Page 10 of Meet Me in Berlin

He scrunches his face, the lines around his eyes deepening. ‘You sure? Feels like we just met. Well, it’s been a great three years, hasn’t it?’

I frown.

He reaches for my hand again, but I pull it back. ‘I really am sorry. I’m terrible with dates, but you know how much I love you.’

I do know that. And he has been stupidly busy at work lately, so he’s more forgetful than usual.

‘You want me to make it up to you?’ he continues. ‘Maybe … an early night?’ He winks, or tries to wink, but he’s one of those people whose eyelids lack the coordination and it presents as a blink.

I inwardly groan. A ten-minute poke that leaves me frustrated and him satisfied is not how I want to be appreciated tonight. I pat his hand and give a conciliatory smile. ‘How about you buy me some nice chocolates from that place near your office tomorrow, hey?’

He grins and mops up the last of his dinner. ‘I can do that. Just send me a text to remind me before I leave work.’

I huff and shake my head, but it’s lost on him because his head is tipped back, draining his glass of water.

He places the glass on the table. ‘So, Jack’s back tomorrow,’ he says, nerves coating his words.

Jack is Tom’s son, who’s started living with us every second week since Tom’s ex-wife decided that he needed to parent more. Prior to the new arrangement, I’d met Jack a total of five times and struggled to get a hello from him.

I carry my plate to the sink. ‘How do you feel about that?’

Tom follows and puts his dish on the side. ‘Looking forward to seeing him, but a bit worried how it will go. Glad you’re with me for this. Don’t think I’m very good at handling an eight-year-old.’

‘I’m not either,’ I say, rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. ‘Jack is definitely not a fan of mine.’

‘Not at all. He’s a kid. He likes you.’

‘He’s going to need to like me a whole lot more if this living arrangement continues.’

‘He’ll come round.’ Tom gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Thanks for dinner. It was lovely. And happy anniversary.’ He pecks my cheek and points towards the lounge room. ‘Do you mind if I watch The 7.30 Report? The treasurer’s on tonight talking about the national debt. I don’t want to miss it.’

I glance at the pile of dishes and the leftover food scattered across the bench.

‘Leave all that,’ he says. ‘I’ll tidy it up later.’

‘It’s easier to do it now and I was going to…’ But he’s already walking away. ‘Go for a shower,’ I murmur to his retreating back. My hand tightens around the dirty cutlery. That thread of patience holding me together is about to break. I go to call him back but decide against it because he’ll stack the dishwasher wrong and won’t pack the leftovers properly. And to be fair to him, he started work at seven, whereas I didn’t go in until ten, left at four and had a two-hour lunch break.

Once the kitchen is clean, I head down the hallway, the soles of my slippers scuffing the floorboards, and retreat to the bathroom. I switch on the ceiling heat lamp and run the hot water, then peel off my dress, thick tights and underwear and pile my hair on top of my head. When steam starts to fill the shower recess, I step in and tip my head forward, letting the warm flow massage my neck and shoulders.

The non-event that was our anniversary sits sour under my skin. But I’m not sure what I expected – for Tom to suddenly be this person he isn’t and never will be? It’s not his fault he’s forgetful, and partners always take each other for granted now and then.

I run the soap over my thighs.

Maybe I was too hasty turning down that early night. I was hoping for more than dinner tonight, and the sex isn’t awful, not at all. It doesn’t blow my brain apart, but I’m not always left frustrated either. Besides, who’s having brain-blowing sex when they’ve been together for years? At least he tries to give me an orgasm.

I grab the scrubbing brush and vigorously wash my back.

Maybe he’d make more of an effort tonight – I could even get some oral. The reality of that thought registers. Unlikely. Unless I ask, and there is no way I’ll ask. He knows I like it so he should just do it. But he’s not really a going-down type of guy. I guessed that the moment I met him, with his glasses, smart-casual clothing, clean-shaven skin and practical haircut. Not that how he looked was the sole reason. It was that combined with something missing in his hazel eyes. They were kind and loving, but they lacked fire, passion, a desire to devour me.

‘Get over it, Holly,’ I mutter and turn off the taps. I can’t choose a life partner based on their ability or willingness to devour me. I step onto the soft bathmat and dry myself under the warmth of the heat lamp, then slather my skin with an almond milk body butter. I swipe my hand through the mirror steam, let down my hair to run a brush through it and wrap the towel around me.

When I walk into the lounge, Tom’s gaze shifts from the TV. ‘Better?’

‘Mmhmm.’ I hold out my hand. ‘Maybe I’ll take you up on that early night.’

He grins and clicks the remote. ‘Rightio, then. I’ll just put that on pause for ten.’

Chapter 4

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