shopping away and chatted away about the weather and how good it had been to find such a great flat just a few streets from the Northern Line.
I got to drink my first scalding sip of tea just as the second hand hit the twelve. I felt myself relax, the relief immediate, even though I was drinking it in a stranger’s flat, with a man I’d only just met, and I hadn’t even left my own flat secure.
I placed his mug on a coaster on the kitchen table, turning the handle exactly ninety degrees from the edge of the table, which wasn’t terribly easy because it was a round table. It took me a few attempts before it looked right. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow, and this time I managed a smile.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just a bit—um. I don’t know. I needed a nice cup of tea, I guess.”
He shrugged and gave me a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s a treat to get someone else to make it.”
We sat at the kitchen table in a companionable silence for a moment, sipping tea. Then: “I knocked on your door the other evening. I think you must have been out.”
“Really?” I said. “What night was that?”
He considered. “Monday, I guess. Must have been seven-thirty, eightish.”
More like nine, I thought. I tried to look vague. “I didn’t hear it. Maybe I was in the shower or something. I hope it wasn’t urgent.”
“Not really—just thought I should say hello and introduce myself. I wanted to apologize if I disturb you when I come in at night. I work late sometimes, never know when I’ll get back.”
“That must be tough,” I said.
He nodded. “You get used to it after a while. But I always think it must be really loud, those stairs.”
“No,” I lied, “once I’m asleep I don’t hear anything.”
He regarded me for a moment as though he knew full well this was completely untrue, but accepted it nonetheless. “If I ever do disturb you, I’m sorry anyway.”
I started to say something, and stopped myself.
“Go on,” he said.
“It’s the door,” I said.
“The door?”
“The front door. I worry about it being left unlocked. Sometimes people come and go, and leave the door open.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I always make sure I close it.”
“Especially at night,” I said, with emphasis.
“Yes, especially at night. I promise you I will make sure it’s locked every night.” It had the sound of a solemn vow, and he said it without a smile.
I felt myself—almost—starting to exhale. “Thank you,” I said. I’d finished my tea and stood up, aware again of my surroundings and keen to get back to the flat.
“Here,” Stuart said. He took a roll of small food bags from a drawer and used the bag as a glove to pull out a handful of teabags from the box, turning the bag inside out and twisting it at the top.
“Thank you,” I said again, taking the bag. “I’ll get some in tomorrow.” I paused for a moment, and then surprised myself by saying, “If you ever run out of anything . . . you know. Give me a knock.”
He grinned. “Will do.”
He let me walk several paces ahead of him to the door, not crowding me, and I let myself out of his flat. “See you soon,” he said, as I headed down the stairs.
I hope so, said a small voice inside me.
And the most curious thing happened. I got back into my flat, sat down in front of the television and watched an hour and a half of a film before I realized I hadn’t even checked the flat.
That little oversight cost me the rest of the afternoon and several hours into the evening.
Sunday 16 November 2003
By eleven-thirty, I was in love. Well, maybe in lust. And maybe my perception was slightly clouded by ridiculously expensive red wine and a glass of brandy.
Lee had met me in the town center at eight, and when he arrived he looked even less like a doorman, despite the fact that he was wearing a suit again. This one was beautifully cut, the jacket straining just slightly across the biceps, a dark shirt underneath. His short blond hair was still slightly damp. He kissed my cheek and offered me his arm.
As we waited for our meal, he talked about fate. He took my hand and ran his thumb over the back of it, lightly, explaining how he nearly never got to meet me; how the weekend before Halloween