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‘What about your sister? Isn’t the London home half hers, too?’
‘We did a deal. Charlotte had our aunt and uncle’s place when they died, and I kept our parents’ home.’ He raised his eyes to hers. ‘She was too young to remember them but I wanted to keep something of theirs to keep my memories alive.’
Finally she became aware of what an incredible thing he’d done for her. It wasn’t what she’d asked, but he’d anticipated that what she’d asked of him, and what she’d needed, were two different things. Money, as he’d demonstrated, wasn’t important. Memories were.
‘Nick, I said some harsh things earlier, things I regret. What you’ve done, buying the house, looking after it . . . I . . . oh heck, I’m going to cry again.’ She wiped at the tears hovering on her lashes. ‘I should have thanked you, not yelled at you.’
Surprise flashed across his face. ‘Are you telling me I really did do the right thing, after all? Because I can tell you, I’ve gone to hell and back in my own mind, wondering if I wasn’t making a colossal mistake. Especially when I saw you crying your heart out on the bed.’
‘Well, the way you communicated the whole thing to me was a bit of a dog’s breakfast.’
‘Accepted.’
‘But, yes, on the whole, though it kills me to admit it, you definitely did the right thing.’
A broad smile spread across his face, lighting up his chocolate-brown eyes, slashing a groove down his cheeks. ‘Well, hell, who’d have thought it?’ Still shaking his head in bemusement, he raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink to that.’
Hand on her glass, she hesitated. ‘You will sell it back to me?’
He touched his glass with hers. ‘Of course. For the right price.’
For the briefest of moments she froze, staring at his deadpan face. But then the laughter shone in his eyes and she relaxed. ‘I bet I can make you an offer you can’t refuse.’
His eyes held hers, though some of the laughter faded. ‘I bet you can.’
The rest of the day was much less traumatic. They revisited the house, together this time, and Lizzie’s heart actually lightened as they talked through shared memories. Though the band of guilt remained firmly in place — something she would always have to live with — it felt as though the constraints of grief had loosened, freeing her slightly. With Nick’s help, the horror and blame were pushed into the background for a while and she was able to remember happier times. Sitting in her father’s chair, tears falling freely down her face, felt strangely comforting. Looking through old photograph albums was poignant, yet fun. For the first time since the accident she spent time appreciating what she’d had, rather than focussing on what had been taken away.
‘You know maybe sometime we’ll have a day together when I don’t burst into tears at some point,’ she remarked as they ate pizza that evening. Takeaway, her treat. That weight she’d lost was definitely coming back. Soon she’d have to get on those flipping scales.
Nick scooped up another slice, ignoring the cheese running down his chin. It made her smile. He was so grounded. Unconcerned with the trivial things that so many of her male friends obsessed about. Designer labels, how his hair was styled, whether his face looked tired/sallow/more wrinkled than yesterday.
‘I’m not unused to women crying on me,’ he said, bringing her back to their conversation. ‘In fact, it’s the tearful ones who seem to hunt me out.’
‘Maybe your broad shoulders make us feel you can carry our burdens.’
It was the tiniest of compliments, but she was interested to see a slight flush appear on his cheeks.
‘Or maybe I just have sucker scrawled across my forehead.’
Her attention snared, she snuggled back on the sofa. ‘Come on then, how many women have cried on you, before me?’
His eyebrows nearly scooted off his forehead. ‘You can’t be serious. I’m sure we can find something more interesting to talk about.’
‘Oh no, don’t disappoint me now. You know how we women love a good sob story.’
He winced. ‘Bad joke. Really bad. Anyway, if we have to discuss tears, how about other men you’ve cried on?’
Lizzie waved her slice of pizza at him. ‘No way are you turning the tables on me. I asked first.’
He let out a resigned sigh. ‘Okay, let me see. At university there was a girl called Anne. She was definite fruitcake material. Her parents were splitting up while we were together. Trust me, there wasn’t anything I didn’t know about that divorce.’
Putting her empty plate down on the coffee table, Lizzie smiled at him. ‘That’s part of your trouble. You’re too good at listening. Not many men do.’
‘Maybe I’ve not got anything interesting to say.’
‘Ah, poor Cinderella, Nick, eh?’
He flinched. ‘Thanks.’
