‘You didn’t even think what I wanted tonight, did you? You’d just made up your mind.’
‘That’s hardly fair and you weren’t exactly being Fred Astaire.’
‘I was waiting to dance with you,’ he exploded.
Luke rarely raised his voice and for a second I was dumbfounded into silence. Still, the barrister in me, the woman who had raced around all day worrying about trials and friends and making silk, soon lost her cool.
‘Why didn’t you say something then? I’m not a mind reader. I can’t be expected to know what you’re thinking every second of the day.’
‘News to me that you ever want to know what I’m thinking—’
‘That’s not fai—’
‘God forbid it might not be what you want and we always have to do what you want.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Name me one time I get to set the agenda. It’s always “I’m tired”.’ He said the last bit in a high whiny voice that made my eyes narrow.
‘I don’t sound like that.’
He kept going in the whine: ‘I need to go, I need my sleep, I’ve got to work . . . ’
‘I do have to work . . . hard.’
Luke raised both his hands in the air in exasperation. ‘I know you bloody do but other people work hard too. You haven’t got a monopoly on working hard—’
A man walking his dog paused by our car, clearly bemused as to where the screeching was coming from.
‘—and some people’ – Luke was really in his stride now – ‘some people actually work hard and don’t bloody go on and on about it, boring the rest of us with it and ruining our own days.’
I reached for the car handle, anger surging through me as I opened it and stepped outside, ignoring the still evening calm, the people tucked up in bed behind darkened windows. Slamming the car door I moved across to our flat, reaching for the keys in my bag. Bloody Luke. So I ruin his day, do I, daring to talk about my life? Well, I hope the next time he goes to talk to someone about his work, they pretend to listen but are really just thinking about what they are going to make for dinner.
I was inside and up to our flat, bleeping the car locked and hoping Luke ‘I breathe through my nostrils too loudly’ had shut the door already. I didn’t even care to check. I didn’t deserve any of this. I was tired, I was dirty, I just wanted to go to sleep.
Luke didn’t carry on arguments so I was surprised when he appeared in the doorway of our bedroom still looking mad, a sort of angry James Bond in his sharp suit. I noticed then the newly polished shoes, the tie I didn’t recognise. He had made an effort to dress up for the evening. Guilt fuelled my anger.
‘Have you finished telling me how shit I am and what a ball ache it is going out with me? Can I have my shower now?’
‘You’ll do whatever you like,’ Luke said, some of the anger leaving his voice, now looking a little sad. ‘Go ahead.’
Somehow this made me crosser. ‘I just don’t get what the big deal is. What have I done to deserve this?’
Luke didn’t answer, just turned his back and headed into the kitchen.
I followed him. ‘You can’t just say all this stuff to me and walk away, Luke.’
I could see his back tense, knuckles gripping the kitchen sink.
‘Why do you always get to be the nice guy? Why am I always cast in the role of villainous bitch?’
He wouldn’t turn around.
‘You always make me feel like I’m letting you down but I’m just tired, I’m stressed, I can’t be bloody perfect.’
When his voice came it was pitifully small, I barely caught the words, ‘I thought things were . . . tonight was . . . ’
‘What, Luke?’
He snapped: ‘It doesn’t matter. Clearly I was wrong.’
Confusion, tiredness, stress, guilt were all fuelling me now and I felt ugly and red as I hurled more insults his way. ‘It’s not like you’re perfect,’ I said.
He sighed. ‘I know, Lottie, I’m not pretending to be, I just miss—’
‘Miss what?’
‘You.’
My chest heaved up and down as he moved past me out of the kitchen. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa and then, well . . . ’ He looked back at me. Did I imagine the watery eyes? My heart was still racing, my body pulsing with adrenalin. ‘Then we can