Page 65 of Take My Breath Away
“Yeah, but early days. There’s a lot to think about, which includes talking to my parents. I’ll tell you all about it, but I’d like a shower first — and to put on some dry clothes.”
We’re still in the hallway, still standing so close I can smell the vanilla scent in the shampoo he uses. Despite the warmth of the house, he must be freezing.
“Sorry. Yes, you get yourself sorted out then come and tell me all about it.” I inject as much cheer as I can into my words.
With a wide smile he dashes upstairs, leaving me alone in the hallway with the fading scent of vanilla in the air.
* * *
Tell me about it is exactly what he does, over the remains of last night’s casserole and the crusty herb bread he made to go with it. I know it’s delicious, but I can’t taste a thing.
Perry’s enthusiastic, and I can’t blame him for that. He wants to put everything that’s gone before behind him. All the bad choices that caused him to make a basement a temporary home and to end up drunk and slumped over a table in the shadows of a Soho café. He’s moving on and the plain truth is, I don’t want him to. Not now, not next week, not next month. Not ever.
He shows me the photos on the internet again. It’s the right size, it has potential, it has the large kitchen he needs. It ticks so many boxes, but it’s ugly and dull and sort of dead looking. It’s the decor, it’s the fact that it’s a bungalow, for God’s sake, in a dreary Brighton suburb. He shows me more photos of “the village”. There’s nothing there, other than street after street of post-War bungalows. It’s a vision of hell, and I know as much as I’ve known anything in my life, that Perry will wither and fade in such a place.
I want to tell him all this, I want to tell him to stop, but he’s smiling and his eyes are aglow with visions of a future that’s bright and full of sunshine but where I can only see perpetual grey.
“I need to go back down and take another look, maybe stay somewhere overnight so I can see what it’s like at all times — I mean, I wouldn’t want to find out that the local teenagers use the road it’s on as a place to practise wheelies and donuts at ten o’clock at night.”
He’s looking at me, and there’s expectation shining in his eyes. He wants me to go down there with him, but I can’t say yes, I can’t make myself say it.
“I suppose you will.”
Perry doesn’t say anything as he closes the laptop, and without a word we continue with dinner.
I glance up at him, across the table from me. His head’s bowed and even though I can’t see his eyes, I know that if I could I’d see disappointment in them. The tension around us feels like it’s sucking all the air from the room. I’ve caused this, and that means I need to try to put it right, but what comes out of my mouth doesn’t help at all.
“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to start looking again until after Christmas.”
“I know, and with all the same old places showing up, it made sense because I know a lot of properties come onto the market in the New Year. But I can’t stop looking completely.”
He hunches his shoulders, all tight and defensive. The playfulness of this morning, before the call that dragged me away, seems like a lifetime ago.
“It’s stupid not to keep an eye out, even at this time of year. Wherever I end up going, it won’t be a quick move. There’s finance to sort, because even though I’ve got the inheritance from my granddad, and my parents have said they’ll help me, I’ll still need a mortgage. Getting all the permissions from the local council allowing me to produce edible goods to sell direct to the public, as well as making sure the kitchen’s properly equipped and up and running. None of it’s a five minute job.”
Everything he says is right, and I have nothing with which to counter a single word.
I pile up our empty plates, the crash of china on china loud in the otherwise silent kitchen.
“Yes, lots of hoops to jump through. Let’s just hope it turns out to be everything you want.”
Perry opens his mouth to speak, but whatever it is he’s about to say is severed by the shrill ring of my mobile. Unlike this morning, when I raged against its intrusion, now I’m thankful for whatever problem the call heralds.
“Minister,” I say, as I head out of the kitchen, but it’s not the measured, deep tones of the woman on the other end of the line I can hear, but words spoken so quietly I can almost believe I’m imagining them.
“It’s not.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
PERRY
James has been quiet over the last couple of days, since I told him about the bungalow. He’s been kind of flat, and closed off — at least when I’ve seen him. Whatever’s up with his work, it’s keeping him there until well into the evening.
Yesterday and the day before, I left a note to say his dinner was on the hob, ready to be dished up, and I guess tonight will be the same. Maybe I should stay up, wait for him to get home, pour him a glass of wine and sit with him whilst he eats. It’s a nice thought, until I realise it sounds too housewifey, or husbandy, if there are such words. It’s still a nice thought, though, or at least for me, but I’m not sure how comfortable James would be with it.
I’m working from home today. In fact, everybody is. Elliot’s having the office repainted, and as it’s Friday the place should be sparkling and pristine and completely stink free come Monday. It also gives me the opportunity, and privacy, to phone my parents to update them — and to call in the promise they’ve always made to me.
“Mum, it’s me.”
