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‘Can I take your coat?’ I asked, remembering I was supposed to be in hostess mode.
The whole thing with Jack had really shaken me up. How inconsiderate of him to get snippy with me when I’d basically done him a massive favour. I could have refused to sign for his stupid parcel, in which case it would have gone straight back to the depot and he wouldn’t have had it tonight, anyway. Although, in truth, I wasn’t sure he’d be getting it tonight from me either, even if I did find it. I planned to be otherwise engaged.
Tyler waited in the hall while I laid his luxurious clothing items carefully on my bed and then dipped back into the kitchen to grab a box of matches from the cutlery drawer. On the way past, I straightened the two Martini glasses I’d lined up on the side ready, the ingredients carefully placed next to it: tequila, a bottle of triple sec, salt, a bag of limes tipped into a bowl. I hoped it wasn’t too try-hard, but I wanted to give the impression that I was the sort of person who casually threw Margaritas together for myself on a Tuesday evening. I mean, there was no reason why I couldn’t be. That was the beauty of living on your own: you could do what you liked, when you liked, and there was absolutely nobody around to judge you for it.
‘This way,’ I said, beckoning Tyler through to the lounge, moving my copy of Elle Deco about two centimetres to the left so that it was in line with the arm of the sofa.
I lit a candle, glancing out of the window. It was impossible not to be nosy when you could pretty much see straight into people’s homes. The woman in the flat opposite and up a floor was eating her dinner, a later one than usual for her, her laptop open in front of her as she slurped forkfuls of what looked like Chinese takeaway into her mouth.
I liked seeing what other people were doing, the lit-up windows of Marlowe Court stacked one on top of the other, each square frame housing something different, a snapshot of somebody’s life. And then, to the right, was the never-ending blackness of Hampstead Heath. The flats on the top floor of our building had panoramic views of the city, apparently, according to my neighbour, Clive, who seemed to know everything about everybody. I made a mental note to ask him what he knew about Jack. He seemed extremely volatile; I wondered whether Tom had got permission to sublet his place. There was a reason landlords vetted their tenants and got references, wasn’t there?
‘So Hampstead is lovely,’ said Tyler, who had picked up the trendy coffee-table book I’d dug out from the back of a cupboard earlier and had positioned in a prime spot. ‘All those cool little pubs. And I love your cute cobbled streets.’
I made approving noises to show I agreed with him. I knew I was lucky to be living in such a beautiful, leafy part of London where the average house cost several million pounds and where you passed some actor or musician or other practically every time you popped to the shops. It was crazily pretty Dan used to say, plus he loved telling people at his pretentious city firm that he lived in Hampstead because he thought they’d assume he was loaded. But what I loved about it was all the green, right here on my doorstep. The wildness of the heath that changed with the seasons; the ponds I hadn’t yet dared to swim in; the Georgian cottages laced with fragrant, lilac wisteria in the spring.
‘Did you get the Northern line up?’ I asked.
Tyler laughed, clearly thinking this was an outrageous suggestion. ‘I caught a black cab.’
‘Don’t do the tube, then?’
‘I’d rather be above ground. It’s not the cleanest down there, right?’ he said, turning his nose up.
There was nothing wrong with the tube, nothing at all. I loved rattling along on it, especially if I got a spot standing near the doors and could feel the rush of warm air blasting out of the tunnel and through the windows. Admittedly, it wasn’t quite so pleasant at rush hour, but you couldn’t have it all. Anyway, we couldn’t all afford to jump in taxis whenever we felt like it, could we?
‘Can I interest you in a Margarita?’ I asked, putting his misguided opinion of the London Underground system aside for now.
He put the book down and moved towards me, sliding his hands over my hips.
I laughed nervously. I’d had too much to drink the first time I’d slept with him a month or so ago, which had meant that for once I’d just let go and had done exactly what I wanted without thinking about the consequences. It felt very different now I was stone-cold sober and in my own living room.
‘I really want to kiss you again,’ said Tyler.
‘You do?’ I asked, my voice barely audible.
‘I find you so attractive,’ he said breathily.
Did he?
I closed my eyes as his lips pressed against mine. From the little I remembered, I’d quite liked it last time.
Just as I was getting into it, an ambulance on its way down the hill to the Royal Free set off its ominous, wailing siren and I flinched. It was something I always did, a sort of primal reaction that took me right back to being seven years old again.
Tyler stopped what he was doing and pulled back, looking worried. He probably thought he’d done something wrong.
‘You OK?’ he asked.
I nodded reassuringly, kissing him again to avoid any more questions.
Clearly taking this as a sign of my enthusiasm, he propelled me across the room and pressed me up against the wall so that I was wedged in between the bookshelf and the fireplace. Quite turned on by this manly display of confidence, I undid the buttons of his pale pink shirt, helping him take it off. This was good. I was doing what I’d promised myself I would do: I was mostly forgetting about the past and, while I’d been getting ready for my date with Tyler, I had not thought about Dan at all for what felt like the first time since he’d left.
‘This is probably a very bad idea,’ said Tyler in a gravelly voice, simultaneously untying my dress and sliding it off my shoulders.
‘I know it is,’ I replied, suspecting that this was precisely what had attracted us to each other in the first place.
It felt good to be doing something I shouldn’t for once. In my (slightly biased) opinion, I was one hundred per cent making progress.
