by Kate Hardy
‘And Ruth’s doing a lecture as part of the university’s community project,’ she said. ‘Our celebratory dinner will have to be another night.’
‘We’ll have two celebrations, then—because I think this sort of news deserves champagne right now. You, me, a takeaway and my back garden tonight?’ he suggested.
‘OK. You organise the takeaway and I’ll bring the champagne,’ she said.
‘Perfect. What sort of takeaway?’
‘Anything. But just remember pizza only comes as thin crust.’
‘Pizza and champagne works for me. See you at seven?’
‘I’ll be there.’
Although she didn’t bother dressing up, Alice changed into clean jeans and a T-shirt. At seven precisely, she arrived at Hugo’s house with a bottle of champagne she’d bought from the supermarket chiller cabinet and a pot. ‘Celebratory scabious,’ she informed him, handing him the pot of pink wildflowers.
‘You made that up,’ he accused.
‘Your point is...?’ She spread her hands, laughing.
He laughed back, and kissed her. ‘It could’ve been worse, I suppose. Celebratory nettles.’
‘Now that’s an excellent idea.’
‘We’ve had this conversation. You are not filling my garden with nettles.’
‘A tiny pond?’ she suggested.
‘No.’ But she noticed he was smiling when he added the pot to his growing collection. And she also noticed that he had a watering can. A posh metal one, painted green, with a gold-coloured watering rose. She coughed. ‘Well, look at that. Been shopping, have we?’
‘No. Ma had it delivered to the office this morning, with instructions about how to water the pots,’ he said.
‘Good, because virgin gardeners should absolutely not choose a watering can without help. Your mum knows what she’s doing, so the rose will work.’
‘You’re putting roses in my garden now?’
‘A rose is the thing on the end of the can that does the watering, as I’m sure you know perfectly well. Given that your mum loves her garden and so did Rosemary, I’m calling you on pretending to know a lot less than you really do.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘I like watching you be bossy.’
She had no answer to that, so she kissed him.
There were two glasses and a wine cooler waiting on the patio table; Hugo opened the champagne.
‘I want to make a toast,’ he said. ‘To Viola, who studied butterflies; to Rosemary, who kept all her papers and loved butterflies enough to give us her garden; and to us, because we’re going to make the butterfly house happen.’
‘To Viola, Rosemary and us,’ Alice echoed. ‘And to the butterflies.’
After the pizza was delivered and they’d eaten it, followed by the posh salted caramel ice cream and raspberries Hugo supplied for pudding, they continued to sit in the garden, holding hands and talking while the light faded. Finally, Alice started yawning. ‘Sorry. My lark tendencies are kicking in. I’d better head for the Tube.’
He met her gaze. ‘Or you could stay here tonight.’
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘In your spare room?’ she checked.
His cobalt-blue eyes were intense. ‘Or in my room. With me.’
Stay the night.
Take their relationship to the next level.
Alice wanted to; yet, at the same time, it scared her. This was a big step. They’d gone from hand-holding to dating, to meeting each other’s best friends and in her case meeting his family; so far, they’d negotiated all the tricky moments. But this... This was something that could bring them closer together—or it could show just how big the gap was between them.
She didn’t think Hugo would deliberately hurt her, the way her exes had, but was he really ready for this? Were they rushing things? Worry made her mouth feel as dry as if they’d been drinking vinegar instead of champagne. She knew she had to be brave and ask the difficult question. ‘What about Emma?’
‘Emma didn’t live here. She never even saw this house,’ he said. ‘None of the furniture is stuff we chose together. Everything in this house was a fresh start for me.’ His fingers tightened briefly round hers. ‘You’re the only woman I’ve dated since she died, and the only woman who’s been here apart from my mother and a couple of close friends and colleagues.’
She stroked his face, knowing she’d put pressure on a soul-deep bruise. ‘Thank you. I just didn’t want you to think I’m trying to...’ She paused, wanting to find a kind way to say it, except there wasn’t one. ‘Trying to take her place,’ she said in the end.
‘I know you’re not.’ He kissed her lightly. ‘And there are no strings. I don’t have any condoms, and I don’t expect you to have sex with me. But, if you’d like to, tonight I want to go to sleep with you in my arms and wake up with you tomorrow.’
No pressure. No demands. No expectations.
An intimacy that, in some ways, was deeper than just the mechanics of sex.
He’d told her what he wanted. Now she could be brave enough to admit the same. ‘I don’t have any condoms, either, but I’d like to go to sleep in your arms and wake up with you.’
His kiss was so slow and so sweet that it brought tears to her eyes.
‘I’ll sort out the laundry overnight,’ he said. ‘There’s a spare new toothbrush in the bathroom. Leave whatever you want washed outside the door, and I’ll leave you a T-shirt to sleep in.’
‘Thank you.’ She loved the fact that he was so organised and so matter-of-fact about things. He’d made it easy.
When she peeked outside the bathroom door, clad only in a towel, there was a plain black T-shirt folded neatly on the floor, large enough to work as a makeshift nightshirt.
