Hope still wasn’t capable of rational thought, much less speaking, so she just smiled and hmmed her agreement.
‘Are you all right?’ Wilson tried to prop himself up but Hope refused to relinquish her grip on his little finger. ‘No second thoughts?’
Surely if she was having second thoughts, she wouldn’t be sprawled in a state of post-coital bliss with her mind resembling mush? ‘No, I’m good,’ she murmured. ‘Really good.’ Except, there was one thing. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way …’
Wilson tensed up. ‘So you are having regrets?’ He stopped tensing, in favour of slumping. ‘I knew this would happen. You didn’t do anything wrong and there’s no point in beating yourself up over someone who—’
‘Don’t!’ It took great effort, but Hope sat up. ‘Don’t you dare bring that up when all I was going to say was that I’m really hungry.’
‘Oh, right. Sorry.’ Wilson curled his fingers around hers again. ‘I’m hungry too. Starving, to be more accurate. I was so nervous about you coming over that I could hardly eat a thing all day.’
‘I could only manage one roast potato,’ Hope volunteered.
Wilson sniffed. ‘I didn’t even have any pigs-in-blankets.’
Hope rolled over so Wilson would get the full benefit of her plaintive expression. She pulled her hand free of his so she could fashion herself two little paws. ‘Please will you go and make me a turkey sandwich?’
THEY SPENT THE next three days in bed, so that Hope wasn’t sure when it was day and when it was night, though she didn’t much care. Her mind was a hot red blur of what they’d done, what they were going to do, all the things she’d ever wanted to try, but had never had the courage to suggest in case Jack thought she was some kind of freak.
But if Hope was a freak, then Wilson was too, because whenever she managed to falteringly describe a scenario that had provided her with fantasy fodder for years, Wilson would quirk an eyebrow and murmur, ‘Hmm, sounds interesting.’ Then he’d pause and get a faraway look in his eyes. ‘So, if you’re up for that, then how would you feel about embellishing it a little?’ Wilson’s embellishments always seemed to lead to things that Hope wouldn’t have thought were anatomically possible, or had to be illegal in at least five countries, not that she minded when she was screaming herself hoarse and clawing at the bedsheets.
It wasn’t all about sex, though. It was also about eating turkey sandwiches the size of bricks and drinking tea or wine as they chatted. The kind of inconsequential chatter that meandered through childhood pets and films that made them cry, to their all-time favourite midnight snacks, to the most drunk they’d ever been. It was the unimportant stuff that really defined who you were, and that you shared when you were starting to really get to know someone. Because although, technically, they’d known each other for months, it had been months of not liking each other very much, then months of Sturm und Drang, and it was only now that they were really figuring out the meat and bones of each other.
Hope now knew that Wilson hated pickles, couldn’t sleep until he hoovered the sandwich crumbs off the bedsheets with a dustbuster, and had been thinking about getting a cat for years, but didn’t know if he was ready to assume responsibility for another living creature. ‘I have to check that Alfie has washed his hands after he’s had a leak, so having to deal with litter boxes would just be too much,’ he’d complained.
Hope had thought that she might go home to get some fresh clothes or to give Wilson some time and space. But as she spent most of the time either naked or in one of Wilson’s shirts, and when she got back into bed after foraging for food and drinks in the kitchen, he’d wrap his arms around her and insist that she’d been gone too long, fresh clothes and giving Wilson some time and space weren’t really an issue.
She didn’t know where this was going. If it was just a few days of the wild, uninhibited, no-strings sex that Hope had always imagined single girls had, or if it was something more permanent, more meaningful. But after years of no surprises, her life all planned out, not knowing was an exhilarating white-knuckle ride.
On the fourth day of their confinement, after they’d bathed together in Wilson’s claw-footed, roll-topped bath, sipping the champagne that they’d only just got round to opening, legs entwined, Hope decided that she couldn’t stay here for ever. For one thing, they were running desperately short of milk, they’d finished the last of the bread the night before, and Quality Street and slightly stale mince pies weren’t a nutritionally balanced diet. Besides, Jack was due back any day and there were things that needed to be sorted out.
