After Felix - Lily Morton Page 0,95

want to railroad you into loving me. I want your wholehearted participation.”

“But you always push everything. It’s what you do.”

“I don’t want to do that with you anymore.”

The relief I feel tells me that he’s right. “What do you want?” I ask.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to look in your eyes and see the reservations anymore,” he says quietly. “I want you to love me again freely and willingly and with everything you are. And I don’t want us to be together if we can’t have that.” He looks suddenly very tender. “How about you take some time to think about it? And if you still want me, then text me and the next morning I’ll be on Vauxhall Bridge at sunrise.”

I eye him. “That sounds very much like the plot of Waterloo Bridge. You do know they split up, and she ended up becoming a prostitute and then walked under a truck?”

“Much as I’m sure you could make a very good living at that, my dearest, I’d really rather be the only one who samples your delights.”

“My delights? Well, they’ve never been called that before. Have you died and become reincarnated as a romance writer?”

He shrugs and looks slightly abashed. “I’m just hoping for a very happy ending with you, Felix.”

“And how long will you wait?” I ask softly.

He looks intently at me, all laughter dying away as he cradles my face between his big palms. His cast catches at my skin and he soothes it with his fingers before pulling me forward and kissing my forehead. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop waiting,” he whispers.

Then he’s gone, and I’m left standing behind a cigarette kiosk with my heart heavy in my chest.

I expected to feel relief when I got back on my boat. All those times over the last few weeks I thought I’d be so happy to be back in my familiar comfort blanket. However, there’s no happiness and no comfort. Instead, I just feel… empty.

The boat is too tidy. I’ve become used to the mess that follows Max everywhere like he’s a party popper dropping crap about. It’s too quiet without his warm voice offering observations on every single thing he sees, and I can’t smell his scent of sandalwood anywhere. It’s as if the past several weeks never happened. Like I dreamt everything.

I potter about, unpacking my case and bagging the laundry for the laundromat. Then I empty the fridge, holding my nose at the stench of spoilt milk. Going to the corner shop eeks out an hour, as does unpacking the groceries and making a light supper.

When I finally get into bed, I expect to lie for hours, turning everything over and over in my head, but I fall deeply asleep, not waking until the sun is high in the sky. I lie there for a while, listening to the familiar sounds of home—the lap of the water, the crunch of footsteps on the towpath, and the wind in the trees. Then I reach for my phone.

A couple of hours later, I pace down the path in the park. A bench hoves into view with a very familiar face turned towards me.

“Why are we meeting in a park, Felix? I’m not five, and you’re not a squirrel.”

I smile at the handsome face of my favourite cousin, Misha. He’s very different from me, being tall and wide-shouldered and full of an arrogant confidence that his job as a hedge fund manager encourages. However, he has the same dark hair as me, and when I look into his blue eyes, I see the usual deep warmth he has for his family, and a thousand memories of the year I lived with them.

“I need to speak to you.” I hold up my hands to show him my offerings. “I brought coffee.”

“Thank God,” he says, taking his cup eagerly. “Charlie’s gone mad on some organic decaff shit.”

“Oh, how terrible for you,” I say wryly. “Does he force it upon you, as well as his film-star looks, brilliant cooking, and that arse?”

“Don’t look at Charlie’s arse,” he says happily.

“I’m not dead. Works of art are meant to be appreciated.”

He smiles, and there’s an added warmth there for the sunshiny man who was his best friend for so long before they finally got together and earnt me a fortune on a bet I had with Zeb.

“So, what’s up?” he says, after he’s taken the first few mouthfuls of coffee in a reverent silence. “I haven’t seen you