‘Or something to eat? Seriously, our chef can make you anything. She’s just itching for the chance.’
When I shook my head, she laughed. God, she was a doll.
‘Loving your willpower,’ she told me. ‘Mr Quinlivan should be with you shortly.’
I sat on a beautiful low armchair. Lovely. Then I swapped to the couch. Even lovelier. A bowl of fresh fruit – perfectly ripe bananas, lustrous grapes and giant, shiny apples – sat on the coffee table. It would be okay to eat whatever I wanted but I’d feel bad about disrupting the perfect proportions.
Even more tempting were the boxes of handmade chocolates stacked on a shelf. But if I started on that lark, who knew where it would end? With me trying to break into the Cadbury factory in Coolock, probably. （I could do nothing in moderation. Nothing.）
I eyed the fridge, wondering what was inside. Milk, maybe. And butter. Boring basics. All the same, it continued to exert a draw. I love other people’s fridges – they’re often exciting places, much more so than, say, store cupboards （chickpeas and their dull ilk）。
The thing was, I was very nervous. Sometime yesterday, I’d gone hot-cold at the realization that there was a chance of bumping into Luke today. A small chance, admittedly, because only rich people or their lucky employees used this private terminal.
Also, I’d no idea when he was flying home. But they got so little time off work in the US, even for bereavements, that I couldn’t imagine him sticking around for much longer than today. Tomorrow at the very latest.
Which meant that by tomorrow night, I could exhale – even though I knew I’d also feel disappointment and a devastating sense of anticlimax. That’s feelings for you. Irritatingly contradictory.
To calm myself, I listed out the good parts of my life, things that I knew to be facts. I was drug-free and well, had a job I loved, good friends, a peculiar but loving family and I was in a healthy relationship with a good man.
Quin and I were quite different people but we had such fun. Even when we disagreed, it was always good-humoured.
He was interested in me – my opinions, my thoughts, everything. He was in my corner, in a major way.
And I fancied him. Unlike Brigit, Claire and Brianna at work, the suggestion of sex didn’t make me exclaim, ‘Jesus Christ, isn’t my life shitty enough! I collapse into bed after an absolute arse of a day and then he shows up, jabbing his lad at me! He’s nearly fifty! Can somebody please tell me, when does it stop?’
Mind you, I was far from smug about this. My libido still flickered with regular life because Quin and I didn’t live together. But if I moved in with him, I knew that the very second I’d lined up the last of my trainers on the floor of the wardrobe, I’d start yelling, ‘Birthdays, Christmas and our anniversary! Any other night of the year? Don’t even think about it!’
I was fairly sure that I loved Quin but I hadn’t – yet – told him, because those words shouldn’t be thrown around until I was absolutely certain I meant them.
The thing was, the way I felt about Quin was very different to how I’d felt about Luke. After Quin and I had been seeing each other for maybe four or five months, he’d pinned me down about it.
‘What’s the difference between me and your ex?’ he’d asked. ‘Be honest, Rach. I want to know what I’m dealing with here.’
‘Luke was like …’ Carefully, I picked my way through the words, trying to be accurate. ‘… a French sauce that’s been reduced and reduced.’
Quin flinched. ‘Christ. And what am I?’
‘You’re like …’ In a panic, I was trying to find something that would wipe away his hurt. ‘Like Jo Burger’s cheesy fries. Absolutely delicious. And moreish. Just different.’
He wasn’t happy but he didn’t labour the point. Except for now and again, maybe after he’d made me laugh like a drain or we’d had a lively couple of hours in bed, he’d mutter darkly, ‘Jo Burger’s cheesy fries …’
Quin hinted heavily that he loved me, but, being Quin, he was too competitive to run the risk of saying it, then being left hanging by my silence.
Sometimes I wondered how long we could go without saying, ‘I love you.’ If we could last an entire relationship? An entire lifetime?
But having seen Luke, I was asking myself if I’d been wrong to have held out on Quin. It was as if a spotlight was suddenly illuminating different types of romantic love. The version of me who had fallen for Luke was much more innocent than the woman who had met Quin. I was so much wiser now, shaped and changed by all that life had given me, good and bad.