‘Oh dear,’ Wilson said, when Hope tripped down the stairs from his bedroom wearing her lace dress and clutching her iPhone. ‘You have this look that makes me think you’re dressed for more than a trip to Tesco’s.’
‘What kind of look?’ Hope asked as she switched her phone back on.
‘Mulish,’ Wilson explained. ‘Determined. Not particularly happy.’
‘He’s back,’ Hope said, as she skimmed through her messages. ‘In fact, he’s been back since yesterday, and he wants to know if I’ve run off to join the Foreign Legion.’
Wilson got down the last two clean mugs. Due to the lack of milk, they’d both resigned themselves to choking down camomile tea. ‘I suppose it’s not the kind of situation that’s going to take just a phone call?’
Oh, how Hope wished that it was, but … ‘I have to see him. Hanging around a tiny flat, waiting on someone else, when you don’t know where they are or if they’re coming back, is horrible.’ She hoisted herself up on one of Wilson’s kitchen stools and rested her elbows on the breakfast bar. ‘Anyway, I can’t stay here for ever.’
‘Well, no, not for ever,’ Wilson conceded, and Hope felt her heart sink. She’d had enough of for ever to last a lifetime, but four days was hardly any time at all. ‘But I was going to cook an actual meal for tea. A meal that includes these green things called vegetables.’
Not knowing where she stood or how to negotiate these first hesitant steps didn’t seem quite so exhilarating after all. It seemed like very hard work. ‘So, do you want me to come back, then?’
‘I don’t know. Are you planning to come back?’ Wilson asked, but all his attention was fixed on pouring hot water on to herbal tea bags. ‘You might go home, and he’s there and he wants to give it another go, and you might think that it’s a good idea. It wouldn’t be the first time.’
Hope tried to picture Jack at his most beguiling, his most persuasive, but she couldn’t think of anything that he could say that would make her want to give it another go. Probably, whatever he had to say would lead to yet another row and at least one of them in tears, but Hope wouldn’t know until she went home.
Wilson put a steaming mug down in front of her and for just one moment his hand rested on her shoulder, fingers squeezing gently. It was comforting, but it didn’t make what Hope had to do any easier. ‘I’ll text you in a couple of hours, shall I?’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Wilson suddenly said. ‘If you are walking away from a long-term relationship, then you shouldn’t jump straight into another one. I wouldn’t expect you to and, let’s face it, Hope, it’s too soon for you to have any idea of what you really want.’
‘I like you, though. I like you a lot.’ Hope tried to run her fingers through her hair, but it was thoroughly unsatisfying now that there wasn’t much of it. ‘But you’re right, I need to figure out who I am when I’m not one half of a couple.’
‘I don’t know where this is going, and I won’t make you any promises. It’s not my style.’ Wilson leaned over so he could cover Hope’s hand with his. ‘But I can offer you dinner in a couple of hours.’
Hope nodded. ‘With vegetables.’
‘Damn bloody right, with vegetables.’
Going home took two buses and a slow, foot-dragging walk. As Hope unlatched the gate, she could see the light on in the lounge and her stomach clenched painfully as she hunted for her key.
 
; She heard the sound of footsteps as she opened the door, but it was still a shock when Jack appeared. Her body gave a quick jerk of recognition. It was Jack, and Hope was still used to being pleased to see him.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ he asked, and she nodded and followed him into the flat.
Jack went into the kitchen, and Hope walked into the bedroom to dump her stuff, then stood there, unsure of what to do next, because it didn’t feel right to make herself at home and use the bathroom or help herself to something from the fridge without permission, which was stupid when her name was on the mortgage deeds, right next to Jack’s.
There was no point in skulking, but forcing herself to walk into the kitchen was one of the hardest things she’d ever had to do. Hope leaned against the worktop, arms folded, and saw that Jack had finished painting the kitchen cupboards buttermilk and duck-egg blue.
‘Kitchen looks nice. Very Shaker on a B&Q budget,’ Hope remarked, as she gazed around the room. She could feel Jack watching her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.
How had he been able to come home, after shagging Susie, and act like nothing had ever happened? How had he been able to do that?
