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‘It’s heated. There’s water, and a bathroom through there.’ He pointed to a door at the far end. ‘Just about the only thing that isn’t original.’ He switched on the kettle. ‘You found me.’
He was speaking almost too softly. I edged closer to where he stood next to the makeshift cupboards.
‘Yes. Polly called me. She recognised the picture. It was where I worked. She didn’t say anything to you, because… well…’
‘She was being perfectly sensible. I’m grateful she rang you.’ He nearly smiled.
My lips twitched. What now? I couldn’t say what I wanted to say.
‘You’re dressed very smartly,’ he said, filling the silence.
I had forgotten. ‘I’ve got a job.’ I popped my handbag on the settee. ‘Went for a job interview and they offered it me then and there. A small firm of architects who specialise in historical buildings. I’m going to be the company photographer.’
He hadn’t moved. ‘Congratulations. It’s sounds perfect for you.’
‘So… I’m going to have to find somewhere to live.’ I bit on my lower lip. Now I sounded cheap. ‘I’m going to be travelling a lot.’
‘It’s what you wanted.’
The steam billowed around him as the kettle whistled. ‘Tea? Have you eaten?’
My stomach wasn’t rumbling. If I was hungry, it wasn’t for food. I shook my head. ‘No. Not yet. I was going to wait another hour then… go.’
He turned to face me, the teabag crushed under his hand. ‘I shouldn’t have given up on you in Yorkshire. Trouble was, on my own, I got to thinking about what I’d told you about the twins. I thought it was for the best to go home.’
‘I thought you might have… I rushed back to York but it’s not your fault we missed each other. I didn’t really expect you to wait more than a couple of days. But I needed to say goodbye properly. So I’m staying in London, booked into a hotel. And I went… I went to the tower block where…’
His turn to flinch. The tea leaves scattered on the stained Formica worktop. ‘Why?’
‘To find you. Silly really, because obviously, you’re not there.’
‘I’ve not been back there in years.’
I wrung my hands. ‘Stupid thing to do. Rake up the past when the future,’ I said carefully, believing that Joseph was responsible in all likelihood for the content of my summer of visions, ‘the future is where I’m going.’
He finally shifted his feet, leaving behind the untouched kettle. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. No more maladaptive daydreaming, and yes I did look it up and maybe that’s what I suffer from.’
The gap was no more than an arm’s length. I wasn’t sure if my pulse could take much more; it thrummed in my temples so hard it was deafening.
The colour returned to his cheeks. ‘I’m sorry, that was my fault. I should never have implied—’
‘You were right. They might have been entertaining daydreams, but now they hurt me.’ I stopped. If I talked about the letters, Loretta and Italy, he would think I had a different motive for being there. ‘I don’t want to say goodbye, not anymore. Are you actually pleased to see me? I can’t tell.’
His whole demeanour seemed to collapse in on itself. He went from solid and unyielding to fluid, releasing his shoulders and taut elbows as if letting out in one speechless exhale whatever had held him in check.
Then we touched each other and this time we didn’t let go.
?
Speaking in the dead of night was perhaps going to be our thing.
Light from the street streamed through the high, curtainless windows, which reminded me of a castle’s embrasures with their pointed arches and tracery on the stonework. Up there, dancing beams highlighted the fault lines in the ceiling struts; down on the floor, we lay in the folds of darkness. The Old Chapel House with its seamless shadows and alien features didn’t frighten me. I had no sense of its past, nor of the folk that once congregated inside. There was just me and Joseph, side by side, tucked up in his bed.
He fondled gently, and I let him, and now that we were relaxed and no longer excitable and feverish, we talked. We pieced together the misadventures of York, Spofforth and Conisbrough.
‘Oh my God. The poor bloke was running after me with your note.’ I slapped my forehead. ‘I’m an idiot.’
