‘You’re staring,’ River informs me.
‘I am not,’ I protest, gaze dipping while I vaguely wonder whether the circumference of River’s bicep is bigger than the circumference of my thigh. ‘Rugged’ is the word that comes to mind. We don’t see genuine ruggedness much these days. That suddenly feels like a shame.
I sneak another peek.
River throws his hands up. ‘Really?’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ I mutter, my cheeks reddening. ‘I will try harder. I’m just not used to—’
A triple knock on the front door interrupts me – the postman mustn’t have heard me about leaving the parcels downstairs.
Eyes respectfully lowered, I scooch past River and open the door.
‘My Gert. There you are.’
I try very hard to keep my gasp internal because this is the first time I’ve seen Henry in a month, and while I’ve become decrepit and pitiful in my heartbreak, he looks … great. His usually slightly messy hair has been cut neatly, and he’s working a button-down shirt that’s got a much sharper cut than the usual creased linen ones he wears. His glasses are different too – oversized black square frames that make him look like he’s wearing a costume.
Henry grins at me warmly. And then, examining me more closely, cocks a brow.
‘Your eyes are all sparkly. Your face is pink! Have I interrupted a home workout? No thatcan’tbe it.’ He chuckles. ‘Hmm, have you got another fella in there? My naughty Gert.’ He peers over my shoulder jokily, clearly not expecting to find River, still standing there, looking for all the world like the cover model of a romance novel.
Henry’s jaw drops. ‘Oh!’ His voice is high-pitched. He clears his throat, the timbre of his next words an octave deeper than usual. ‘I … gosh. I didn’t, uh, hallo there.’ He steps into the flat and extends a hand to River. ‘I’m Henry.’
River grabs Henry’s hand and pumps it up and down with so much vigour, I genuinely worry he might break Henry’s non-thigh-sized arm. Henry makes an odd little noise. A cross between a greeting and a yelp.
‘Hey.’ River lifts his chin. ‘I’m—’
‘Just a friend!’ I slide in quickly. ‘Just a friend who is crashing on my sofa for the night!’
Henry notices The Torso then, his nostrils flaring slightly.
‘Henry …’ River says thoughtfully, briefly lookingHenry up and down. ‘Oh,you’reHenry?You’rethe heartbreaker? Huh …’
‘Heartbreaker?’ Henry laughs nervously – something I’ve never heard him do before. ‘Well, ah, it’s all a little more nuanced than that, of course.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea, Henry?’ I ask, scowling at River. ‘Or a coffee? A juice?’ I indicate that he should take a seat in his favourite armchair and smile at him, delighted that he’s here, at home, where he belongs. ‘It’s really nice to see you.’ My voice cracks a little.
Henry’s voice is clipped. ‘I won’t stay. I wouldn’t want to interrupt—’
‘You’re not interrupting anything!’ I interject, my voice coming out a semitone higher and much, much louder than intended. I clear my throat and point at River. ‘Just a friend.’
‘I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering, Gertie.’ River wanders over to the sofa to pick up his Stetson, dropping it onto his head. Henry stares at him for a moment, as if River is a figment ofhisimagination.
‘Right then,’ Henry says eventually, dragging his attention away from River and back to me. ‘Um. I was only popping by to check in on you anyway. Nothing important. You didn’t reply to my text last night and you usually reply straight away so I just wanted to know you were okay. And I see now that you are!’
He’s right, I usually reply to all his texts within seconds of the phone vibrating. My heart warms at the thought of him still caring enough about me to come over in person.
‘I’m fine!’ I say brightly, reaching out tentatively to touchhis arm. ‘I was going to reply to your text this morning. Sorry.’
‘That’s okay. I’m glad all is well.’
‘Alliswell. Is all well with you?’
Henry nods quickly. ‘All is well with me too. Busy at work. Writing away. I’ve actually been asked to speak at Cambridge University. And there’s a production company interested in optioningGood Circlesfor a stage play at The National. So yes. All well.’
‘Wow! The National? That’s brilliant!’
‘It is!’ Henry’s cheeks flush lightly. ‘Of course, I wouldn’t mind if it was a smaller, less prestigious theatre either. As long as the work is honestly portrayed and true to my original intention. That’s what’s most important to me.’
