Page 29 of All the Things We Never Knew

‘Because it was Missoni. Although you didn’t know that until you sent me a picture of the thing and I was like, Laurel, that would have cost the thick end of five hundred smackers.’

‘Exactly. But it took ages for my splint to come off and then he was busy at work. But by then he’d told me he was into cycling too, and I said I was really missing it but the fall had knocked my confidence.’

‘And he said, “Let me help you get back on the horse.”’

I sighed, remembering. Of course I should have said no, and returned Gray’s blanket to him some other way. But when he told me he was planning a fifty-kilometre cycle in Epping Forest on a Sunday, and it was my day off and near my home, and the weather forecast promised glorious sunshine, I found I couldn’t resist his invitation to join him.

Besides, he had my bike and it just made sense. Didn’t it?

So I met him at the appointed spot, handed over the blanket and watched as he unloaded our bikes from his car. We set off, the trees and tracks and sparkling sky unfurling around us; I was conscious of only the pleasure of being out there on this gorgeous spring day, the cool air stinging my lungs, my body working again like it was supposed to, my confidence returning with every thrust of my legs.

He hadn’t lied – the route was tough, with one challenging ascent after another. I’d kept up my fitness as best I could while I was signed off with my broken wrist, but I could feel myself labouring to keep up with him.

‘You okay there, Laurel?’ he’d asked.

Damn it. I wasn’t going to be patronised by some man on a ten grand trophy bike. I put my head down and forced my legs into overdrive, slowly gaining on him, then drawing level, and then, just as we crested the hill, shooting past him.

Gasping for breath, we stopped, the breeze suddenly cool against my sweating face.

‘And then he kissed you,’ Harry said.

‘That’s right.’

‘And you realised you were that kind of girl after all.’ He sighed. ‘Naughty Laurel. Not that I blame you. So romantic.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too.’

Romantic. That’s exactly what it was. In that moment, all thoughts of Gray’s wife, his children, even my own morals, had fled my mind as if they’d been blown away by the wind. Nothing existed except Gray and me, his body and mine, our lips and tongues and his hands moving over my sweating back, sliding under my windproof jacket and over my skin so I gasped with desire.

‘We can’t,’ I said. ‘Not here.’

‘There’s no one to see except birds and rabbits,’ he pointed out.

‘I know. But still.’

He smiled. ‘I’ll ring you.’

And he had – the next day. We’d met up the following Sunday for drinks in a pub he’d suggested and I’d agreed to, neither of us acknowledging that he’d chosen it because it was on the opposite side of London from his home. At first, the meeting had been awkward as hell. We were both driving, so neither of us could drink. We ordered Diet Cokes and then – as much to give us something to talk about as anything – some food.

When it came, the steak was overcooked and leathery, the chips soggy and each plate adorned with a wrinkled grilled tomato.

‘I’m sorry, Laurel,’ he said. ‘This is awful.’

I laughed. ‘I’ve had far worse in the hospital canteen. Besides, it reminds me of going out to the Berni Inn when I was little. Massive treat.’

‘Oh God, me too.’ He grinned. ‘Only ever on my birthday, because it was too dear.’

‘The desserts! Lemon cheesecake with sultanas.’

‘Are you mad? Ice cream sundae all the way.’

Suddenly we were laughing, united in our shared memories. It surprised me – from what I’d seen of Gray’s house, his car and his bicycle, I’d expected him to have come from a background of wealth and privilege. But soon we were comparing notes about Findus crispy pancakes, chocolate concrete after school dinners and bags of scraps from the chippie.

‘I was sixteen before I tasted garlic,’ I told him.

His smile faded. ‘Oh, things were a bit different for me by then. I went to a posh school.’

But before I could ask him more about that, he said, ‘Shall we get the bill?’