Page 124 of Secret Paths

“One village event,” I say. “That is all I am asking for. Not your whole future. Not the keys to your house. Just one afternoon where I do not have to act as if you are something I keep hidden.”

Her face closes.

“No.”

One word.

Too quick.

Too sharp.

I nod once.

Mandy shifts as if the nod hurts more than an argument would. “We talked about this.”

“We did.”

“You know what this is.”

“I know what we called it.”

Her eyes flash. “Do not do that.”

“I am not trying to trap you with language.”

“It feels like it.”

“Then I am sorry.” I mean that. I do. “But I am allowed to want more than the parts of you I am allowed to have in private.”

She looks away.

The room feels suddenly too small.

The blanket on her knees. My jumper on her body. The bag from Sainsbury’s between her hands. Homes Under the Hammer paused on the television as if even the damp wall has decided not to interrupt.

“I cannot be that woman,” she says.

“What woman?”

“The one who turns up with you at the harvest festival and lets everyone decide what we are.”

“You would still be you.”

“You do not know that.”

“I do.”

“No, Peter. You want to.” She stands, the blanket falling to the sofa. “You think this is simple because you want it to be simple.”

“I do not think it is simple.”

“You are making it sound simple.”

“I am making it sound small because I am trying not to scare you.”

Her mouth tightens.

Wrong thing.