Page 62 of The Wedding Game

‘It’s only been a few weeks. But I missed you too,’ I return honestly as I pull back, look into his eyes, picking out the haloes of grey that dance around his pupils. ‘I’d forgotten what bits of you looked like.’

‘Bits of me?’ Josh queries with a sideways smile. ‘I haven’t forgotten whatanyof you looks like,’ he answers provocatively. ‘I’ve had to live off the memories.’

‘Have you now?’ I say seductively, wishing we weren’t in a freezing-cold car park in December, but instead were wrapped up cosily in his house, his bed.

‘Come on,’ he says, sensing the urgency. ‘Let’s go home.’

There’s a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket on the kitchen table and the smell of something delicious cooking in the Aga when we walk in.

‘Josh,’ I say tenderly, eyeing the fizz, ‘what are we celebrating?’

‘Plenty of things,’ he replies. ‘I got a couple of new restaurant deals; Tamara’s supplying her ice cream at a few more delis; and you got a brand-new job, which we’ve not toasted yet; and you and me … well, I think you and me are worth celebrating. The rest of it just adds to the occasion.’

I move towards him while he eases the cork free and pours us each a glass.

‘I also thought …’ he starts.

‘Y-e-s,’ I draw out the word.

‘That we should toast the idea of me giving you some driving lessons.’

‘Driving lessons?’

‘You should learn to drive my car. I’ll teach you. Then you can come and go more freely. It’ll help you feel less cooped up here.’

‘I don’t feel cooped up here. Is that what you think?’

‘You must feel isolated when you stay longer than just a weekend,’ he states.

I notice it’s not a question. ‘I do. A bit. But that was when I had no purpose. I’m busy now. I have stuff to do. Work. It’s going to be different.’

He makes an oh-OK-then face, and says, ‘If you didn’t work, there’d be stuff for you to do locally. Groups and clubs, or whatever. Only, you don’t drive, so you can’t get to anything.’

‘So?’ I ask.

‘You don’t want to drive?’ he queries.

‘I don’t reallyneedto at the minute. And when, realistically, are we going to do driving lessons? You’re tired from work each evening. Now it’s winter it’s pitch-black by the time you and I finish work. You want me to learn to drive your giant Land Rover in the dark? I’ll kill us both! I’m not averse to learning to drive. I’m just not sure I need to do it right now. Maybe in the summer?’ I offer.

‘OK,’ he replies. ‘I don’t need you to drive, Lexie. I simply thought if you’re here more, you might like more of a sense of freedom, especially if one day—’ He stops.

‘One day?’

‘You and me – you know,’ he says.

I’m not sure I do know, so I try and read between the lines.‘If I move in with you, and we’re in it for ever?’ I look at Josh to see if he’s on board with this line of questioning. He looks as if he is, so I continue, ‘And maybe one day we …’God, I can’t say it. Why can’t I say it?I don’t want to scare him. I don’t want to scare myself. This is a big, scary chat that’s come out of nowhere.

‘Maybe one day we … get married and have kids?’ he finishes for me. He looks as scared as I feel.

‘Yeah,’ I reply slowly. ‘You’re worried I won’t be able to get them to and from school or … something?’ I gulp.Jesus! How did we get here?

‘I mean,’ he bristles, ‘I don’t know what I’m thinking at this early stage. I only think – in the long run – you need to learn to drive if you’re going to be here more often. Is that OK?’

‘Of course it’s OK. It’s scary. But it’s OK.’

‘Which bit is scary? The thought that you and I might be the real deal, or driving?’

‘I’m not scared that you and I might be the real deal, Josh. I’m scared we mightnotbe the real deal.’

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