But I’d done all I could for now – the evening nursing staff were on high alert and a consultant therapist, who specialized in sexual abuse, was with her.
When I arrived at Quin’s, he was banging around in his bathroom, his back to me. From a shelf he grabbed a bottle of Lutens 5 O’Clock and slapped on a generous handful.
‘I love that smell,’ I said.
‘Oh?’ In the mirror, his eyes met mine. ‘Should I –’ He reached for the bottle once more and I yelped, ‘That’s enough!’
Obviously I wanted Luke to be impressed with my good-looking, fragrant boyfriend but at no point could it appear that he’d made an effort.
Quin turned, then he exclaimed, ‘You look great!’
My lunch hour had been spent getting my hair blow-dried into shiny, beachy waves in the tiny hairdresser’s in the village. （It was always the luck of the draw whether you got the young, savvy gay man or the older woman in thrall to her heated rollers. Fortune had favoured me today.） Then in a speedy post-work in-and-out I’d gone home to change into a deceptively casual shirt-dress and low-cut ankle boots.
Quin inspected my knees. ‘I’m guessing your ex-husband is a leg man?’
I winced. ‘This isn’t the 1970s. But yes,’ because I’d promised I’d never lie to Quin about Luke, ‘he used to like my legs. I’m not trying to …’ I waved my hands. ‘… win him back or any of that bullshit. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t want to look good.’
‘I’m a leg man too, you know.’
‘You can look at my legs any time you like.’
‘Can I, though …？ When did I last see you in a dress?’
I pulled him close and hissed, ‘Shut. Up.’
Then we both dissolved into laughter that was slightly manic.
At the noisy, crowded restaurant, Luke and Kallie hadn’t arrived yet. Quin and I had just taken our seats when I felt him flinch. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he muttered. ‘What a terrible day to have eyes.’
I followed his gaze: Luke was at the top of the steps. He’d just removed his jacket, revealing a white T-shirt and black leather jeans, which were carelessly tucked into motorbike boots.
Quin had also gone big on tonight’s look. Wearing black twill track pants from Z （Zegna’s ‘affordable’ diffusion） and what had been described in GQ as a ‘power hoodie’， he was sleek, understated cool.
But Luke Costello in leather was unbeatable. A power move, if ever I saw one.
Luke and Kallie were handing over helmets to the coat-man. They must have come on a bike, so Luke’s leathers had a practical function. All the same, I felt slightly sick, wondering why I’d agreed to this terrible, terrible idea.
Luke spotted me and indicated us to Kallie. With his hand on her hip, he steered her down the stairs, the muscles at the front of his thighs flexing with each step he descended.
Quin stood up, stepped forward, then – I wasn’t imagining it – stretched himself a little taller, made his chest a little wider – and shook Luke’s hand. ‘I’m Quin. Good to meet you, man. Sorry to hear about your mum. It’s a hard loss.’
‘Thanks,’ Luke muttered. He nodded at me. ‘Rachel.’
Kallie, in a handkerchief-hemmed floaty dress, was looking deliciously Stevie Nicks. ‘Hi, hi, hi!’ Her blue eyes were a-sparkle as she launched herself at me, then Quin, for a hug.
‘You smell gooood,’ she declared at Quin, all flirty approval. Then, ‘Cool place, guys. Good pick. Should we sit? We should sit!’
She pulled me into the chair opposite her.
‘Great dress,’ I said.
‘Zara! Today. I know!’ Then, ‘Whoops!’ She swooped on the wine glasses in my place setting and plucked them out. ‘Excuse me.’ She’d grabbed a passing waiter. ‘Can you take these away?’ Her voice was stern. ‘My friend cannot have any alcohol.’
‘That’s okay,’ I said.
‘Don’t they trigger you?’
I laughed. ‘No.’
‘Oh, I just thought – No, okay, all good.’
Quin unzipped his power hoodie, then pulled it off to reveal a close-fitting T-shirt, which hugged his defined arms and pecs. Fair play, I thought. Nice countermove from the Quinster: I see your leather-clad thighs and I raise you quietly impressive biceps.
I slid him a sideways glance and signalled, Nice one.
With the tiniest smirk, he replied, Got your back, babes.