‘I know…’ Emily paused. ‘I suppose, well, don’t tell anyone, but things with Chris have been so good since I’ve been home. I mean, they were good before, you know? But since… we’re so much closer. I think we’d drifted apart a bit – like you do.’
‘I get it, I do…’
‘And I couldn’t help but think how much closeness and togetherness you build up over the years. And how awful it would be to throw it away.’
‘But I’m not throwing it away. He is. Or rather, he has.’
‘I know. Just… well, if anything happens with Frédérique, it kind of makes it final in a whole new way.’
‘I know,’ Lily said. ‘But I suppose… I mean, I can’t keep waiting and hoping forever, can I? I can’t… Well, I don’t want to be alone forever.’
‘I know, chick.’
‘I’m not even a hundred per cent sure it’s a date, so…’
‘Well, there you go then. Enjoy his company. Get to know him. Just maybe… I don’t know… Maybe take a breath before jumping into anything else. Life is short, and I just… I suppose I don’t want to see you making a mistake.’
Once she was off the phone, Lily tried to get her mind off Emily’s words. It wasn’t as if she’d had any intention of rushing into anything with Frédérique – for starters, the idea of it being a date at all might be entirely in her head. But she’d expected her friend to be her usual, enthusiastic self. To tease her and encourage her and make her excited for the evening ahead. Now she just felt… well, flat at best.
And the thought of a possible reconciliation with Ben – something that she’d kept at arm’s length as much as she could recently – was back at the forefront of her mind.
For twenty years, they’d been everything to each other. Sure, they’d probably gone through periods where they’d taken each other for granted, or snapped at each other, or not spent enough time together. But underneath it all she’d always had a feeling of safety and permanence. She’d felt that, for better or worse, it was Ben she wanted by her side. And she’d been convinced he’d felt the same way.
But now she’d had to question everything she’d assumed, everything she’d felt. Because she was here, and he was there. And there didn’t seem to be anything she could do about it without making one of them desperately unhappy.
And Frédérique – not only did he look like the man in a movie she’d drooled over for the last decade or so, but he was also funny and kind. And actually there in a way Ben refused to be. Sure, she’d love to wake up and find out the breakup had all been a bad dream – to find Ben by her side. But even if he turned up now, begging forgiveness, she wasn’t sure what she’d say. In letting her go so easily he’d revealed how he felt about her. Maybe she couldn’t ruin any chance for their future, because there simply wasn’t one.
The hot water spat and hissed as she filled the old ceramic bath, added some shower gel – making a mental note to get some bubble bath next time she was out – and sloshed her hand in until a few bubbles formed on the surface. Then she slipped off her dressing gown and sank into the warmth.
Her shoulders stung where she’d been lightly sunburned the day before, and she washed herself quickly, then sat up a bit to allow them to cool in the air of the tiled room. Originally, when she’d walked home yesterday, overjoyed at the idea of going out for a drink – just actually having something to do in the evening – she’d thought she might slip on one of her favourite dresses.
But Emily’s words had dampened her enthusiasm. Instead, she pulled on a pair of jeans, paired them with a light green blouse and applied just a little bit of makeup. Inspecting herself in the mirror, she nodded. She didn’t look like a woman expecting to be romanced. But at the same time, she’d scrubbed up pretty well – had made an effort.
What she was doing wasn’t wrong, surely? Yes, she had blocked Ben, but only after the stinging finality of his text messages. And if he really wanted her back, or had had any sort of change of heart, he would have found some way to contact her. It was time to move on – it was the only healthy thing to do.
When Frédérique arrived at her door, she was doubly glad she hadn’t opted for a dress. He was wearing navy jeans and a short-sleeved, light-blue shirt, with three buttons undone, showing a hint of tan and skin but stopping short of the forest of hair she now knew lay beneath. The outfit suited him – he looked more Russell Crowe than… well, than the actual Russell Crowe looked these days, but casual at the same time.