Page 90 of Who’s That Girl?

‘Miles, you’re not listening,’ I snap, then immediately feel guilty.

He looks at me in surprise.

I hesitate. It’s now or never. I just have to come out with it. ‘It’s about us.’

There. I’ve said it.

He looks at me for a moment, confused, searching my eyes for a clue, then nods. ‘Oh, I know what this is about.’

I feel a curious leap of optimism. Maybe he feels this way too. Maybe it’s not just me.

‘It’s about last night, isn’t it?’ he continues, looking uncomfortable. ‘Me falling asleep on the sofa.’

I look at him blankly.

‘We didn’t have sex on your birthday.’

Oh my God, he’s got it so wrong. So horribly wrong I don’t know what to say.

‘Well, we can have it now, if you’d like,’ he offers, putting down his spoon and standing up. ‘We don’t have to pick up the keys and look at the house till ten – we’ve got time.’

I look at him, standing there, in my towelling bathrobe, his half-finished Weetabix lying soggy in the bowl, and strangely I don’t feel in the mood. In fact his offer of sex is so matter-of-fact he might as well be offering to put out the recycling.

‘Miles, it’s not about last night, and it’s not about sex,’ I say, quickly glossing over that bit. ‘It’s about us. Me, this house, everything …’ I flail my arms around.

Miles is looking at me, his face uncomprehending. I’m hoping he’s going to butt in, finish my sentence for me, guess what I’m going to say, but after two wrong answers he’s not going to, is he?

‘I don’t want to buy the house,’ I finally blurt.

He stares at me, his face a picture of astonishment. ‘Why? What’s wrong with the house?’ he demands.

‘Nothing’s wrong with the house,’ I reply quickly. ‘It’s perfect. It’s a perfect house.’

‘Well, then!’ His astonishment has disappeared and he’s annoyed now. ‘Look, Charlotte, I know you’re nervous, but you’re being ridiculous. What’s got into you?’

‘Nothing, it’s just …’ I stare fixedly at the floor. ‘Miles, I can’t do this. I can’t move in with you.’

There. Finally I’ve said it.

There’s silence. I drag my eyes upwards. He looks stunned. Then his face sets, harder. ‘Can’t, or won’t?’

I swallow hard. ‘Miles, I’m not doing this on purpose. You’re a wonderful person. It’s not you, it’s me. I’ve been having doubts for a while, and I just never realised …’ God, I’m really making a mess of this, aren’t I? I take a deep breath and continue, ‘But now everything’s sort of come to a head and it wouldn’t be fair on either of us to carry on.’

‘You’ve met someone else, haven’t you?’ he suddenly accuses.

Every nerve in my body seems to jump and I look at him in shock. ‘No, of course not!’ I protest quickly.

‘Yes, you have,’ he continues. ‘I just knew it. You’ve been acting really strangely these last couple of days. Different. Ever since I got back from Leeds. So come on, who is it?’

‘No one.’

Oh God, why is he asking me all these questions? And why am I feeling so guilty? I ask myself, thinking about Olly.

‘Tell me who it is and I’ll punch him.’ Curling up a fist, he shakes it menacingly. Only Miles could never look menacing. Especially not in my towelling bathrobe.

‘Miles!’ I gasp in exasperation, feeling the conversation veering wildly off course. This is not what I planned to happen at all. ‘This isn’t about anyone else. It’s about me.’

His chest deflates, and stuffing his fist in his pocket he composes himself. ‘Look, Charlotte, I’m sure we can work this out. We always do,’ he says practically.