Reading me correctly once again and trying to make me feel better, he rushes to add, ‘You don’t need to be embarrassed. Maybe it had nothing to do with that; more likely the shock just took it out of you.’ I smile at his kindness. ‘Anyway, it seemed weird sneaking into bed with you when you were unconscious but I wasn’t ready to sleep. That’s when I got the idea of making bread. I slept in the spare room. I just wanted to be here for you. You know.’
He stops talking and smiles shyly at me. I feel spaced out and a step behind, but I do accept he’s made a huge effort here. Who bakes bread? The breadmaker was a gift from Gina. She handed it to me saying, ‘What do you buy the girl who has everything?’ Even she didn’t seem hopeful that I’d use it regularly. I’ve used it precisely once.
‘Well, this is all really nice,’ I say, eyeing the tray. I notice he’s even put out a napkin: ridiculously thoughtful. ‘However, I don’t have time to revel in this lovely treat. I’m running late. I have a meeting in a few minutes. I slept through the alarm,’ I explain.
‘No, actually, I turned that off and I cancelled your meeting.’
‘What?’ My delight at seeing him and his sweet breakfast tray is clouded by another wave of confusion. I’m not sure how I feel about his interference.
‘I called Edward.’
‘You called my PA?’
‘Yes. I explained that you’d had a break-in and that you had things to sort. I didn’t say you were sleeping or hung over.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say—’
‘He’s going to push back all your morning meetings. You can start work at noon. I knew you’d hate the idea of taking a whole day off, but I thought you needed a bit of a break. Babe, I know you’re not used to being looked after, but maybe it’s time you were.’ I must look nonplussed. ‘Hell, I hope I haven’t overstepped.’
He looks mortified, and I consider. Has he?
I sit with the emotions that are swirling through my head. The fact that he’s cleared my morning meetings but not the entire day’s commitments chimes for me. He’s right, I’d be apoplectic if I found myself with a day of idleness. Workaholics don’t relish the thought of holidays, and sick days are out-and-out resented. But considering that without an alarm to wake me I slept until almost nine, I can concede that my body needed the rest. Has he overstepped, or is this just the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard? I know Heidi would think it was the former. Gina would be certain it was the latter. I don’t know what to think.
‘Look, babe, can you just get back into bed, eat some toast, drink the coffee. It’s going cold.’ He picks up a slice of toast and bites into it, muttering, ‘I, for one, am starving.’
‘Me too,’ I admit, play-snatching the slice from him and taking a bite of my own. I crave my regular kale smoothie, my run and routine, but I climb back into bed. I might as well, since the status meeting has been cancelled. Matthew gets in next to me. He’s fully dressed and I’m in pyjamas, yet it feels cosy and comfortable. We eat peacefully, both drinking from the single coffee cup and orange juice glass. It’s intimate, and I feel happy. I often feel fulfilled and purposeful; I’m not sure how often I feel outright happy. So this is nice.
Good.
Unexpected.
‘I really am sorry about yesterday. I was a dick when we spoke.’ I don’t contradict him. ‘I’ll buy you some replacement plants.’
‘You should have seen the mess,’ I mutter.
He misunderstands me. ‘I’ll buy you plastic ones, no mess.’
‘I hate plastic plants. What’s the point of them?’
‘Greenery.’
‘Fake. Plants are supposed to give us oxygen.’ I realise I sound harsh, so I turn to him and kiss him, saying, ‘I don’t understand dildos either.’
He laughs, but disentangles my arms, which I’ve weaved around the back of his neck, not taking my cue on how I’d like to use this unexpected free time. ‘I had a lot on my mind yesterday,’ he says.
‘Yeah, you said you were busy.’
‘I did have some work to do, but it wasn’t just that. Not really.’
‘What, then?’ I ask, using my forefinger to wipe a smudge of butter from the corner of his mouth. I suck my finger. I wonder if I look at all tantalising or just plain silly.
‘That stuff I was telling you about my crappy accommodation, it was only part of the story.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘The landlord has discovered asbestos in the roof,’ he says.
‘Oh my God. Has it been disturbed? It’s carcinogenic.’
‘Indeed. I’ll have to move out straight away. I feel for the guy I rent from. He’ll lose income and I’m certain the necessary work will come at a cost.’ Matthew is such a sweetheart, always thinking about others. He’s facing health risks and is without a place to live, but is worried about his landlord.
‘So the obvious solution is that you move in here.’ The thought rushes out of my mouth before I can overthink it. Matthew looks shocked, not the ideal response. Have I just made the same mistake as I made offering the loan? I rush to retract or at least soften the impetuous suggestion. ‘I mean, if you like, if it’s convenient. Not forever, just a short-term fix. Or mid-term. Whatever.’ Now I sound like I’m pleading, and that’s just as bad. Worse, probably. ‘You’ve been doing a lot of backwards and forwards, commuting between here and London. It’s not good for the environment.’ I smile. He does too. ‘What I’m offering makes financial sense.’
‘I don’t want to do it just because it makes financial sense.’
‘Of course not. That’s not what I meant.’
‘I want to move in with you because you want me here, because I want to be with you.’
‘Yes.’ I beam. ‘That. Exactly that.’
He pauses for a second. I barely breathe. ‘In which case, yes, I’d love to.’ We grin at one another, pleased with ourselves, and then we sort of remember to kiss. It sounds silly to say that we have to remember to do that, but we have not yet established rhythms, patterns. I see Heidi and Leon, Gina and Mick move around one another in such relaxed harmony that it’s like watching tides responding to the moon’s wax and wane. I suppose those habits are developed over time. Time we might now have, as he’s moving in. I can hardly believe it.
‘I haven’t lived with anyone since boarding school. I don’t know what is normal for other people,’ I blurt. A warning. An explanation.
‘Does anyone know what is normal for anyone else?’ asks Matthew with a shrug.
‘No, I suppose not.’ I like his answer. I hadn’t thought I was looking for anyone to provide answers, but maybe I am. ‘When would you like to move in?’
