Page 79 of The Girlfriend

By the end of the night, he knew what he wanted to do. They left the bar, and before it became too big a thing, he asked her, “Do you want to come back?”

She stared at him a moment and he wondered if he’d gone too far.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“No, I’d like to.”

They were silent in the cab on the way back, each content with the other’s company and his or her own thoughts. Daniel opened his front door and she stepped inside. As it closed behind them, they moved together into a kiss. Cherry pulled urgently at his shirt and they were naked before they reached the bedroom.

Afterward, as they lay in bed, both were happier than they’d been for a long time. The missing months had melted away and they felt as attached to each other as they had a year ago, only more so because of what they’d been through. Cherry’s leg was looped over his and Daniel looked at her beautiful, lightly tanned skin, luminous in the semidark.

“Cherry?”

She snuggled into his side. “Yes?”

“Move in.”

Her heart beat rapidly against his arm. She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Here?”

“Of course, here. I don’t want to waste any more time. My accident taught me that. And I don’t know about you, but this”—he indicated the two of them—“feels as good as it was, better even. I just want to be with you.”

“I want to be with you too.”

“So, will you?”

She paused. “What about your mum?”

“She’s not coming.”

“No, I mean—”

“I know what you mean. She’ll just have to get used to it. It’s my life and I want you in it. If you’d like to be.”

She kissed him. “I would.”

41

Thursday, September 17

LAURA BUZZED DANIEL’S FLAT FROM THE STREET. SHE PULLED HERhandbag in tightly over her shoulder; then realizing her palms were damp, she quickly dabbed them on her jacket. It was a new sensation, being nervous about visiting your own son. She gave a small wave through the glass door to Ian, whom she could see was at his desk, then finally an answer. She smiled up at the camera and heard the door click open. On the first floor, he’d left his front door open. She knocked and peered inside for him. “Hello? It’s me.” It felt odd not to be greeted, as though she was trespassing. He came through from the kitchen and stopped still in the hall. Laura was instinctively about to go and embrace him, but his folded arms and flat expression kept her at bay.

“Tea?”

“Yes, please.”

He turned and went back into the kitchen and she was left alone for a moment.

“Mint?” he called, and she followed and took a seat at the breakfast bar and watched as he made the tea. Neither of them said anything. He pushed a mug toward her, and then, holding his, leaned his back against the counter and looked at her expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” said Laura. “Truly, deeply sorry. They’d just told me you were likely to”—she paused, remembering the awful meeting—“not make it. In fact, you didn’t have a lot of time. I was devastated and, knowing I was about to lose you, I wanted . . . I wanted you to myself. To give you all of myself. I wanted the last few hours to be like they were when you were little. Just us.”

“And then?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I woke up. At no point did you tell Cherry I’d recovered. And you told me she’d left me months before.”