Page 4 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

‘They’re your friends.’

‘They’re our friends, Patti.’

I spooned another square of chocolate into my mouth. ‘No, they’re not.’

He leaned forward to tap my foot. ‘You’re a bloody animal.’

‘Which is why you married me, surely?’ I winked at him.

In truth, there were many reasons why David had married me – and likewise, reasons why I’d married him. But he’d always loved me despite my speaking and chewing at once, and I knew that must mean it really was love. I smiled at the thought while I shifted peaches around.

‘Don’t look so smug at my unhappiness.’

‘Oh, you bloody drama queen,’ I snapped with a laugh, ‘that isn’t what I was smiling at.’

David swallowed his last peach segment and rested his bowl on the floor before he stood and crossed the room to me. He stopped behind my armchair, set one hand on each of my shoulders, pressed his palms deep and began to rub. A long, slow moan fell out of me; a noise and tension that I hadn’t known I was holding in.

Across the room, Lucy took tentative steps towards the cream-stained bowl that now rested on the floor. She sniffed, sniffed, then stuck her head in and began to lap with a noise so loud that I thought she may have been doing it to prove a point.

‘She really is a little shit,’ David said, standing behind me still, kneading away. He kissed the crown of my head. ‘What were you smiling at?’

I tipped my head back to look up at him. ‘Just you.’

David kissed my forehead. ‘You’re a sentimental sod.’

‘Tell no one.’ I rested what was left of dessert on the table and grabbed the block of chocolate instead. ‘Want a piece?’

There was a long pause before he answered. ‘No.’

I knew that he’d help himself to it later. David, methodical in his thinking, always took an entire row of chocolate, so as not to leave any sign that the odd square had gone. His body was a temple and all, but even temples required a certain level of indulgence. I had previously argued – or rather, tried to argue – that temples were often extremely decadent places, and there was nothing in the world more decadent than grating Galaxy chocolate over your Eton mess. Still, David resisted temptation when it came to food, when anyone was watching.

‘We are lucky to have each other.’

‘Oh, Patti, where did that come from?’

I waved his question away. ‘It’s always there. Deep down.’

‘Under chocolate?’

‘Dowsed in cream.’

‘With fresh strawberries?’

‘David, you’re making me hungry.’

‘You’re already eating!’

I set the chocolate to one side and picked up what was left of my gin and tonic instead. ‘I just sometimes think of our friends–’

‘Like Ella and Nora?’ he interrupted.

‘They’re your friends, but they’re a fine example, too. I look at our friends, who seem to hang on to each other by a tapestry’s thread, and then I look at us and…’ I petered out, hoping he would gauge the rest of the sentence himself. In the same way that David monitored my chocolate intake, I monitored my own sentimental outpourings. Our lives were a cash flow management system, to ensure we didn’t give or take too much of ourselves.

He softly squeezed my shoulders, and I knew that he knew.

‘Why don’t I run you a bath? Lavender, a little music?’

Another moan tumbled out of me. ‘You’re an angel.’

‘From your mouth to God’s ears. Come on, Fred,’ he called to the dog who’d been watching us with judgement; a child, disapproving of its parents’ show of feelings. ‘Let’s run Mummy a bath, why don’t we?’

Fred blinked slowly and then rested his head back down. A laugh hiccupped out of me.

‘He hates me.’

‘He does not hate you. Take Lucy instead, she’s your pet.’

‘That grumpy cow won’t come with me.’

But as though proving a point again, when David wandered out of the room towards the bathroom, Lucy dutifully followed him. I broke another three squares of chocolate free from the block and leaned over to leave it on the arm of the sofa, where David had been sitting. I could feel Fred’s eyes on me while I folded the wrapping back over and slid the contraband back into my drawer.

‘Don’t even think about eating that while he’s not looking…’