Page 29 of Close to You
‘Me, too,’ he replies. ‘I’ve cleared a whole room if you want to convert it into a walk-in wardrobe. We can put some shelves and rails up – or there’s a company in Kingbridge that do that sort of thing for you. They specialise in maximising storage space. It’s up to you. Your room, your space.’
‘Thank you.’
He pulls me closer and puts his arms around my back. I wrest into the crook of his neck and can feel his heart beating, steady and predictable, just like the way he is.
‘I want it to beourhouse,’ he whispers. ‘Not mine…’
Andy inherited his parents’ four-bedroom house a few years ago. I suppose it’s the only way anyone under the age of about forty can afford anything bigger than a box in a doorway. He’s been rattling around in the space by himself ever since. I’ve stayed over there semi-regularly; certainly more often than he sleeps at mine.
It was his suggestion for me to move in with him. He encouraged me not to sell my flat, saying I could rent it out as we ‘see how it goes’. There was a big part of me that agreed, simply to be rid of Sunshine Row and what happened there. I’m still married, so I suppose there’s some sort of technical adultery in there. The usual village nutballs need have something to gossip about.
Andy releases me and steps away: ‘You’ll have to show me your trophy another time,’ he says.
It takes a second for me to realise he means my win from last night. It feels like an age ago. ‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘Are there photos?’
There’s definitelyone…
‘I’m waiting for the organiser to email me,’ I say.
‘We’ll get it printed out and framed.’
‘Right…’
‘Jane texted and said you were thinking about doing something with the four of us on Wednesday night. I’m free if you are…?’
I suppose this is one social invitation I can’t get out of. I had a feeling Jane might contact Andy directly. He gets on with everyone and hands out his phone number like dodgy blokes in anoraks give away sweets to kids.
‘I’ve been wanting to catch up with Ben for ages,’ Andy adds. ‘See how his football’s going.’
‘I’ll try to sort out a time,’ I say.
We look to one another, with apparently neither of us quite sure what to say now. We’ve always had awkward goodbyes. They’ve never been of the ‘No, you hang up’ – variety, more a rush to leave first.
‘What are you going to do for a car?’ Andy asks.
‘I’m not sure. Jane gave me a lift here. Everything happened so quickly that I’ve not thought it through yet.’
‘You can take mine if you want? I’ve got the van for work, so can get around in that.’
‘Oh…’
Before I can give a proper response, Andy has dug into his pockets and handed the keys over.
‘You’re insured for any car, aren’t you?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s in the car park,’ he adds.
‘Don’t you want a lift home?’
He pats his flat stomach: ‘I need the exercise!’
‘Oh… OK.’
‘I’ll see you Wednesday night, then…?’
