‘Jay—’
‘Eat your dinner.’ Suddenly all amusement was gone and the tender note to his voice was nearly her undoing. ‘We’re not going to talk about this any more tonight, we’re going to enjoy ourselves. Perhaps even dance in a while, OK?’
Not OK. So not OK. ‘I don’t think—’
‘Good. I don’t want you to think. Just to feel.’
If he interrupted her a third time he’d feel her foot making contact with his shin bone. Miriam became aware the couple at the next table were looking at them with thinly veiled curiosity. They were not near enough to have heard the content of their conversation but she didn’t doubt her body language had said quite enough for them to get the message all was not well. Taking a long silent breath, she glanced down at her plate. The beef looked wonderful and perhaps because she’d hardly eaten anything the last couple of days, worrying about tonight, she suddenly found her mouth was watering. Picking up her knife and fork, she began to eat.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘SO YOU’RE telling me that, after all the talk about wanting you back and living together and everything, he didn’t even ask for a goodnight kiss?’
Clara was sitting cross-legged on Miriam’s sofa eating a croissant, the crumbs of which were scattering in an arc about her. Miriam had long since got used to her friend’s aversion for sitting at a table; in Clara’s bedsit meals were either eaten balanced precariously on two long-legged stools at the tiny breakfast bar, or sitting hippy-fashion on one of several massive floor cushions. She had also got used to her friend’s
tactlessness. Nodding now, she said flatly, ‘After all that was said he was probably glad to see the back of me. Anyway, I wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d wanted me to, you know that.’
Clara didn’t comment on this questionable statement. Instead she licked her fingers one by one and then said in a wise-owl tone, ‘He’s playing it cool.’
If he was playing it cool it was arctic-cold, Miriam thought miserably. After their initial talk at dinner Jay had suddenly switched to suave and amusing dinner-companion mode, steering the conversation away from anything personal when she had attempted to get down to the nitty-gritty of their separation and refusing to be drawn when she’d sensed what he was doing. He had been witty and charming and polite, as though it were the first time they’d dated, and when he’d seen her home in the taxi he’d made no attempt to kiss her or even hold her hand. And it had driven her mad; she’d tossed and turned all night wondering why he’d changed his mind about wanting her.
And how was that for inconsistency on her part? she asked herself as Clara helped herself to another croissant. Clara had arrived on her doorstep at eight o’clock positively agog to hear how the evening had gone, and she hadn’t had the heart to send her away, even though she’d only finally gone to sleep as dawn had broken.
Miriam watched her friend tuck into the pastry and found herself envying Clara’s happy-go-lucky approach to life and love more than she’d ever done before. She wished with all her heart she had just a smidgen of Clara’s carefree, permissive attitude. With this in mind, and also to deflect any more humiliating disclosures, she said brightly, ‘How’s Dave?’
‘Who?’ said Clara, without any attempt at joking. ‘Oh, Dave.’
‘History?’ Miriam guessed, feeling a bit sorry for the hapless Dave. He had had a great taste in wine.
Clara nodded. ‘I’ve actually decided to be celibate for a while,’ she said, reaching for her third croissant. ‘There’s a guy at work I’ve been talking to and he’s been celibate for over a year now. He reckons his work output has increased by a hundred per cent and he feels terrific. In tune with himself. You know?’
Miriam didn’t. She’d never felt in tune with herself in the whole of her life. Which perhaps meant Jay had got a point. This was too disturbing to contemplate and she said brightly, ‘Another coffee?’
‘Love one.’ Clara fixed her with her great blue eyes, which were outlined in a murky, yellow gold that morning. It should have looked gross but on Clara it simply looked right. ‘So, are you seeing Jay again, then? Date-wise, I mean?’ she asked, uncurling herself off the sofa and wandering across to the window.
Miriam made an indeterminate sound that could have meant anything and shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. There’s no point, is there?’ Not for the world would she admit, not even to Clara, that he had said goodnight and walked away without mentioning seeing her again.
Not that she wanted him to, she hastened to assure herself. Of course not. She would have to say no and things would get awkward again and the whole uncomfortable cycle would start once more. Far better they parted civilly, having shared a nice meal. It was just that she didn’t appreciate him blowing hot and cold the way he had last night, one minute saying he wanted them to make a go of it and live together again, and the next dumping her on her doorstep without so much as a by-your-leave.
Handing Clara her coffee, she said, ‘We’ll have to go shopping for ski clothes soon. We can’t leave it till the last minute.’
With typical directness Clara ignored Miriam’s attempt to change the subject. ‘He’s got under your skin again, hasn’t he? I knew it was a bad idea, you going last night.’
‘He hasn’t.’ She’d spoken too quickly. After a charged silence in which Clara’s pierced eyebrows rose, Miriam repeated weakly, ‘He hasn’t. It was just a big unsettling, that’s all. We were—are—married, Clara.’
‘But you’re over him.’
‘Definitely.’
‘It wouldn’t worry you, then, that he’s just got out of a sex machine on wheels and is about to ring the doorbell?’
‘You’re joking!’ Miriam flew across to the window. Clara wasn’t joking. Miriam just had time to see Jay raise his hand before the intercom’s buzz sounded. ‘I can’t see him.’ She stared aghast at Clara. She was still in her pyjamas and she hadn’t even brushed her hair, she thought wildly.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of him.’ Clara marched over to the intercom and pressed the button. ‘Hello?’
‘Miriam?’ Deep and resonant, Jay’s voice cut into the room.
‘No, this is Clara, Miriam’s friend. She’s not here.’