attention.”
He was still looking.
“Stuart, really, I’m fine. Stop it, okay?”
“Sorry.”
After we’d finished eating we walked back up the long corridor toward the entrance. The entrance hallway was still full of people coming and going. I was counting my steps back to the door, thinking of nothing except getting out, and perversely what they would do if I suddenly started to run, and then we were outside in the cold, and I could finally breathe fresh air, traffic fumes, and hear the noises of the outside, and I was free again. I wasn’t even really aware that he was still there with me until he took hold of my hand.
I looked at him in surprise.
“I know this isn’t the right time, or the right place,” he said. “But I wanted to tell you something.”
I waited for him to continue, looked down at his hand holding mine. Realized he was actually nervous.
“Remember when I kissed you? And the next day I said it was just a kiss. Do you remember that?”
“Yes.”
I was too afraid of making eye contact with him, so I looked at the street, watched the traffic heading south, three buses going in the opposite direction and so far not a single one heading for the river and home.
“It wasn’t just a kiss for me. I said that because—I don’t know. I don’t know why I said it. It was stupid. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
That was when I saw her.
On the top deck of the number 68, heading toward West Norwood. My attention caught by a bright pink beret sitting jauntily on top of a mass of blonde curls. Heading away from me, but looking at me intently. Staring.
It was Sylvia.
I turned back to him. “What did you say?”
Saturday 20 March 2004
Lee had Saturday free, and we went to Morecambe again. I hadn’t wanted to go, but it was better than staying in the house. My face still felt tender, my cheek bruised when I pressed my fingers against it, but nobody else would ever have known. He’d managed to hit me hard enough to make my teeth rattle without actually leaving a single mark.
It was warm, the sun bright in a cloudless blue sky. It was busy and it took a long time to find a parking space. In the end we walked back toward the town along the esplanade. He held my hand as we walked. I still felt nervous around him.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” he said. It was the first time he’d mentioned it.
“About what?” I asked.
“You know.”
“I want you to say it.” Maybe it was too challenging. But I felt safer here, walking along with other people, families, kids on bikes, than I did in my own home.
“I’m sorry about the argument.”
“Lee, you hit me.”
He looked genuinely astonished. “I did not.”
I stopped walking and faced him. “You are kidding? You hit me across the face.”
“I thought you fell over,” he said. “Either way, I’m sorry.”
It was probably the best I was going to get. We walked on for a bit. I was warm enough to take my sweater off. The tide was out and the sea was so far away I could hardly see it beyond the expanse of sand.
“Lee, I’m sorry too,” I said.
He pulled my hand up to his mouth so he could kiss it. “You know I love you,” he said.
Despite everything, the look in his eyes and his hesitant half smile almost had me fooled again.
“It’s no good,” I said. “I can’t do this. You make me afraid, Lee. I don’t want to be with you anymore. This isn’t doing either of us any good, is it?”
I saw a cloud cross his face, not anger—not that, maybe disappointment? I thought he was going to let go of my hand, but instead he held it tighter.
“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Don’t do this. You regretted it last time.”
“I did. But things have happened since then.”
“What things?”
“You hitting me, for one. And you talking to Claire about me, and Sylvia. She thinks I’m going mad, Lee. It’s not fair. She’s my best friend and you’ve turned her against me.”
“What?” He gave a short laugh. “Is that what she told you?”
I felt tears pricking my eyes. I didn’t want to cry, not here. I sat down on one of the benches. He sat next to me, taking hold of my hand again.
“Did she tell you how come I had her phone number? She gave it to me that night in the