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“We’re going to make history, Lawrence Oates,” he says, his eyes alight with excitement.
I feel a swell of happiness. “I hope so.”
“Come on then. Let’s get you back to your girl.”
*
Heidi
At around 5:30 p.m., I hear a car outside, put down my book, and go to the window. It’s Alan’s Merc, and I watch Titus get out and wave goodbye before walking along the path to the cottage.
My stomach flutters. I haven’t heard from him since lunch, so I have no idea how his day has gone. I open the front door and smile as he approaches. He looks tired, although he smiles back when he sees me.”
“Hey,” I say, standing back to let him in.
“Hey, you.” He puts down his briefcase. Then, immediately, he pulls me into his arms, wraps them around me, and gives a long sigh. “I missed you,” he murmurs.
“I missed you, too.” I bury my face in his shoulder. “You smell so good.”
He sighs. “You smell of chocolate and mint.”
“Busted. I just had some After Eights.”
He chuckles. Lifting his head, he looks at me for a moment, then lowers his lips to mine for a long, sweet kiss.
When he eventually moves back, I frown. Something about his mood worries me, and I’m almost afraid to ask, but I take a deep breath and say, “How did it go?”
“It went great. We shook on it. They’re giving us the funding.”
Delight fills me, and I beam a smile and say, “That’s wonderful news!”
He returns the smile, but there’s just something in his eyes that gives me pause.
“Is their investment conditional on your move here?” I ask.
There’s a long pause. Then, eventually, he says, “No. It’s unconditional. I don’t have to move.”
We study each other for a long moment. He gives a small, somewhat wistful smile, and it’s then that I realize. A small part of him was hoping itwouldbe conditional, because it would have been almost impossible for him to turn down the investment. He would have felt obliged to move here, and then he wouldn’t have to make the difficult decision to leave New Zealand.
At first I feel devastated, but then I think: is that really what I wanted? For him to move here because he had to?
No, my girlish heart wants a big, romantic happy ever after, for him to say he’s fallen in love with me, that he can’t bear to be apart from me, and that he’s choosing to move here. But I know how childish that is. I’m sixteen years old all over again, snogging the older guy in the kitchen, imagining it’s love at first sight, and that he’s going to propose the next day. Jeez, I’m so foolish. Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I really am fucking nuts.
Conscious that I’ve let too much time go by, I pin a big smile on my face. “That’s great news,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. “I’m so pleased for you.”
His frown lifts, although I can’t tell if he’s regretful or relieved. “Thanks,” he says.
“How about you sit down and I get you a drink? You can tell me all about it—or not, if you’d rather.”
“Oh I’m happy to talk.”
“Whisky?”
“I’d love one, thank you. I’m just going to change.” He walks into the bedroom.
I go out to the kitchen, toss some ice into two tumblers, take them through to the drinks cabinet, and slosh a decent amount of whisky over one, and some gin over the other.
Then I stand there for a minute, realization sinking into me slowly like a stone tossed into treacle. Our little affair is nearly over. It was only ever going to be a fling. I knew that, deep down, but I’ve still fallen for him. Oh my God, Heidi, you’re such an imbecile.
