‘Seriously, Ava?’
‘It just hasn’t come up and it feels so stupid now that so much time’s gone on!’ I raise my hands in defeat. I have mulled over the name that Crispy gave her more than I care to admit. I wondered if it was short for something – Dorothy maybe – but that didn’t suit her either. Maybe it was a code that only those over the age of eighty would truly understand. ‘I don’t think she even realises,’ I shrug. ‘I mean it’s not like it matters; we seem to have muddled through just fine without knowing details.’
He smirks. ‘Oh yeah, silly little details like your best friend’s name.’
‘She’s not my best friend,’ I say defensively. I go to name someone else, but I come to a rather depressing conclusion – there isn’t anyone. There are friends, sure. There are people that used to hold that mantle until my life got complicated, but in terms of a figure to whom I would divulge my deepest, darkest secrets – well, there’s her. And I don’t even know her name. ‘Shit. She’s my best friend.’ I clasp my head in my hands.
Archie looks rather gleeful at my discovery until he takes a swig of his drink and turns his attention to a rather stubborn hangnail.
‘I’m assuming I’ll get to meet Florian at least.’
‘Oh.’ I recover my hands, chase a stem of asparagus with a fork, thinking of the perfect excuse as to why I will be attempting to keep Archie and Florian as far away from each other as possible. ‘You know, he’s pretty busy at the moment. I don’t see him that much anyway, always been a case of running into him rather than planning anything.’ I mean it’s not a complete lie, at least half of my meetings with Florian had been incidental at best.
‘So, no one wants to meet me?’ He puts on an exasperated pout and I roll my eyes at his performance.
‘Rather I’ve put them all off.’
‘Well, there’s only so much time we can spend in the apartment surely?’ he asks, his eyebrow raised into his fringe. I feel the heat returning to my cheeks.
I spear a final cube of potato into my mouth. ‘No comment.’
Archie throws down a chunk of notes and then when I get up from my seat, it’s like he sees me again for the first time. I watch him watch me, curious at what exactly is so worthy of his attention.
‘You know you look good, like really good.’ He shrugs on his jacket.
‘Do I?’ I look down at my very unexciting outfit; I mean yes, I had shaved and washed my hair and put on make-up but I still feel the opposite of attractive.
‘Yeah, I mean you just look different than when you were back home, not that you’re not pretty there, it’s like you suit being here, in this place.’ He fights for clarity, desperate not to turn a compliment into an insult.
‘You make it sound like a bad thing.’
‘No!’ He gabbles, ‘no not at all, I just… God my chat is pretty shit tonight.’ He laughs at himself. ‘Let me try it again.’ He reaches for my hand and I let him take it, threading my fingers with his. ‘You look beautiful, I’m lucky to be here,’ he says sincerely. I press a kiss into his cheek and we linger in the closeness. His hands move to my arms and he squeezes gently, a sort of embrace for people who weren’t going to be big on public displays of affection.
And then we walk back, taking the quick way this time, straight back to the apartment.
Chapter 18
Archie lingers in theentryway, his eyes tracing over the details of the apartment again, as if he never quite saw it the first time we were here. ‘What’s with the birds?’ His eyes are drawn to two little blue lovebirds painted on the beams.
‘I don’t know. Guess the old owner was a fan,’ I shrug.
He sniffs. ‘Bit odd, isn’t it?’ He catches me frowning in his direction. ‘Sorry,’ he adds. ‘I don’t know why I’m being so… weird,’ he says quietly. I go straight for the cupboard to retrieve one of the surviving bottles from the deer hit and run, doing everything in my power not to think of Florian.
‘You’ve not beenweird.’ I try to play it off but he shoots me a look that lets me know I’m a shit actor. ‘Okay maybe, but this whole thing is weird, you out here with me. It’s not a two o’clock “you up” text after the pub.’ I uncork the wine and pour us two large glasses, hoping that by the time he finishes this one he might be acting slightly more himself.
‘I’m glad it’s not that. Glad that this is more than that now.’ He falls back into the sofa with a sigh, taking a large gulp of the wine. ‘I guess it just feels a bit odd, me being here, in this place, with him…’
‘Who?’ I take a large gulp myself. ‘Ettie?’
He cringes at his name; I know he doesn’t want to bring this up now, but something is compelling him, his conscience perhaps, something I clearly don’t have. ‘Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I know that if he was still here then you and me wouldn’t even be a thing, I’m aware of that. It’s just odd, isn’t it? Like normally you date girls who’ve been cheated on or broken up with, not girls who have had this dream relationship with this perfect guy.’
‘He wasn’t perfect.’ I sit next to him on the sofa rubbing a point in my head where a persistent little ache was beginning to form. I hadn’t expected to get into this so quickly; I wanted sex and I wanted to drink and be normal. I didn’t want deep, meaningful conversations about my dead husband, especially when the last one led to me practically snogging his brother.
‘Yeah, but he was perfect for you. If he hadn’t…’
‘Died.’ I fill in the gaps for him.
He looks at me, his eyes wide with alarm at the word and then they soften when my hand reaches out and strokes his cheek. ‘Yes.’
