Page 40 of When We Were Young

Emily

It’s seven-thirty in the evening, but it’s still balmy, adding to the nervous damp patches in the armpits of my dress. I open the gate, take a deep breath, and walk up the path to FHD’s modest Victorian end-of-terrace. I could turn around, text some excuse, go back home to my safe little life.

But now I’m here, I’m curious to see what’s behind that teal door. I reach for the doorbell, then hesitate. We had plans to go for dinner, but his ex asked him to have Florence at the last minute, so I agreed to come here instead. Not wanting to wake her, I text him to say I’m outside.

FHD opens the door in shorts and a tasteful Hawaiian shirt with a tea towel over his shoulder. ‘Hi,’ he whispers, ‘come in.’

I follow him to the kitchen where French doors open out onto a little patio. Bob Marley is crooning softly in the background. I hand him a bottle of rosé and he kisses my cheek.

‘I thought we could have a barbecue.’ Everything’s prepared in covered dishes. I’m impressed. ‘Mojito,’ he says, handing me a glass full of mint leaves and ice and leads me outside.

We sit at a small round table surrounded by pots of flowers. I keep my arms clamped to my sides as I sip the mojito, praying my deodorant holds out.

‘How’s it going at the café?’ he asks.

‘I’m loving it. I look forward to going to work now.’

‘I’m glad it’s working out.’

‘Have you heard from Dylan?’

‘He texted last night to say he’s having a blast. Water sports all day and running the bar at night. I’m hoping to get a free holiday out of him at some point.’

‘I guess they must do paddle boarding over there. You’ll be in your element.’

As soon as I’ve said it, I realise my mistake.

‘How do you know I do paddle boarding?’ He looks at me, his face serious.

I can’t believe I’ve been here five minutes and I’ve already put my foot in it. Heat flashes at my cheeks.

‘Have you been googling me, Emily?’

Sweat trickles down the middle of my chest. ‘No…’

‘No?’

I clear my throat. ‘I swear, I haven’t googled you.’

‘Then how do you know about my hobby?’ There’s a glint in his eye now.

‘I saw your profile on a dating app.’

He lifts an eyebrow.

‘I mean, I’m not on any dating apps. My friend is. She showed me.’

‘And what did you think?’ He’s playing with me now.

‘You sound interesting. Had many takers?’

‘A few.’ His face is a little red, but perhaps it’s from the sun. ‘Hungry?’

‘Starving.’

While he goes inside, I guzzle the rest of the mojito. I’m not at all hungry. If anything, I feel sick. Why is this so difficult? A moment later, he’s back with a bowl of olives. He tops up our drinks from a jug and lights the barbecue.

‘Do you fancy giving it a go?’ he asks as he sits back down.

‘What?’

‘Paddle boarding.’ He smiles, one eye screwed up against the sun.

‘Oh.’ I laugh. ‘I don’t know. How likely am I to fall in?’

‘I guarantee it.’

‘Hmm.’

He chuckles. ‘I can tell you’re tempted.’

‘I like the idea of the standing up part, not the falling in part.’

‘You should try it,’ he says. ‘It’s a lot of fun once you get the hang of it.’

I think about my new ‘get a life’ motto. ‘Maybe I will.’

‘I’ll get the food going.’ He gets up and heads inside.

‘Can I help?’ I call after him.

‘No, relax.’

I need to take his advice. I lift my chin to the sun and exhale.

We chat while he cooks. He’s easy to talk to.

Insects buzz around us, parakeets chatter in a neighbour’s tree.

The mojitos are dissolving the tension in my shoulders and the smell of honey and garlic chicken grilling revives my appetite.

By the time he’s done, the little table is overflowing with chicken skewers, garlic prawns, flat bread, couscous, and salad.

‘This is delicious,’ I say.

‘I love cooking, but I can’t be bothered when it’s just me. Flo’s too fussy, there’s no point cooking when she’s here; it’s all chicken nuggets and macaroni cheese.’

‘Well, you won’t be getting an invitation to my place now.’

‘Why not?’ He’s mock-exasperated.

‘I can’t compete with all this.’ I wave a speared prawn. ‘Besides, my specialities are chicken nuggets and macaroni cheese.’

After we’ve eaten, I excuse myself and follow his directions to the bathroom.

The first door at the top of the stairs is open, the bedside lamps on, although it’s not yet dark.

He knew I would see this room, decorated in shades of grey with an abstract painting in copper colours hanging over the bed.

I find the bathroom at the end of the landing.

After washing my hands, I can’t stop myself from peeking inside the mirrored cabinet above the sink.

It contains all the things you’d expect: a razor, shaving foam, moisturiser, floss.

My reflection swings back in front of me as I close the cabinet.

He’s too good to be true. He cooks, he flosses, and he moisturises , for God’s sake.

There’s probably a dead body in his wardrobe.

On the landing, I take a final glance at his bedroom.

‘What are you doing here, Miss Lawrence?’

I spin around to see Florence in unicorn pyjamas and plaster on my friendliest smile. ‘Hello Florence. I’m here because… Daddy needs to sign a form for school.’

‘Oh, okay.’ She goes into the bathroom.

‘I’ll tell Daddy to come up and tuck you back into bed.’ I run downstairs.

FHD’s in the kitchen pouring wine.

‘She’s awake!’ I hiss. ‘I said you’d tuck her in.’ He looks only a little concerned as he passes me in the narrow kitchen. ‘I told her you had to sign a form for school. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Okay, wait here.’

A few minutes later he calls down: ‘Miss Lawrence?’

I clear my throat and step out into the hall. ‘Yes?’

‘Florence wants to say goodbye.’

FHD comes down the stairs, little Florence in his arms. She clings to his neck, her head resting on his shoulder. He hands me an envelope from the table by the door. ‘There’s the form – all signed.’

‘Great, thank you.’ I force a smile.

He opens the door for me.

‘Well, goodbye,’ I say brightly.

‘Goodbye,’ they say together.

Halfway down the path, I turn and wave.

Framed in the doorway, they wave back, then he shuts the door.

Now what? My phone, purse, keys are all in there. I go out of the gate and loiter behind a bush, clutching his gas bill. I want the ground to swallow me up.

A few minutes later, he’s leaning out of his gate beckoning me back to the house. I follow him cautiously.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, ‘her room’s on the other side.’

Back inside, I pick up my bag.

‘You’re not leaving, are you?’

‘It’s not fair on Florence. What if she wakes up again? How will you explain that?’

‘She won’t. She never wakes up… usually.’

I smile, eyebrows high.

‘Please?’ he says.

‘I wasn’t going to stay late, anyway.’

We wait for my cab. I’m poised to duck around the side of the house should Florence make another appearance.

‘I think the universe is conspiring against us.’ He laughs. ‘Or our daughters are.’

He might be right.