If this were a Christmas movie, she’d have put us up in her spare room, and we’d have stayed up all night talking. It would have been cosy and gorgeous. But it’s not a Christmas movie, and so Lucas and I end up sitting outside WHSmith at Waterloo, staring morosely at the departure boards, still stewing from our latest argument.
Back there under Shannon’s chandelier, I’d come so close to kissing him. He’s infuriating and short-tempered and there are a hundred things I don’t like about him, but I can’t deny that I’m almost painfully attracted to him. I kept thinking of Sameera and Grigg saying there’s no harm in having a fling with him—nobody can get hurt if you don’t even like each other.
But is it normal to want to have sex with someone you hate? Is that something I need to look at? I did a few years of therapy after my parents died, and I learned enough about healthy thoughts to suspect this is a topic my old therapist would probably have wanted to discuss.
I glance at Lucas. He is eating a sandwich angrily, which I didn’t know was possible, but he’s really managing with aplomb. I roll my eyes. He’s so dramatic. So broody and moody and rude.
And he thinks I’m unkind. I press my hand to the base of my ribs as the thought hits, accompanied by a quick flash of shame. My parents used to have a sign dangling above the oven in our kitchen that said No act of kindness is ever wasted—it was important to them that whatever else I became in life, I’d always be kind, and I’m suddenly terrified that I’ve let them down. The thought takes the wind out of me.
“There! Platform seven!” Lucas yells, exploding up from his seat.
His sandwich packaging goes flying as we race each other to the snow-topped train. He’s a fast runner, but I’m craftier—by the time I jump on, he’s still floundering around between two tourists and their luggage.
“Ha!” I say, sticking my tongue out as he eventually hops through the door, breathing hard.
I’m expecting a comeback about how infantile I’m being, but when he looks at me, for a moment his face is unguarded. He’s smiling.
“What?” I say, suspicious.
His smile smooths away. “Nothing,” he says, moving past me, angling—of course—for the only available seat.
* * *
? ? ? ? ?
Mrs. SB texts an update when we get to woking.
I’ve given Mrs. Rogers no. 1 our spare room in Opal Cottage for the night, and invited Mr. Graham Rogers and Mrs. Rogers no. 2 here for brunch and a civil conversation in the morning. Amazing what the promise of a free meal can do.
The message ends with a thumbs-up. Mrs. SB only ever uses a thumbs-up without irony, so she must be calmer than she was when Ollie called. Still, I feel awful for causing her all this trouble. It’s the last thing she needs right now—and even though she was super nice about us both being off on this trip, I do feel very guilty for leaving the hotel on a job that really only needed one of us.
Woking station is packed with pissed-off travellers, all alternating between staring at phones and departure screens. It’s too cold; my nose hurts. I just want to go home and crawl into my bed.
“Replacement bus service cancelled,” Lucas growls, not looking up from his phone. He mutters something in Portuguese, and then says, “What do we do now?”
I’m surprised he’s asking me. Lucas usually likes to plough on, making his own decisions and expecting me to trot along after him.
“Cab?” I say, already wincing.
“I can’t,” Lucas says, and there’s real anguish in his voice at the very thought of it.
I get it—I’m not rolling in it, either, and a taxi from here would cost us at least ?200. I get my phone out and hit up Google. A cheap hotel right by the station has rooms available for ?40. I doubt they’ll stay at that price for long—other people will have the same idea as me soon enough.
“Look, it sounds like everyone’s fine at Forest Manor now, and we can’t afford a cab, so . . .” I hold out the screen to him.
He stares at it for a moment. His eyes flick up to mine.
“We can get two rooms,” I say quickly. “If you want.”
“I would rather . . . Well, it’s up to you,” he says.
“One’s fine for me. I’ll just sleep on the floor.”
He looks irritated. “I will sleep on the floor.”
“I don’t know if there’ll be enough floor for you,” I say, nodding at the size of him.
His lip lifts ever so slightly. “Book it,” he says decisively. “Before it’s too late. I’ll transfer you my share now.”