Page 35 of Textbook Romance

‘It’s a second-hand mountain bike, Zoe – it’s not a horse.’

She cackles in reply. How would I park a horse here all day?

‘Where’s your helmet?’ she enquires.

‘And we’re back on the helmet talk again…’

She laughs again, tipping her head back because it would seem that’s what we do. We engage in back and forth that flows so very nicely, I make her forget, we find each other funny.

I stop for a moment to watch her. ‘You like a swerve, don’t you?’ I tell her, smiling.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I find when I try to say something nice, you change the subject or downplay the compliment.’ It hasn’t gone unnoticed. And the fact she can’t see what makes her so lovely is really starting to make me ache. No one should feel that lost.

She furrows her brow for a moment. ‘I guess I…’

‘I just need to say something, Zoe… I talk to you because I like you.’ And I don’t know why but she starts laughing again. I’m not sure that was funny. Was it? It’s not a joke. And a look – one we both can’t quite shake. ‘You make these jokes about being old and boring but you’re not. The Zoe I met was charming and interesting and I didn’t see an age, I saw a person who made someone she’d just met feel completely at ease. And even when you were at your most hurt, you still exuded warmth, your empathy just shines through…’

She stands there, and I am not sure how she feels or whether she wants to reciprocate but I hope she’s taking it all in. I see some emotion in her expression that makes me think she hasn’t felt that way about herself for a long time, something thawing.

‘I apologise if that made you feel uncomfortable. That wasn’t my intention, but I just wanted you to know that…’

‘I… I…’

I’ve mucked this up. I’ll probably get fired for harassment. At least thank me or tell me I’m funny. Instead, she fumbles and drops her keys. We both bend down as I help her to retrieve them and our hands meet, both of us pausing for a moment at the brief contact. As we stand up again, our security lanyards entwine themselves around each other and I reach down trying to disentangle ourselves, both of us giggling. Her hands go to mine, and I can see her eyes searching for answers until they land on me. And she reaches towards me in the dim lights next to the bike sheds, her lips meeting mine. I kiss her back, reaching inside her coat, my hands reaching around to the small of her back, pulling her in close to me.

SIX

Zoe

I stand there at the front door, knocking lightly. I don’t know why lightly because it’s only 5pm but I hope she’s in. The door opens and Beth is there, still in her work clothes, holding a tray of fish fingers and chips in a hand with an oven glove.

‘Zoe? Oh man, have you been crying? Shit, come in,’ she says, panicked.

Beth lives a few streets down from me so she felt like the person I could turn to in my hour of need. Quick cup of tea, tell her what happened, find reasonable solutions, and go home to my own kids.

‘I’m not intruding, am I? Is it dinner time? I don’t want to spoil time with your boys,’ I say, tucking my bag under my arm, looking down the hallway at her lads who are sitting at the table.

‘God, no. Come in,’ she says, leading me in and rushing back into the kitchen. ‘Joey Joe, I said a little blob of ketchup. Like a coin.’ I look down at his plate, at a large coaster-sized ketchup tsunami. Beth looks at it, too, and shakes her head. ‘Well, it’s all vitamins. Boys, this is Aunty Zoe – the one who works at Mummy’s school. Take a seat…’

‘Hi, Aunty Zoe!’ Joe chirps. He pats a chair next to him, looks up at my face and hugs me. I’ll take that hug, you beautiful blond little boy. I watch as Beth empties the tray of beige food onto their plates, helping herself to a fish finger in the process and offering me one. I don’t say no. Maybe a fish finger is the answer, but even that sounds rude. I just sit there and look into space picturing what just happened, literally forty-five minutes ago.

Beth studies my face as she breaks up Jude’s food with child-sized cutlery, giving me a moment to compose myself. She gets up, moving around the kitchen and takes a couple of wine glasses out. This is why we like Beth – this was not a time for a cup of tea. But I will also admit to liking Beth’s house; it feels like a throwback to mine, toys scattered around the place, the fridge doors filled to the brim with toddler art and very small items of laundry just hanging off airers. It makes me wonder how Lottie and Dylan were ever this small.

‘Is it Brian? Has he been a ding-dong again?’ she asks, smelling the top of a bottle of half-drunk rose wine in the fridge, checking if it’s acceptable to serve to guests.

‘A what now?’ I ask her, laughing. She passes me the glass and I take a large swig from it. The boys chuckle over their dinners.

‘Oh, Joe got told off in school for calling someone a B-E-L-L-E-N-D, so Will and I are trialling alternative terms for stupid people.’

‘Well, not Brian for a change, though he still remains the biggest ding-dong known to man.’

‘Ding-dong,’ Joe says, sniggering.

‘I just…’ I fumble for the words, wondering how to put this. ‘Jack. You know Jack? From the wedding and now he’s at school, and he’s teaching. The one we were talking about today.’

She nods slowly.

---