Shyness threatened to engulf her, but she put it on and walked into his bedroom.
It was very plain and minimalist, as she’d expected. The bed had a black wrought-iron headboard; the bedding was in tones of blue and grey, matching the curtains. The floor was of sanded boards with a rug next to the bed in the same tones of blue and grey. There was no artwork on the walls, and nothing on top of the chest of drawers except a phone charger.
He was sitting on the end of the bed, looking at something on his phone.
‘Thank you for sorting everything out,’ she said.
‘You’re very welcome.’ He looked up at her with a smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll use the bathroom. Choose whichever side of the bed works best for you. Oh, and just in case you need a phone charger.’ He gestured to the dressing table. ‘There’s a socket either side of the bed.’
She waited until he’d left the room before choosing the right side of the bed and plugging in her phone. Maybe this hadn’t been a great idea. Maybe she should’ve gone home. This was a new level of intimacy, and she wasn’t completely sure either of them was ready for it.
Her worries must’ve shown on her face, because when he came back into the room he sat on his side of the bed, drew her hand to his mouth, kissed her palm and folded her fingers over the kiss. ‘No pressure,’ he said softly. ‘You can use the spare room if you’re more comfortable. Or I can.’
‘No, I want to. But it’s been a while since either of us has done this,’ she said.
‘It feels weird,’ he agreed. ‘But I’m glad you’re here.’
And that conviction melted some of her worries. ‘Me, too.’
He climbed properly into the bed, switched off the light and drew her into his arms. ‘No pressure,’ he said again.
‘No pressure,’ she whispered. She brushed her mouth against his, and her lips tingled to the point where she couldn’t resist doing it again. And again.
‘Alice.’ He drew her closer and kissed her back.
Kissing led to touching. Exploring. Discovering where a touch could elicit a sigh of pleasure or a murmur of desire. Her shyne
ss melted away in the dark, and she matched him kiss for kiss, touch for touch.
‘I can’t do quite everything I want to do,’ he whispered, ‘but if you’ll let me...’
‘Yes,’ she whispered back, and allowed him to strip the borrowed T-shirt from her, just as he allowed her to remove his pyjamas.
She discovered that Hugo was a generous lover, arousing her with his hands and his mouth until she was breathless, and then pushing her further until she climaxed and shattered in his arms.
Afterwards, he drew her close, so her head was resting on his shoulder and her arm was wrapped round him.
When she was finally able to collect her thoughts, she said, ‘Thank you. But this isn’t fair. You’re...’ Left on the edge, unfulfilled, while she was languorous and sated.
He kissed her lightly. ‘It’s fine. Next time. And in the meantime I’m going to do complicated equations in my head. Go to sleep, my lark.’
‘This feels horribly selfish.’
‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘you can make it up to me. Any way you please.’
Which put all sorts of pictures in her head. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised.
The warmth of his skin against hers and the darkness of the room pushed her swiftly into sleep.
* * *
Hugo lay awake when Alice had turned onto her side, spooned against her. Part of him felt guilty; even though he’d made his peace with Emma, this was the first time he’d made love with someone since she’d gone. And it was weird to be sharing his space again instead of lying there, thinking how big and empty the bed felt. Weird, but comforting as well.
Even though he hadn’t reached his own release, he was glad Alice had agreed to stay. He’d enjoyed touching her, the way she’d responded to him.
He liked Alice, full stop. More than liked her. If he was honest with himself, he was halfway to falling in love with her. Since she’d burst into his life, as brightly as one of her butterflies, he’d felt lighter of spirit than he had for years. Instead of just existing, he was connecting with the world again. And it felt really, really good.
He had a feeling that someone had hurt her badly in the past; she’d said her exes had wanted to change her. But maybe he could help her past that, the way she was helping him to move forward again. Maybe she’d trust him and open up enough to tell him what was holding her back, and he could help her feel differently about the situation—make her see just what an amazing woman she was.
* * *
The next morning, Alice woke, slightly disorientated; then she remembered the previous night.
She was in Hugo’s bed.
And he was spooned against her, his arm wrapped round her waist.
She started to twist round and was about to wake him with a kiss, when he murmured, ‘Go back to sleep, Emma.’
Emma.
He thought she was Emma.
She swallowed hard. Whatever Hugo had said about wanting to move on, subconsciously he clearly wasn’t ready. He was still in love with his late wife; and Alice was making a huge mistake, letting herself fall for an unavailable man. Not one who wanted to change her, this time, but one who wished she were someone else.
And it hurt so much. She’d tried to resist him but over the last few days she’d let herself fall for him. She’d let herself believe that this time love would work out for her; but she’d been so very, very wrong. This wasn’t like Barney and his callousness—Hugo wasn’t the sort to ride roughshod over other people—but if anything it hurt more because she knew she could never be what Hugo really wanted. She wasn’t the woman he’d loved for most of his adult life. She wasn’t enough.
How was she going to deal with this?
