie some compliments and share how you feel about her a bit more? I’m sure Sammie, for her part, would be willing to spend time cuddling up with you on the sofa.

Maybe when you’re watching telly – Sammie, you said earlier you’d love to watch TV with Ross more often, right? ’

‘You won’t catch me wasting my time on the reality rubbish she watches,’ he scoffed.

‘That’s not fair!’ Sammie protested. ‘Football bores the life out of me, but I still watch it with you. And didn’t I sit through that boxing match last night watching those blokes knock chunks off each other?

I was practically falling into your lap to get you to notice me, and you wouldn’t even hold my hand. ’

‘Christ, it’s not like watching a heavyweight title fight is what gets me in the mood for a cuddle, is it? Anyway, I was up for it later until you started with your usual “I’ve got a headache”,’ he mocked in a whiny tone and then shook his head, as if bored of the conversation.

Sammie’s lip wobbled. ‘I did have a headache after watching that fight – not that you cared!’ she added tearfully.

Delilah could feel a headache of her own brewing, and she massaged her right temple surreptitiously.

Her eyes felt dry and gritty from the lack of sleep and a pulsating pain was starting to radiate across her head.

Three cups of strong coffee hadn’t made up for a night of disturbed dreams about…

She willed her thoughts away from dangerous ground and pressed on.

‘Okay, let’s keep going. Sammie, what was your next highest score?’

For a moment Sammie looked set to continue the argument, but then she flipped the page of her notebook and sucked the end of her pen while she scanned her notes. ‘I got 35 per cent for acts of service.’

‘Good. Now, Ross, what does “acts of service” mean to you?’ Delilah asked.

Ross rubbed his jaw furiously and uncrossed his legs, shifting his bulk in the chair and looking as comfortable as a caged tiger. ‘I don’t know. Like giving her a hand with things around the house… stuff like that?’

‘Well, yes, that’s part of it. It’s being aware how important it is for Sammie to see you doing things that are helpful to her. Maybe cooking dinner occasionally, which I’m sure she’d appreciate after a hard day’s work, or offering to run some errands. Or, you know, doing the shopping?’

Ross glanced at Sammie’s sceptical expression and his eyes darted round the room as if searching for escape.

Ross wasn’t the only one in need of rescue, Delilah thought morosely.

The throbbing behind her eyes was growing more intense and her head felt like it was caught in a vice.

But while it was tempting to apologise and end the session early, she owed it to Sammie to help her turn her troubled relationship around.

‘Ross, is this an area you think you can improve on to help Sammie feel loved?’ Delilah asked, trying not to sound as weary as she felt.

‘I do the washing up, don’t I?’ he muttered.

‘We’ve got a bloody dishwasher!’ Sammie shot back.

Her tears had vanished, and her green eyes flashed with annoyance below her deep auburn fringe.

‘Honestly, Ross, if you spent a fraction of the time you put in at the gym picking up after yourself at home and doing your share of the housework, I might actually want to have sex with you!’

Ross scowled, his face darkening with anger, and Delilah sighed. She really didn’t need this today.