I had a missed call from Lee, so I called him back.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he said.
“Hi,” I said. “What are you up to?”
“I’ve just done the dishes. And now I’m going to go out and go shopping so I can make you something nice for dinner. Is there anything you need?”
“I don’t think so. Lee, are you working next Thursday night?”
“Why?”
“We’ve been invited to a dinner party at Maggie’s.”
There was a pause. “Do you want me to go?”
Of course, I thought, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. “Yes,” I said.
“I was supposed to go somewhere, but I should be able to put it off. I’ll make a few phone calls and let you know. How does that sound?”
“Brilliant.”
“Okay, then. What time will you be home?”
“I’m not sure. Half-sixish?”
“I’ll have dinner ready.”
“That sounds wonderful. Thank you.”
“I’ll see you later.”
Monday 10 December 2007
Back to work, Monday morning. Getting out of the house wasn’t too bad—I think it’s because the sun was shining. I’d managed to sleep better over the weekend, more than a few hours at a time. I made sure I ate three times a day, had some proper dinners, and it seemed to do the trick.
Even though the Monday-morning checking went well, I was still late, hurrying along the sidewalk, my breath in clouds in the frosty air. I heard someone behind me and turned with a start. It was Stuart. He looked so wonderful, so happy, so out of breath. “Hiya,” he said. “You walking to the Tube?”
“Yes,” I said. My step felt lighter already as he walked along beside me. “Listen, Stuart, I know I keep saying this every time I see you, but I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” he said. “Why?”
“You get enough of that sort of shit at work, I expect. You don’t need it when you’re off duty. And the other day, when you made me soup and I ran out on you. I’m sorry for that too. It was really rude.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, his chin buried in the collar of his jacket. I stole a look at him. “No, I’ve been thinking about that. I was pressuring you. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“But you were right. I need to do it. I’ve been thinking about it over the weekend. I’m going to go and find a GP to register with.” The words were out before I even really thought about them—where the hell did that come from? It was him, it was the fact that he was here and for some crazy reason I wanted to see him smile.
He stopped in his tracks. “Really?”
“Yes, sure.”
The look on his face made me laugh.
He kept on walking. We crossed the main street together, the noise of the traffic roaring. “Listen,” he said, “go to the Willow Road Medical Center. They’re the best around here, lots of really good clinics, they’re great, really friendly. Sanj—Dr. Malhotra—when you’ve registered, make an appointment to see him, okay? He’s a good guy. He’s nice, too.”
“All right. I will. Thanks.”
We went through the barriers at the Tube and parted company: he was going south, I was going north. I watched him walk away down the tiled corridor, a bag slung over one shoulder.
Monday 8 December 2003
In the end I was home at a quarter to seven, held up dealing with some grievance procedure against a member of staff at the London office, which had somehow become my responsibility.
The table was all set, wine on the table, Lee in the kitchen, everything spotlessly clean. I had no idea how he did that—cook a meal without accumulating dirty dishes as he went along. He kissed me on the cheek. As well as cooking dinner, he was fresh out of the shower, his cheek damp and shaved and fragrant.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said.
“No problem,” he said. “It’s ready. Go and sit.”
This time it was spicy chicken with salad, fresh herbs, warm bread, cold sancerre.
“I called a few people,” he said, chewing. “It should be okay for Thursday. Might be cutting it a bit fine, probably best if I meet you there.”
“Oh. Okay.”
There was a pause while he drank. “You sure about this?”
“About what?”
“Me meeting your friends.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged, regarding me steadily. “It’s a big thing for me. Meeting people. Just so you know.”
“You don’t strike me as the sort of person who has trouble in social situations.”
“You still don’t know me very well, then.”
There was a long pause. “I’d like to know what job you do,” I said.