‘Right,’ he said, clapping his hands together. ‘So, what do you think?’
‘I think you’re insane. The alcohol’s rotted away what little you had in the way of brain cells.’
‘Give it to me straight, Lulu.’
‘And stop calling me Lulu. It’s Ms Miles to you.’
‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand,’ he said, leaning forwards again, all intensity. ‘It co
uld work for both of us. And, really, don’t you remember how good we were together? Would it be such a chore?’
‘Chore?’ How could he not see that this would be absolute torture – probably literally? ‘Fuck you and your stupid house. I hope it gets bought up and turned into a theme park.’
Damn, my voice was wobbling all over the shop. I had to get out of there, and fast.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve approached this in the wrong way,’ he said, standing and trying to stop me running out of the door. ‘Lucy, I’m a tactless bastard, but please …’
I opened the door.
‘I miss you,’ he said.
I slammed it in his face.
Chapter Four
Don’t you remember how good we were together? The words rattled in my head all the way through the editorial meeting, winding round and round the strands of council meetings and hosepipe bans and air displays and smothering them until I had no idea what had been said at all.
Of course I remembered. How could I forget?
We had spent the whole summer in bed, or if we weren’t in bed we were out in the grounds, on the lake or in a summerhouse, just for a change of scene.
He was inventive, passionate and outrageously horny all the time.
Luckily enough, I was the same.
What happened to me?
I thought of Károly’s parting words for me.
‘It doesn’t feel like losing you. I never felt I had you. You never gave yourself to me.’
He was right, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Not after Joss. After Joss, I had played everything safe, and safety meant keeping my heart to myself. So, when Károly had cheated on me, it hadn’t really touched me, except as a blow to my pride and confirmation that I was quite right not to bother with love.
Now that the initial shock of our meeting was wearing off, I thought more about Joss and how things were with him. The alcohol thing was sobering – so to speak – as was his general air of dejection and defeat. If he wasn’t careful, he might find that it was the tip of a steep decline. Within a few years, the beautiful young man with the world at his feet I had known and loved might be a puffy-faced and red-eyed waster.
I shouldn’t care, but I did.
I spent half a minute doodling on my notepad before I realised that the meeting was over.
‘Oh,’ I said, standing up to find only me and the editor still in the stuffy little room. ‘Right. Better get on then.’
‘Yes,’ she said, giving me a crooked look. ‘Sorry, Lucy, but … do you know what you’re covering today? You seem a bit … distant.’
‘It’s the heat,’ I told her. ‘Goes to my head sometimes. Would you mind …?’
‘Open day at the fire station,’ she said, a tad wearily. ‘Look, I know it’s not international politics here, but …’
‘It’s not that, I promise. I’m happy here. I love working for the Voice.’