‘Here you go,’ Jack said, handing her a mug of strong tea, sugar already in it, because he knew just how she liked it.
‘Thanks.’ Hope took a sip and she hated herself, because all she could think about was how long it would take her to drink her tea and gee herself up to start a conversation that she was dreading, so she could then pack a bag and leave.
‘You’ve been with him, haven’t you?’ Jack asked hoarsely, and finally Hope had to turn and look at him.
‘How can you tell?’ she asked, because really there was no point in denying it. They were broken up. They were broken up, and objectively she was free to do what she wanted. Subjectively was another matter.
‘I just know.’ Jack waved a hand in Hope’s general direction. ‘You have this freshly fucked glow about you.’
‘Please, can we not have an argument?’ Hope pleaded, and then she looked at Jack’s face, properly looked at him instead of making her eyes skitter away at the last moment because she was too much of a coward.
He looked like hell.
It had always been a sore point with Hope that Jack lost weight easily, but in a week, he’d become gaunt and drawn; there were purple shadows under his eyes and he had spots. Jack had never had spots, not even when he was a teenager, but now he had a bumper crop of zits along his forehead and chin. Hope took no pleasure in knowing that Jack was suffering, just like she’d suffered at his hands, although she’d got fatter rather than thinner.
‘Oh, Jack,’ she sighed and she put down her mug so she could wrap him up in the tightest, fiercest hug she was capable of.
Jack let her hug him, his arms enfolding her too. ‘You cut all your hair off. Your mum’s going to kill you.’
Hope choked on a giggle. ‘What will she do with her time, now that she won’t have to spend most of it nagging me to have a comb-out?’
It wasn’t long before the hug felt awkward. They both realised that it was too prolonged at the exact same second, but disentangling themselves was even more awkward, and standing in the kitchen a foot apart from each other felt agonising, as if they’d suddenly found themselves on stage without a script.
‘So …’ Hope tried to smile brightly but it fell off her face as soon as it had appeared.
‘So …’ Jack repeated.
‘So … you can stay here if you want …’
‘So … have you spoken to Susie?’
They both stopped again and grinned sheepishly at each other. Jack nudged Hope with his hip. ‘Does this mean that it’s over, and for once we both agree that it’s over?’
‘I think it does,’ Hope agreed, and she nudged him back, and he nudged her harder, so she had to grip on to the worktop to bump him really hard with her hip, so he lost his footing and was forced to move, and Hope had won. And they were both smiling at each other, and it was all stupid and ridiculous and nothing made sense any more, so they could drink their tea and even joke that if Hope’s absence from a family Christmas hadn’t killed any grandparents, then all their grandparents were likely to be around for years to come.
‘So, you can have the car if you want,’ Jack said, as she began to wash up their mugs. ‘Do you want the car?’
‘To tell you the truth, I’d rather have the washing machine,’ Hope replied. ‘And if you wanted to stay here, I could probably crash at Lauren’s for a while.’
‘I probably won’t stay here, though,’ Jack said, and he ducked his head and ran his finger along the edge of the worktop. ‘I mean, I’ll probably stay with Susie, if she’ll have me.’
It wasn’t the agony that it used to be when Hope imagined Susie and Jack together, but it still hurt. ‘I think she will have you,’ she said softly.
‘And you and him? Is that serious, then?’
‘No. Not right now.’ Hope bit her lip. ‘Not sure if it ever will be, but I can’t deal with anything serious at the moment.’
‘We’ll still be friends, won’t we, Hopey?’ Jack sounded so panic-stricken that Hope looked at him in alarm. ‘If I lost you as my best friend, it would be even worse than losing you as my girlfriend.’
It wasn’t the most tactful way to phrase it, especially when Jack was already planning to move in with Susie, but Hope knew what he meant. ‘Of course we’ll still be best friends,’ she insisted, taking Jack’s hand so she could curl her fingers around his. ‘I’ll always, always love you. You ever need anything from me, whether it’s cash or a shoulder to cry on or a kidney, I’m there for you.’
