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‘They’ve probably got other people to see before they can let you know.’
She shrugged. ‘Yeah. Probably.’
‘How did your presentation go?’ I asked, feeling guilty. Perhaps I should have gone back another time instead of letting the fact I’d had a little knock to my ego put me off.
‘OK, I think. I was a bit nervous, but I suppose that’s to be expected.’
‘Totally,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to run through it with you.’
She nodded. ‘I was expecting you to knock.’
Shit.
‘I was about to. On Monday, when I got back from shooting. But I think you had company.’
She looked confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I heard voices,’ I said, cringing. ‘So I assumed you were busy.’
What I really wanted to ask her was whether she was back with American boy. Whether she’d been thinking about me at all, about the fact that we’d kissed and it was great. Whether she in any way would like to do it again.
‘If you want a new bottle of wine, I’ve got one here?’ she said.
‘Oh no, you’ll want to keep that for yourself.’
She ducked into the flat, I heard a cupboard open and shut again, and she appeared in the doorway again. She handed me a bottle of Jacob’s Creek Shiraz.
‘Sorry, it’s not a very good one,’ she said.
I took it from her. The tips of our fingers brushed together for a second and I had this sudden desire to grip hold of her and not let go. Did that mean anything? Did I like her as much as it felt like I did?
‘Thanks,’ I said. And then, before I could overthink it: ‘Would you like to come in and have a glass with me?’
She looked startled.
‘Don’t worry if you’re busy,’ I said, giving her an out.
‘I have got some work to do,’ she replied.
‘Sure. Some other time, then.’
She was back with him then, probably. No doubt she regretted what had happened between us and was trying to let me down gently.
‘We’ll have to do it before you move out,’ she said.
I swallowed. Sometimes I managed to forget that I was only here temporarily. And that Tom would be back soon, with his wispy girlfriend in tow and I would be god knows where.
‘When are you off?’ she asked.
‘Beginning of June.’
I picked the dripping, ripped carrier bag off the floor and folded it up into the towel, wiping up the remnants of heady red wine. If it tasted as bad as it smelled, perhaps it was a good thing I hadn’t had a chance to drink it.
‘Have you got somewhere else lined up?’ she asked.
I shook my head. ‘Better start looking for a house-share, I suppose,’ I said. ‘I can’t afford much.’
She nodded, her hand on the door handle.
‘Thanks for the wine. I’ll replace it, of course,’ I said.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ she replied, smiling at me and closing the door.
