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Cass gives me a knowing nod, and it’s obvious that she’s had the same speech from Ant as I have.
“Did Jack cheat on you?” I ask her.
“My sister thinks so.”
“Do you?”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t. I think it was the same thing for him as it was for Jo. Crept up slowly until he couldn’t deny it from himself anymore. Ant says that’s emotionally cheating, and I get his point, I do…”
“But?”
She nods. “Yeah, but, I don’t think it worked like that. Definitely not intentionally. Jack didn’t mean to hurt me.”
“No,” I say. “And Jo didn’t mean to hurt me, either.”
Cass looks so sad for me as she hands my phone back. “I’m really sorry, Gerwyn.”
I shrug. “Nothing can be done about that now. She’s happy, I’m happy for her.”
I am happy for her. Still, that doesn’t stop it hurting like a bitch when I’m alone in bed at night.
“Can I see some more photos?” Cass asks.
I laugh, because I’ve got plenty of photos of Jo and me on my gallery app, all saved in the folder called us.
“Be my guest,” I say, and hand it over. “Scroll away all you like.”
Gerwyn
I watch Cass’s face as she scrolls.
I’ve sat alone at night doing the same thing more than I would ever want to admit, revisiting memory after memory after memory. I know every picture of Jo and the look on her face. I know the shape of each of her smiles, and I remember every one of the experiences we were sharing, and know how my heart raced whenever I’d hear her laughing with me.
Every so often Cass turns the screen to face me, showing me one of the pictures she likes. Whether it’s the selfie of Jo and I in bed one morning where she’d stolen my pillow and left me flat against the mattress, or the one where Jo was hugging me tight in a beautiful deep red bridesmaid’s dress at her cousin’s wedding.
I thought Cass would be long bored of looking at pictures of me and my ex by the time the Halloween picture appeared on her screen, but I was wrong. I know which one she must have reached by the surprise in her eyes.
“What?” I ask her, knowing with almost certainty what the answer will be.
She has a sweet, naughty smile as she turns the phone to face me, and there it is. The picture caught candidly of Jo and I at the Broadway’s Halloween Charity Night after we’d been on wine since the party started. Jo was dressed as a witch, and me as a vampire, and we got very much into the roles. Throughout the night she’d tap my ass with her witch’s wand every time she walked past me, and I’d reach out and pull her back in to bite her neck.
It was funny at first, nothing more than two adults in fancy dress being silly, but then it changed. Jo gave me a sneaky, coy look as I grabbed hold of her, post butt tap. She was in a black velvet dress which was very fitted and not Jo’s usual style but she looked incredible in it. I knew I’d be tearing it off her as soon as we were back at home, but the urge grabbed hold of me in that one very moment and ate me up alive.
This time when I bit her it wasn’t just a jokey gesture. It was a kiss on her neck along with a nip at her throat, and she tipped her head back for more. Her leg hitched up against me and I took her thigh and held it there, my fingers slipping under the hem of her skirt for a sense of flesh on flesh. It was one long, late-night party minute of passion bursting free… and Kevin caught it on camera.
Hardly anyone ever sees that picture, but if they did, they’d probably pull a face like Cass is doing. Shocked.
“Ah,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “You thought I was Mr Vanilla, didn’t you? I bet you’ve been told I’m a lights out, missionary only, no-sex-before-true-love kind of guy who doesn’t even know what anal is?”
She laughs at that, because I’m clearly exaggerating, even though I’m not.
“No! I mean, I don’t know!” she protests, still laughing, shooting another look at the photo. “Are you?”
“Am I Mr Vanilla?”
She nods. “Yeah. You don’t look quite so lights out, missionary only style in this picture.”
I give her a scoff laugh, my smile genuine. “That’s how I usually look, is it? Lights out, missionary only style?”
She looks me up and down, and I don’t exactly feel like a horny sex superstar, not with an open pizza box on my lap and a shirt straining at the buttons, but that’s not the only thing she’s focusing on. I can tell her mind is whirling, weighing me up.
