Eventually, Max shakes his head and hefts one of my cases out. “Let’s get these in the car, and we’ll be off.”
“I’ve got the postcode for the hotel,” Ivo says, brandishing his phone.
Max shakes his head again. “No need. It’s late, and the reception desk will be closed. Give them a ring and let them know you’re staying with me and will be there tomorrow.”
“Oh, but…” Ivo shoots me a nervous glance. “We couldn’t do that, Max.”
He should be bloody nervous because he wouldn’t like staying in the same house as anyone I’d slept with. It’s also a case that this is supposed to be a romantic few days away together, not me, him, and an old fuck friend.
I straighten my spine and open my mouth to make a polite refusal, but when I look back at Ivo I see a hint of happy excitement lurking in his expression. I slump. This is his oldest friend apart from me, and he and Max went through a lot of shit together that led to an intense bond. Ivo only has a few of his own friends now, having been out of the country for so long. His friends are from his old job, and they’ll appear at our house for a few days, drink all our booze and tell war stories, and then they’re gone. Max is actually in this country a lot now, having retired from working abroad early this year, and it would be nice for Ivo to have someone who’s here all the time.
“No, it’s fine,” I say steadily. “If it’s okay with you, Max, we’d be really grateful.”
A few hours later, my gratitude is running low. We’re sitting over the remains of the delicious meal of pesto chicken and tomatoes that Max cooked. I shoot a jaundiced look at it. It’s a known fact that Ivo and I can’t cook, but for the first time, I feel stupid. I make a mental note to have another go at a cookery book when we get back. I then make another mental note to check that the smoke alarms and the fire extinguishers are working. Then I look around idly.
Max’s cottage is beautiful. It’s on the outskirts of Chipping Campden. Built of honey-coloured Cotswold stone with grey paintwork, it’s a lovely cottage with low-beamed ceilings and flagstone floors. He inherited it from his grandmother a few years ago and has modernised it with power showers in the bathrooms and a huge modern kitchen.
Chipping Campden itself is charming with its long street of shops and pubs and tourists. Let’s not forget the tourists. They’re everywhere and seem to let go of all social conventions when they hit the village. Three women stood outside earlier, looking through the window without a trace of shame while we were eating dinner. They only fled when Max stood up and pretended to strip.
A burst of laughter draws me back to the table. Max and Ivo started in on the whisky after dinner. I declined and kept to my wine. Max is leaning forward relating some tale while Ivo is leaning back, one long arm around my shoulder, his fingers playing absently with the jumper over my shoulders. It’s a slight comfort that he hasn’t hidden our relationship. Instead, he almost seems proud to be with me like this, and some part of him has been in contact with me since we walked through the door. Max, meanwhile, watches us with dark, bemused eyes as if we’re exotic creatures in the zoo.
Ivo’s laughter recalls me to the conversation. “I can’t believe we did that.”
Max sits back and smiles. “Believe it. Some would say we had a death wish in those days.”
In those days? I’d say their whole careers are an example of it, but that wouldn’t be welcome. Nevertheless, Ivo shoots me a look as if he knows what I’m thinking. His lip quirks, and I shake my head at him.
Max pours another shot, and Ivo refills my glass of wine. I purse my lips. I’m going to feel fucking awful in the morning.
“Do you miss it?” Max’s question is quiet and slurred, and I look up sharply. He’s staring intently at Ivo.
Ivo shoots a look at me that angers me. It’s as if he suddenly can’t admit to liking his career around me. Fuck that. I’ve known him for so many fucking years, and I’ve always known that he loved his job. I don’t want him to cotton on to the fact that I’m