‘Why didn’t you go with him?’
Patrick hesitated. ‘I didn’t want to wake you up.’
‘It would have been fine.’
‘Right, obviously. I just thought – no, don’t worry.’ He put the book under his arm and began patting his pockets. ‘Sorry, I should have –’
‘You’ve missed the last Tube. How are you going to get home?’
‘I’m going to walk.’
‘From Shepherd’s Bush to Bethnal Green.’
He said it wouldn’t take that long and he really felt like it – he’d been planning to walk. I glanced at his feet, sockless in canvas tennis shoes that were, for some reason, missing their laces.
‘Is this your first time with lying, Patrick? You’re not very good at it. Seriously, why didn’t you go with Oliver?’
Patrick cleared his throat. ‘I just thought it probably hasn’t been the best day and maybe you’d want company when you woke up. But you’re absolutely fine, so that’s great. I’ll get going.’
I asked if he was planning to borrow the book that was still under his arm.
He produced a laugh and said he’d forgotten it was there, extracting it and momentarily pretending to read the back. ‘I might leave it. I might put it back.’ I said I would get the door for him because only life-inhabitants of Goldhawk Road know the exact sequence of locks required to open it, and left him to reshelve the book.
The bulb in the hall light had been blown for some time. Trying to get around my father’s bicycle propped against the wall, my hip caught the handle bar and I unbalanced it. I stepped back to let it fall over. I didn’t know Patrick was already behind me, and I stumbled against him. He put his hands on my waist and because he did not take them away, even after I had righted myself, I said, ‘Do you love me Patrick?’ Instantly he let go and stepped back. In the dark, I couldn’t see his face.
He said no. ‘Or do you mean as a friend?’
I moved and switched on the outside light. It shone dimly through the glass above the door. I said, not as a friend.
‘Then no. I don’t.’ He said not like that and edged past me, then picked his way over the bike and began working the locks in any combination.
‘Oliver told me that you have been in love with me since we were teenagers.’
With his back to me, Patrick said, ‘Did he?’
‘On the night Jonathan proposed.’
‘Right, well I don’t know why he did that.’
I reached past him for a high bolt he hadn’t seen, skimming his arm. Patrick pressed himself against the wall and went out as soon as I had opened the door wide enough for him to get through it.
‘Patrick.’
He was taking the steps two at a time and didn’t turn around until he was on the footpath. I followed, then stopped half way.
‘Is it true?’
He said no, definitely not. ‘I really don’t know what Oliver was thinking.’ He said, ‘Sorry, I need to get going,’ already walking away.
*
The bell rang while I was still in the hallway, righting my father’s bicycle.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
‘Sorry –’
‘What for?’
On the top step, hands in his pockets, Patrick said, ‘I just felt like I should say, I wasn’t a hundred per cent honest with you just then.’
I said okay.
He paused, evidently unsure if he was required to elaborate or if, having confessed, he could rightfully leave. A second later, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets, he said, ‘No, it’s just at one stage –’
I scratched my arm, waiting. I thought I wanted to know, in the hallway I felt like I needed to know if Patrick loved me. I no longer did. I was embarrassed and wanted him to leave because I was convinced – irrationally but still convinced – it was obvious to him that the second his hands were on my waist and the half-second they’d remained there had been enough to make me believe that he did love me as Oliver said. And I had wanted him to say it because – now, in Patrick’s mind – I was in love with him.
‘– at one stage –’ he shifted his weight ‘– I did think I was – you know.’
‘When?’
‘One year, after I saw you at your aunt and uncle’s, at Christmas.’ He said I probably didn’t remember it. ‘We were teenagers. You were sick and I had to come in to –’
‘You told me about your mother.’