Page 52 of Meet Me in Berlin

‘We should’ – she points in the direction of the road – ‘like … leave, if we’re going to drop stuff and meet up.’

‘Oh. Yes. Yes, we should,’ I say with a small laugh, and gather up my bag and camera.

She stands and hoists her laptop bag over her shoulder. ‘Call me if, you know, you’re late, or change your mind or something.’

‘I won’t change my mind,’ I say quickly.

Her eyes narrow – trying to read my mind again. ‘Good.’ She gestures diagonally across the park. ‘I’m headed that way.’

I point in the opposite direction. ‘And I’m that way.’

She starts to walk away, then stops and turns. ‘You’ll be there, yeah?’

How could she doubt me? ‘I will. Call me if I’m not.’

We stare at each other a moment longer. I ache to touch her, to wrap my arms around her, press our bodies together, bury my face in her neck.

‘Later, then,’ she says and heads off, glancing back over her shoulder, eyes crinkling with a smile just for me.

I watch until she’s almost out of the park. ‘Holy fuck. Ho-ly fuck,’ I say far too loudly.

A couple of teenagers sitting on the grass nearby stare at me.

‘Can you believe that?’ I say to them as though they have any clue what I’m talking about. They shrug and laugh, and I start towards the exit, a huge grin stuck to my face.

Almost ten minutes later, I jog down the stairwell at the U-Bahn station, moving quickly through the crowds just as the bright yellow train comes into view. I squeeze into the carriage crammed with peak-hour commuters. It’s been a warm afternoon and the crowded carriage smells of body odour, but nothing can quell the excitement that’s sparking inside me right now. I want to tell everyone on the train – the elderly man by the doors rocking gently with the movement of the carriage, the woman trying to pacify her screaming toddler, the two guys sitting side by side giving each other loving looks, the teenagers talking animatedly behind me – anyone who’ll listen to this incredible, amazing thing that just happened.

I hop off a stop later and walk the short distance to my studio flat. Dumping my gear on the tiny dining table, I head straight for the fridge and pour myself a glass of riesling, take a large gulp, then jump in the shower. I scrub and shave and wash my hair. ‘A bit presumptuous, Holly,’ I sing to myself. But deep down, it doesn’t feel wildly presumptuous. There was something there – a crackle of unfinished business. It can’t have been all one-sided. I can’t have misread that.

Washed and dried, I slip on the only sexy underwear I brought with me – a matching cream-coloured bra and underwear set that leaves nothing to the imagination. Then I find some clean jeans and a fresh white T-shirt. It’s the best I can do at short notice. I dry my hair, choose a musky perfume and apply some make-up. Suddenly, a panic that Casey might not show up grips me. No, she found me. Not the other way around. I pump the mascara wand and slick it across my lashes. She wouldn’t have done that just to ghost me again; she wouldn’t have told me to call if I changed my mind.

I banish the thought, slip my feet into a pair of black ballet pumps and grab a lightweight jacket. At the door, I turn and survey the flat. The bed’s unmade, clothes are strewn around the room and my empty wine glass is on the dining table. Is she likely to come back? I have no time to tidy, but I rush over to the bedside lamp and switch it on. Mood lighting is good, just in case. I switch off the overhead light and head out into a Friday evening filled with new possibilities.

Chapter 17

Casey, Berlin

‘Fuck, Jazzy, she’s so beautiful,’ I say. ‘Even more than she was, if that’s possible.’

Jaz shakes her head, tight curls filling the screen of my laptop. ‘What is it with you and beautiful women? It’s like they just look at you and you’re gone.’

I extend my leg and tug on a boot. ‘Don’t know.’

‘Don’t wear anything that’s too hard to take off.’

‘We’re not having sex. We’re just going for dinner.’

Jaz scoffs. ‘You’re totally having sex, babe; I can tell.’

‘I haven’t broke it off with Eva yet.’ I slip on the other boot, then jump up to grab my jacket from the wardrobe, giving it a quick run over with the iron.

‘Look,’ Jaz says. ‘All I’m saying is, you might never get this chance again, and you can’t call Eva, dump her in two minutes and then get off with another bird.’

I lay my jacket over the ironing board and sit back in front of the screen. ‘Of course I wouldn’t do that. But if I call her now, I’ll be on the phone for hours. She’ll be going out anyway,’ I add, reasoning with myself as much as Jaz. ‘I’ll call her when I get back tonight.’

Jaz swigs her wine, her dark eyebrows rising. ‘When you get back tonight? With Holly in your bed?’

‘She’s not going to be in my bed. We’re meeting for dinner and a drink.’ I shrug. ‘Couple of drinks, maybe.’

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