*
I stayed in the office an hour after Nick left, dumbly staring at my screen, but not managing to work. Every time I looked at the bottle of Gordon’s, I felt peaceful, but I couldn’t explain why. The dread that had pooled in my stomach was easing, and even though I’d originally wanted to stay at work because I didn’t want to go home to an empty flat, I now craved sanctuary – away from an office that was full of things that reminded me of how close the magazine was to folding.
I had a bunch of missed calls on my phone, including a couple from Simon, but I didn’t have the energy to deal with anyone. For once, I just wanted to look after myself. A warm bath and an early night sounded like bliss.
I must have needed sleep more than I realised because I nodded off on the tube home and only woke up at the end of the line in Ealing Broadway. I then had to backtrack to Shepherd’s Bush and I was ready to collapse as I pushed open the door to my flat at eight o’clock.
But with a sinking heart, I realised I wasn’t alone.
I should have checked my messages because then I might have known that Simon was back early. Instead, I was only finding out now that he was standing in my kitchen and simmering onions in my new Jamie Oliver frying pan.
‘What are you doing here, Si?’
‘Making a crappy bolognese.’ He grinned boyishly. ‘I had a spare twelve hours so took a flight from Edinburgh. Got to be back by six o’clock tomorrow.’
I felt a rush of gratitude. ‘That’s so sweet, Si. Thank you.’
His kindness, not to mention the tempting smell, made me feel guilty about momentarily resenting his presence.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t get back in time for the funeral, Frixie.’
‘It’s okay. Zak helped.’
He closed the distance between us and folded me into a hug. It was comforting to feel his arms around me, and unlike the night at Georgia’s, there was no heat between us. But it was exactly what I needed.
‘You look exhausted,’ he said, when we stepped apart.
‘I am.’
‘Why don’t you go run a bath? This needs at least half an hour.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Go, and when you come back this will all be ready.’
I squeezed his hand. ‘Thanks, Si.’
A bath would only send me to sleep, so I opted for a hot shower. I found some grapefruit body scrub and rubbed my limbs until they tingled. I towelled myself dry, taking the edge off my tiredness.
The temperature had dropped, so I dug out some flannel pyjamas and wrapped myself in the terry-towel dressing gown I only ever wore when I was unwell.
I joined Simon at the kitchen table. He’d set it with a steaming bowl of tagliatelle and chilled wine. The combination of the rich sauce and crisp Sancerre was exactly what I needed to feel part of the human race again.
After we’d eaten, I surprised both of us when I refused a second glass of wine.
‘Mug of tea instead?’ he asked.
I nodded and was about to get up, but he insisted I go and relax on the sofa while he made it.
I put on a playlist of mellow nineties hits. The old-school tunes reminded me of being a kid again, a time without responsibilities, when the biggest worry I had was whether that red splotch on my chin was going to turn into a zit or not.
All Saints’ ‘Never Ever’ was playing when Simon returned with two mugs of tea.
‘Great song,’ he said, sitting down next to me.
‘How’s your trip been so far?’ I said, aware that we’d only talked about me since he’d got here.
He took a sip of tea and frowned. ‘Let’s not talk about work. I’m getting boring in my old age, because I was dragged to a heavy metal concert in Stockholm by a client and I actually heard myself announce: “This isn’t music!” just like your dad whenever we played “Smells Like Teen Spirit”?’.
