I get to my feet and offer her a hand up. ‘Thanks,’ she says, dusting chalk off her jeans.
‘No, thank you,’ I say. ‘For the ridiculous distraction. I really needed it.’
‘Any time,’ she says. ‘Maybe that should be my new dating profile – I’m your woman if you ever find yourself in need of ridiculous distraction.’
As a man, I see flaws in that immediately. ‘Can I suggest caution? Other people’s idea of ridiculous distraction and yours might be wildly different. Especially on a dating website.’
She looks mock-offended. ‘You mean standing on one leg until you fall over isn’t everyone’s idea of fun?’
‘Not with your clothes on, no.’ I regret it as soon as it’s out of my mouth.
Cleo smiles into her glass. I’m not sure, but I think she might be blushing.
‘Don’t let the image inside your head, it doesn’t go away easily.’ She drains her wine. ‘Time for bed, I think, before I do myself any more injuries.’
‘Look, why don’t you take the bed tonight? I’ll have a stint on the sofa.’
She frowns, laying her hand on the back of the sofa. ‘No, I’m fine. I’m used to this beast now, I know how to bend myself around its lumps.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Okay then.’
‘Okay.’
We’re stuck in an awkward loop. ‘You hang up.’
She laughs, rounding the sofa to make her bed up. ‘I will because I’m knackered.’
‘Must be all that knitting.’
‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,’ she says.
I don’t think I will, somehow.
I think of my sons as I lie in the dark. Leo’s bony fingers, Nate’s scraped knees.
‘One – being a dad is the most important thing I am,’ I say into the silence. ‘Two – my relationship with my own dad is pretty complicated. A story for another time. And three …’ I cast around for a third thing to add to my list. I’m not really sure how our conversations in the dark became a ritual, but it’s strangely soothing. I’ve found myself thinking about them during the day, the things Cleo has told me, the things I’ve chosen to reveal about myself, the small puzzle pieces that add up to a whole person. ‘I don’t like peanut butter.’ Yeah, I’m aware it’s a lame finish, but I really couldn’t think of anything else.
‘Me neither,’ Cleo says. ‘Crunchy, lumpy sandwich spread is weird.’
Left to his own devices, Nate would stand in the kitchen and eat an entire jar with a spoon. There are people with a sweet tooth, and then there’s my youngest son, who could mainline sugar until his eyeballs spun if no one stopped him. He’s the kind of kid who goes at everything full speed, the kind of kid I probably was until life handed me a few sharp lessons on the benefits of staying cautious.
‘My first ever job was in a fish-and-chip shop at the weekend.’ Cleo picks up her three-things cue. ‘I spent my Saturday nights battering haddock while my mates were trying to get served in the pub.’ She pauses. ‘Two – I’m the only woman in my family with dark hair, the others are all blonde.’ I hear her breathe out in the darkness. ‘Three – I lost my virginity when I was seventeen … to the English teacher.’
‘You know I need to hear the rest of that story.’
‘He was temporary, a standin while our regular teacher had surgery. I walked into his lesson and felt as if someone had set me on fire. God, did I bust a gut to impress him that summer. I agonized over every word of my essays, imagining him reading them and falling in love with me through the pages.’
‘And did he?’
‘Oh, he noticed me all right. Within a fortnight we were steaming up the windows of his bashed Mini and doing things in school store cupboards that they definitely weren’t designed for.’ She laughs. ‘It’s not as terribly predatory as it sounds; he was twenty-three and wet behind the ears and I was almost eighteen and no wallflower waiting to be picked.’
‘At least you didn’t lose your virginity to the hot tub salesman,’ I say, to make her laugh. ‘Did you and the teacher get found out and run away together like Bonnie and Clyde?’
She sighs. ‘Nothing so romantic. His stint at the school came to an end after a few weeks and our affair ended with it.’
‘Your poor teenage broken heart,’ I say.