Hope didn’t know how it happened, but they were kissing. Arms around each other, lips on lips, and they were desperate kisses that tasted of sadness and regret. Goodbye kisses. Then Jack took his mouth away from hers, pressed his lips against her forehead and stepped back.
‘I’m going to go now,’ he said gently. ‘Is that all right?’
Hope nodded. ‘Yeah, course it is.’
Jack was already backing out of the room. She hadn’t even noticed his bags packed and in the hall. ‘I meant it, Hopey. Best friends for ever.’
‘Like I said, if you ever need a kidney,’ Hope said and folded her arms as she watched him walk away.
The front door gently closed behind him.
Epilogue
Some months later …
Even though all the windows were open and a summer breeze wafted through the rooms, the flat reeked of paint.
Hope finished the bit of coving she was working on, put down her paintbrush and carefully climbed down the ladder. She was still a bit shaky on the dismount, and she still didn’t appreciate the way Lauren and Allison gave her a round of applause. Yes, it had been funny the first time they did it, but the fifteenth time? Not so much.
‘I’m getting a beer,’ Hope announced. ‘Anyone need a refill?’
Otto raised his hand. ‘Me, please.’
Hope shook her head – there were already three empty Stella Artois bottles lined up next to the skirting board he was painting. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ve reached the three-bottle limit,’ she told him sadly. ‘We all agreed. After three bottles, people start painting wonky.’
Otto didn’t agree, but backed down after some fierce glaring on Hope’s part. She wandered into the bedroom where Lottie and Nancy from next door were giggling every time Marvin lifted his paintbrush and his T-shirt rode up to display his spectacular abdominal muscles to their over-eager pre-pubescent eyes. Alice from next door and Elaine and Simon had nearly finished the bathroom, and as Hope stepped out of the back door into the garden, there was a text from Marta to say she and Iban were on their way over with pizza and another bottle of white spirit.
Hope snagged a beer from the plastic bucket full of ice and sat down on the sofa, which was currently masquerading as garden furniture. Everyone I love is here, Hope thought to herself, and for one blissful second
she felt mellow and content, until reality reared its ugly little head and her mind was back on her monumental to-do list, and all the items on it that still had to be ticked off before she and Jack handed over the keys of the flat to Gary from upstairs.
There’d been no point in even trying to sell the flat in the current economic climate, so they’d decided to rent it out and keep paying the mortgage. It made sense, though Hope’s mother had insisted that subconsciously it was a way for them to stay together.
‘How are we staying together when Jack’s moving to Brixton and I’m going to Australia?’ Hope had asked, when her parents came down to ferry most of her worldly goods back to her old bedroom.
Caroline Delafield had just smiled tightly. ‘You’ll only be in Australia for a few months.’
‘I’ll be gone a whole year,’ Hope had reminded her. ‘You know I’m travelling around the Far East before I even get to Australia.’
‘We’ll see,’ her mother had said. ‘You won’t like it there. It will be far too hot and you’ll get sunburn, maybe even melanoma, and I’ve heard things about their National Curriculum.’ She’d sniffed. ‘You had your interview via Skype. Via Skype! That’s not how civilised people do things.’ Hope could have sworn that she’d then muttered something about ‘convicts’.
But Hope had let it go, because her mother had only just about forgiven her for her Christmas no-show and for cutting her hair off and, anyway, she wasn’t going to have to see her for twelve months.
When Justine had emailed Hope to ask if she fancied doing maternity cover for one of her colleagues, it had been in February when London was in the grip of an arctic cold front and there’d been sheet-ice on the streets of Holloway for weeks. Then Justine’s headmaster had, yes, interviewed her via Skype, and once he’d realised that Hope had a better work ethic than Justine, he’d offered her five thousand more than she was currently earning, promised she wouldn’t have to take responsibility for the school carol concert, and implied that all houses in Sydney came with a swimming pool and air conditioning as standard. Hope still hadn’t been entirely sold, but when she’d mooted the idea to Mr Gonzales, he’d said that Dorothy was taking retirement at the end of the next school year and Elaine was primed for promotion, so he could guarantee her a job teaching Yellow Class when she came back to England.