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“It is.” Funny how powerful her belief in love was. For everyone except herself.
“I’m sure, in the end, it’ll be for the best, it’s just there’s this great big hole that Mark has always filled. It may have been full of dry dirt but at least it was filled.” Judith started to weep again. Quiet, copious tears that splashed down her cheeks and into her cupped hands.
Polly ripped out some more tissues from the box and handed them to her.
“Nothing grows in dry dirt, hon. You have to have rich soil, and it has to be well-watered.” Judith gave a trembly smile at that. “And lots of sunshine, and bees to cross-pollinate… Okay, maybe I’m getting a bit carried away, but you get the gist. You can’t spend your evenings crocheting while Mark sits on his computer and slams asteroids into virtual galaxies for hours on end with his hobbity mates.”
Now Judith really laughed. “That’s rather a mixed metaphor.” Her nose was shiny and her eyes still swimming in water; she looked like she’d been attacked by a hailstorm, but at least she’d been able to share.
This, thought Polly, was so overdue that the recovery would likely be swift once they sorted out all the practical shit. “You don’t have a dog, do you?”
Judith looked surprised. “No, why?”
“Custody can be a nightmare.”
“Only a goldfish.” Judith sighed. “And he’s on his last fins.”
“I think you’ll navigate that problem okay.”
Somewhere, from the depths of her room, Polly’s mobile pinged an incoming message. She stiffened.
Judith looked at her properly for the first time, her eyes narrowing as she panned down Polly’s black dress. “Oh my god, you were about to go out, weren’t you?”
Shrugging away the arrows of disappointment, Polly said airily, “Nothing major.” The lie hit her in the stomach like a wrecking ball. “I’ll just go and let them know I can’t make it.”
As she rose, Judith reached out and touched her arm. “Seriously, I’ll go home. It won’t make any difference. He’ll be on his computer, or in front of telly, and I’ll go to my craft room and—”
Her lower lip wobbled and Polly’s resolve hardened. She had to support her friend. She couldn’t even imagine how it would feel to have twelve years of togetherness collapse in a heap, even if it was totally sub-standard togetherness.
“You’re not going home. I’m going to get you a drink.”
“A cup of tea would be nice,” Judith said wistfully.
“I’ve got chamomile, peppermint or English breakfast. And you’re going to stay over.” Polly’s smile was plastered on; the itch to go find her phone intensified. “You can start to sort out how you deal with all this in the cool light of day.”
As Judith opened her mouth, Polly put her finger to her lips. “Hush. I wasn’t even interested in going out tonight anyway.”
With that she turned and went to find her phone. Her head might be held high, but the truth was, her body felt heavier with every step she took towards what she was sure was Solo’s text asking where she was.
Hell, it was for the best, wasn’t it? Imagining those long fingers and that wicked mouth exploring her body had required her to put her vibrator back on charge way too often this past week.
Best to let the batteries run down on this one before the damn guy burrowed into other places he had no right to be.
Like her heart.
* * *
Solo inhaled.The nicotine hit his lungs and he dragged out the familiar hit for longer than normal, then pursed his lips and exhaled, the smoke spiralling up in the light from the streetlamp.
Heaviness cloaked him. It felt like someone had promised him a shiny cut diamond and instead delivered a bucket of dull pebbles.
When he’d messaged her earlier, he’d expected her to reply, “on my way,” not the abrupt, “can’t make it. Something’s come up”. It had made his gut contract with a slug of something more than annoyance, more than disappointment even.
Feeling completely deflated, he’d got on his bike and rode home, then paced around his room for half an hour, maybe longer. Tried to work out a suitable reply that looked like he couldn’t give a fuck. Dialled down the overpowering urge to call her and demand to know what the hell was more important than their night out, more important than both of them ending up hot and sweaty, down and dirty between the sheets.
Oh, Christ, who was he kidding? He wasn’t a down-and-dirty type of guy.
Except he had been, with her. He’d been spontaneous and testosterone-driven and full of beating-his-chest machismo.
