Desperately Seeking - By Evelyn Cosgrave Page 0,96
you swear never to see him again. Mike and I are over. I’m reconciled to the idea of him being with other women. I wasn’t ready for it being a woman I know, that’s all. You do whatever you feel you have to.’
And with that she walked off.
Passing by the turn to Hartstonge Street I was tempted to go and lie down for a while; it was hot and sticky and I could have done with a change of clothes, but I knew that if I didn’t keep going I might lose my courage and, after all, the hardest part was over. I went round the corner to the shop and bought a bottle of water, drank half and dabbed the rest on my face and neck. Then I set off up O’Connell Avenue.
By the time I got to his house I was trembling and although the sun was still shining, I felt a chill run down my spine. I opened the gate and walked up the path. The front and back gardens were the only things he had left untouched. The little old lady who had owned the house before him had had a penchant for kitsch and twee (although to her the winding path, the carefully trimmed shrubberies and the classical statuettes were probably the height of sophistication) and Mike had decided he liked the look. I rang the doorbell several times, but there was no answer, so I sat down on the little garden bench, drew my knees up under my chin and waited.
I wished I’d brought a magazine. Pictures of badly dressed celebrities or makeup tips for the new season would have helped me relax. I could have become utterly absorbed in what hem lengths, boot heights and lip lines were doing this winter. Instead I began to imagine what Mike would look like as he bent over one of the miniature hedges to trim a stray leaf, or how the balance of weight on the bench would shift were he to sit down beside me. I resisted getting up and looking in the window at what must now be a completed refurbishment. I knew it would be beautiful, a simple, unadorned, functional living space. I knew that even the most innocuous objects could become erotically charged. Even his neighbours, as they walked past, seemed imbued with a certain charm. Did they realize how lucky they were to be living so close to him? If he didn’t come home soon I was in danger of working myself into a state of sublime panic. Luckily, he came through the gate at that very moment. He had been out for a run and was taking off his shirt. As yet he hadn’t seen me.
He was breathing heavily as he stood, hunched over, one arm resting on the low pillar. The movement of his ribcage seemed forced and uncomfortable. I was about to say something when he turned. He was visibly shocked. ‘Jesus!’ he said, as he put his shirt back on.
‘I was waiting for you,’ I said nonsensically.
‘I was about to ring you,’ he said, his voice low and unsteady. ‘I should have called sooner.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘Look, Kate, I’m really sorry. I wanted to apologize for last night. I don’t know what came over me. I – I behaved very badly.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Yes, Kate, but it’s entirely my fault. I should have known better.’ His voice was gathering momentum but it was still weak and dry.
‘It’s OK. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Keith and I are broken up.’
‘What?’ He was truly horrified: the colour drained from his face.
‘It’s OK. We’ve been broken up for a couple of weeks. So… last night was OK.’
He was breathing heavily again.
‘Can we go inside?’ I asked.
He seemed disoriented, but then he produced a key from a tiny pocket in his shorts.
The interior of the house was beautiful. To the frenzy in my mind it seemed a haven of calm and comfort. It was becoming obvious, though, that whatever turmoil I was going through, his was worse.
‘I’ll make some coffee,’ he said, but he went to the fridge and poured a glass of water, which he drank in one gulp. Then he poured one for me. I had sat on the edge of the couch. He remained standing. He seemed to have forgotten the coffee. ‘You and Keith broke up?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. He said I wasn’t in love with him.’