I’ve come this far. I need to say more, say as much as I can.
So I plunge in.
‘I understand from what you said before that you at some point began to believe that you’re unlovable and unloving,’ I begin. ‘But… at the risk of sounding know-it-all or patronising, I think you might be wrong.’
Freya is just staring at me, her eyes now looking even damper.
‘Lizzie,’ I say. ‘You can’t say you don’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Charlotte. Sarra.’ I start reeling off names of friends she’s mentioned. ‘To name a few.Maud. You’re a very loving person. And you’re a very lovable person. You are not like your father or mother and there are plenty of people out there who are not like them either.’
A tear rolls down Freya’s cheek. I wantso muchto wipe it away, but obviously I can’t.
‘I’m sorry.’ I indicate her tears. More are now falling. ‘For making you cry.’
She sniffs, very cutely, and wipes under her eyes with a napkin from the cutlery pot at her elbow.
‘Thank you,’ she says.
I wait. I’m not sure what she’s thanking me for and I want to marshal my thoughts to see if there are any other good arguments I could make. I mean, I’m a lawyer for fuck’s sake. Surely I can do better than this. Arguing and winning is myjob.
‘Thank you,’ she repeats.
‘For…?’ I dare to ask.
‘For saying nice things.’
‘They aren’t nice things so much as truths,’ I point out. ‘Have I mentioned that I love you?’
She nods. I really wish she’d tell me she loves me too but maybe she just… doesn’t.
I’m going to give it one last big go.
‘I love you and I would very much like to date you – officially – and work at things, like you do in any good relationship… like if we have an argument, not use it as an excuse to leave but assume that we want to work through it. That is what I would like. In an ideal world. Because I love you.’
Freya isreallycrying now. Fuck.
She mumbles something. I really can’t work out what she’s saying due to the tears.
‘I didn’t catch that,’ I say.
‘I said I love you,’ she says.
‘Oh!’ I look at her hands and wonder if it would be acceptable for me to reach across the table and take them in mine. ‘I love you too.’
‘You actually talk a lot of sense,’ she tells me.
‘I do?’
‘Yep. I think…’ She sniffs again and I just want to wrap my arms round her and make sure she never has anything to cry sad tears about ever again. ‘I think it’s like I always wanted to make my dad love me so I’ve always sought out men like him, but he was inherently an arse, and so were they, and then they showed their arsey true selves and I walked away, and I’ve construedthat as me being unlovable and unloving but I don’t think I fully am unloving because I really, really love you, and you’re right: I really love my friends.’
I do take her hands in mine, and squeeze them, hard.
She squeezes mine back.
‘Would you… Could we… Shall we date?’ I’m so conscious of how extremely important a moment this is in my life (and I hope Freya’s too) that I’ve become remarkably inarticulate.
‘Yes, please.’ She’s smiling through her tears and I feel my heart swell.
‘I love you,’ I tell her again.