The first thing she needed to do was to collect her clothes, get dressed, and leave Hugo’s house before he woke. Give herself some space to think and work out what to say, so she didn’t hurt him: but she knew she couldn’t be with him until he was really ready to move on.
Given that he wasn’t a morning person, she hoped that also meant he was a heavy sleeper.
Tentatively, she wriggled out of his arms, then climbed out of the bed. His discarded T-shirt—the one he’d peeled off her, the night before—was on the floor. She slipped it on, took her phone off charge, and managed to tiptoe downstairs without waking him. Once she’d retrieved her clothes from his washer-dryer, she dressed swiftly and wrote him a note, which she propped against his coffee machine.
Had an early meeting.
Will return your T-shirt later.
A
And then she quietly let herself out of his house.
* * *
Hugo woke when his alarm shrilled; and then he realised something was wrong.
Alice wasn’t beside him.
Had he dreamed last night?
No, because the pillow was rumpled.
Tentatively, he slid his arm across her side of the bed. The sheet was cold, so clearly she’d been gone for a while.
Maybe she was downstairs and had just let him sleep in? After all, she was a lark.
But, when he went downstairs, he discovered that the house was empty.
There was a note propped against his coffee machine. He read it and frowned. It was very businesslike and left him feeling that something had gone very wrong between himself and Alice, but he had no idea what or why.
He tried calling her, but her phone went to voicemail. Maybe she really was in a meeting and it hadn’t been a polite excuse. But, when she didn’t reply to his message by lunchtime he texted her.
Busy tonight? Think Kit and Jenny are free for our celebratory dinner, if Ruth and Andy are?
The reply came within five minutes.
Sorry, can’t. Have a departmental thing tonight.
That definitely felt like an excuse. She hadn’t mentioned anything to him about a departmental thing yesterday, when they’d talked about celebrating the planning decision.
He decided to ask her outright.
Is everything OK? Have I done something to upset you?
Instead of texting back, she called him. ‘Hi.’
‘Are you OK?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Are you?’
But she sounded distant. Polite. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
She sighed. ‘You and me—I think we need to move things back a step.’
What? Last night—he’d felt a real connection with her. He was so sure she’d felt the same. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t think you’re ready to move on with anyone else, right now,’ she said.
But he was. He’d told her he was. ‘Why?’ he asked, confused.
‘Because you called me Emma,’ she said.
‘What?’ For a moment, shock paralysed his vocal cords. He swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to do that.’ But he didn’t remember doing it. ‘When?’
‘This morning.’
He frowned. ‘I didn’t speak to you this morning. You were gone before I woke.’
‘First thing. When I woke. You were still pretty much asleep.’
‘Then how did I...?’
‘You told me to go back to sleep. And you called me Emma.’
Her voice was very calm, very even, and he didn’t have a clue what was going through her head—though he was pretty sure he’d hurt her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘I know you didn’t. But you called me by her name. That tells me you still haven’t fully come to terms with losing her. So I think for now it’s better that we stick to being colleagues.’
‘Alice, I... This...’ She wasn’t being fair. She’d said herself that he’d been half asleep. But getting angry about it wasn’t going to solve the problem. He needed to prove to her that she’d got this wrong. That he did want her. Yet, right now, she was wary and skittish, and it was impor
tant that he didn’t push her even further away. He raked a hand through his hair. ‘That’s not what I want.’
‘You’re still in love with Emma, which is completely understandable, but it’s also not fair to either of us. So it’s better for us to be just colleagues.’
No, it wasn’t. At all. But she’d really got the wrong end of the stick and he needed time to regroup and work out just how he could convince her of the truth. ‘Are we still celebrating the planning decision with Kit and Ruth?’
‘Of course.’
And he’d just bet that she’d make sure she was sitting as far away from him as possible at dinner and would make an excuse to leave before everyone else.
‘Let me know dates and times,’ he said, ‘and I’ll arrange something.’ And work out how to persuade her to give him another chance.
It was Friday night when he finally got to see her again. Just as he’d predicted, she sat as far away from him as possible. And she was really, really quiet. So quiet that Ruth followed him when he went to the bar to order another bottle of wine.
‘What’s happened between you and Alice? If you’ve hurt—’
‘Yes, I have hurt her,’ he cut in, ‘and I’ve apologised. It wasn’t intentional. And, actually, it’s hurt both of us.’
Ruth frowned. ‘What happened?’
‘She stayed with me on Monday night. I’m rubbish in the mornings. You don’t get any sense out of me until after my second cup of coffee. I called her Emma’s name when I was still half asleep and I didn’t even realise I’d done it. She told me, later in the day, and called it off between us.’ He blew out a breath. ‘She says I’m not ready to move on. I am. But she doesn’t believe me, and I don’t know how to fix it.’
Ruth’s eyes widened. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Is that something that’s happened to her before? She said something about her exes wanting to change her. Was it someone who wanted to make her into a carbon copy of his ex or something?’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘Because I don’t want to do that. I know she’s not Emma. She’s herself, and that’s just the way I want her. I want my nerdy scientist with her mad hair and her amazing facts and the way she sees the world.’
