Lizzie is still peering into my face. ‘You look very… happy,’ she says.
I have to make a really big effort not to swivel my eyes in panic. I am not one of those people who likes to tell everyone (anyone) when they’ve had sex. I am also not one of those people who believes they can tell when someoneelsehas had sex, and I don’t really think it’s a thing – I think it just happens in books and films – but just in case itisa thing, I want to look as normal, non-just-had-afternoon-sex as possible, because I don’t want to be on the end of Lizzie wagging her finger and telling me that I clearly justgot some.
‘I’ve had a nice week,’ I say.
Lizzie looks at me for a bit longer, and then says, ‘Good! So things are going well with Jake?’
I check over my shoulder that he and Dan are out of earshot and then whisper, ‘Yes. It’s all amazing. I like him alot.’ I actually think I might be falling in love with him but I really cannot say that out loud right now. And if I do tell anyone, if and when I’m sure, obviously Jake would be the first person I should tell. ‘It’s really good. We’ve had some great conversations. I think… I think I might have been slightly wrong about relationships. I think you were right.’
‘Iwasright. I’ve been thinking more about it but didn’t want to bombard you with my thoughts. But since we’re on the subject… I think in all your failed relationships, you’ve been seeking reassurance and approval, like you never got from your dad. And with Jake it’s different. You didn’t want his approval at all to start off with, because you loathed him. But he gave it to you anyway, despite his initial loathing foryou.’
I stare at her. ‘I think you might be very clever.’
Lizzie smiles smugly. ‘Apparently I am, yes.’
There’s no time for further relationship analysis because Jake’s poking his head round the kitchen door asking what we’d both like to drink, and very specifically would we like to try thecocktails that he’s made, given that in all honesty he contributed nothing of any importance to the meal prep.
‘That isn’t true,’ I protest. ‘You…’ Whatdidhe do other than the sex stuff? ‘You were great with washing the vegetables. And chopping the onions.’ Ish. ‘And getting me cups of tea.’
‘I did get you tea. And I talked to you while you cooked.’ He sends me a crooked smile and it’s all I can do not to go over there and throw myself into his arms.
I content myself with saying, ‘You were anamazingsous-chef,’ and smiling at him.
We drink our cocktails in Jake’s small but perfectly formed garden, which is beautifully tended (by a gardener), and then we go inside to the kitchen where my sous-chef and I have laid the table with his very nice (and almost entirely unused) dining ware.
I feel unbelievably contented over dinner (starter, main course, pudding) as our conversation wends its way through topics big and small (yes, we do touch on politics at one point and thankfully feel our way to discovering that we all pretty much agree on all the big points, before Lizzie tells us that in this modern era of high-stakes and high-emotions politics we’re playing a high-risk game and could we please now get back to discussing biscuit-making, and Jake replies that if she’d been around earlier when he tried and failed to rub butter into flour he’d know that that isnotnon-contentious). A couple of times we laugh so much that we’re almost falling off our chairs. We sympathise with each other on almost everything and challenge each other just the right amount.
It’s your basic perfect evening with friends.
Lizzie and Dan stay until nearly two in the morning, before Dan drags Lizzie away.
After we’ve done our goodbye hugs, as they walk out of the door, Jake’s standing behind me with his arms round my waist and his chin resting lightly on my head, and as the door closes he leans down to drop a kiss into my neck. I turn in his arms.
And then – without either of us saying anything about it – I stay the night, and it’s very,verygood.
It continues to be amazing. I don’t want to think too much about the fact that I’ve never before actually managed a proper, functional relationship for any period of time, because I don’t want to jinx it. My conversations with both Lizzie and Jake did make me think – hope – that I can manage a solid relationship, but the strength of my feelings for Jake and the enjoyment I’m deriving from his company make me a little terrified.
We remain suspended in our extremely-close-friends-with-out-of-this-world-benefits bubble until the night before the live show with Sonja.
Jake and I have just finished watching the last instalment of a big Netflix drama (yes, we’ve got to the point where we stay in sometimes and watch box sets, and, yes, it’slovely).
‘Live show tomorrow,’ Jake says. ‘Do you think we should… discuss anything before we go on?’
‘Like what?’ I ask, alarmed.
‘Like what we’re going to say about us.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Phew. I don’t know what I thought he was going to say there, but a cold finger of dread had touched my spine for a moment.
‘I’m thinking…’ He pauses for a long moment, while I say absolutely nothing at all, because I’d very much like to hear his thoughts first. ‘I’m thinking it would maybe be better for usnotto say anything aboutus.’
I nod. ‘I feel that way too.’
‘Not because I don’t want to shout our… friendship from the rooftops,’ he clarifies. ‘But because I don’t want to talk to Sonja about it.’
‘Yes, same. It’s like everything she touches feels toxic.’
‘Exactly. And…’ He hesitates again before continuing, ‘I would love this to become something longer term. I love you.’
