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‘Sorry, Polly, there are some things even you can’t delegate away.’ Clara dipped her paintbrush in the deep colour and began to apply it to the walls in sweeping strokes. ‘Talking of delegation, have you spoken to Gabe?’ She sounded disinterested but the sly glance she slid Polly belied the light tone.
‘I’ve sat in meetings with him.’
‘Let me rephrase that. Have you had a conversation with Gabe, just the two of you, that hasn’t involved spreadsheets, budgets and forecasts?’
‘That would be a negative.’
Clara added a bit more paint to her brush. ‘Polly,’ she said slowly. ‘We’ve known each other for a while and I like to think that although we’ve never touched on anything really deep we’re good friends.’
Polly bit her lip. Truth was Clara was her only friend. And yet she knew so little about the woman who was going to marry her twin. ‘Of course we are, and I am delighted you’re going to be my sister.’
‘And the aunt of the lucky future possessor of these walls,’ Clara agreed. ‘So I hope you don’t mind me prying a little bit but what is going on with you and Gabe?’
That was easy enough to answer. ‘We’re colleagues.’
‘That’s all?’ Clara persisted.
Polly sighed and put her paintbrush down on the newspaper she’d spread over the furniture, before sliding onto the floor and hugging her knees. ‘We kissed. Twice. Well, once was an accident.’
Not the other. No, the other had been wonderfully intentional.
‘Don’t you hate those accidental kisses?’ Clara murmured, laughter in her voice.
Now she had started confiding Polly couldn’t bear to stop. It was almost a relief to let the words spill out. ‘We talked. Spent some time together.’ It didn’t sound much. Not the bare, bald facts. ‘He was there when I needed him. And he was brilliant; patient and helpful and understanding. He’s good to work with too, sparky and innovative and pushes me...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Sounds good.’ Clara was still painting. It was easier talking to her back than to have to face her, see concern or sympathy in her eyes.
‘It was. I’ve only known him a couple of weeks but I thought maybe we had a connection.’ Polly pulled at her ponytail. ‘It’s stupid, hormones playing up. I should have known better. Neither of us are looking for anything, want anything. In a different time or place maybe we could have had a thing. But the timing was off.’
And she didn’t want a ‘thing’. Not any more. Not with anyone. Especially not with Gabe.
She’d spent her twenties valuing her independence, her ability to walk away. It didn’t seem such an achievement any more.
Clara painted another streak of colour onto the wall and stood back to assess the effect. Her voice was still light, conversational. ‘You don’t need to be looking to find it. I wasn’t, Raff wasn’t. We tried hard not to fall in love but it was too strong.’
Love? Polly swallowed hard, her heartbeat speeding up. ‘Who said anything about love?’
‘No one. Yet. But you said yourself there’s a connection; he pushes you, understands you—and the kisses were good enough to make your voice go hazy just thinking about them. Even if one was an accident.’
Clara put her paintbrush down beside Polly’s and slid into place beside her. ‘It might not be love, Polly, not yet. But it sounds pretty close to me. I don’t know why you’ve pushed him away, nor why he has let you. But isn’t it worth trying swallowing your pride?’
‘I miss him,’ Polly admitted.
But it was more than that. She’d lived alone in this big old house for so long, had never felt lonely in it before. But now his absence was in every room.
It was ridiculous; he’d hardly spent any time there as it was.
It was the same at work. Sometimes she would look up from her desk and glance over at the empty space where his desk had so briefly sat. It was so quiet without him typing loudly, his continuous conversations. The room so still without his pacing up and down. She would listen jealously for some mention of his name, to find out who he was flirting with this week.
But the staff grapevine was quiet.
And she was lonely. Raff and Clara were doing their best, almost overwhelming her with dinners and visits, trying to include her in everything. And she appreciated it, she really did. Only they were so very together.
It made her feel her solitary state even more.
She had never cared about being alone before. Or allowed herself to admit it.
‘He took you to the hospital, helped when you were sick, what makes you think he doesn’t want more? Have you asked him?’ Clara was pushing but Polly didn’t mind. The last few weeks, his last words had been going round and round in her head like an overactive carousel until she was so giddy she couldn’t think. This was her opportunity to get it all straight.
