Ginny takes a deep breath. “I asked him out that day you told us you didn’t want to take things further.”
That’s a bit of a shock. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own world, I didn’t notice. I never thought of myself as self-obsessed but I’m fast re-evaluating that. “I’m happy for you both,” I say to cover my surprise. Ginny and Steve have been dating almost as long as Anders and I have, but she seems far more certain of her relationship than I am of mine. Since his return, neither Anders nor I have brought up that aspect of our lives, but we do need to talk. If we can get some alone time.
The afternoon is just as busy as the morning, and Anders is always with other people. Between Scarlett, Ahmed and Ramesh, his time is completely swallowed.
Finally, I give up trying to find a quiet moment to have a word with him and send him a message as I’m packing up for the day.
We need to talk.
I leave work, pick Effie up, take her home, and do her reading homework with her. We eat dinner together and then I tackle some of the never-ending pile of laundry.
Only then does my phone ping.
Can I come over when Effie is in bed?
It’s not ideal, but it’s obvious to me it will be days before we have another moment alone at work.
Effie and I do bath and bed. I read her a chapter of her reptile book. It must be the tenth time I’ve read it, but Effie’s enthusiasm is showing very little sign of abating. She’s no artist, but she’s drawn a picture of Smauglette and it’s in pride of place on her wall.
When Effie is asleep, I message Anders to let him know and receive an instant reply.Be over in a bit.
But it’s over an hour before he appears.
I’m tired and longing for my bed. I want to snuggle into a cosy dressing gown, but there’s no way I can expect this conversation to go the way I want it if I’m in a nightdress. The waiting is hard. Trying to distract myself with television doesn’t work, as I can’t concentrate and I turn it off. I resort to angry ironing bed linen, but as the minutes tick by, my irritation grows.
By the time he finally turns up, I’m simmering. At least he texts to let me know he’s at the door rather than ringing the bell. And when I let him in, I can see some of the weariness has returned. Even though I don’t want it to, my irritation crumbles away.
He steps into the hall, but as soon as I close the door behind him, his hand reaches for me. I pull back.
“No,” I say. “I want to know what’s going on first.”
He looks a little confused and a lot hurt. I’m not immune to that look. It tugs at my heart.
“Have you eaten?” I say, trying to take some of the sting out of my rejection and hating that I care enough to want to.
“Not yet,” he says.
“Then sit.” I head to the kitchen and pull out everything I need to make him a sandwich. He waits, silent, his eyes watching my every move.
“Eat this,” I say as I slide the plate in front of him and add a glass of juice. “Then we’ll talk.”
I’ve stuffed so much salad into the sandwich he struggles to fit it into his mouth. He takes big bites and chews fast. I think he’ll give himself indigestion, but he keeps going.
“Okay,” he says, having bolted his food like a Tasmanian devil. “Now, what’s up?”
“I need to know what happened between you and Imogen.”
His brow furrows. “Nothing,” he says.
I’m well aware that men and women have different definitions ofnothing, just like they also have very different definitions offine. But surely Anders must understand why I want to know every microscopic part of his interactions with his ex?
“It can’t be nothing,” I explain. “The woman flew thousands of miles to see you.”
“Well, that’s not exactly right,” Anders counters. “She didn’t come to see me. She came because my mother called. And secondly, she didn’t come that far. She was in Chicago.”
I’m surprised enough to ask, “What was she doing in Chicago?”
Anders shrugs. “Some work thing.” His lack of curiosity is more reassuring than his words.
