by Lottie Lucas
I’d been signing my name, trying not to smudge the ink with my tears, when I’d heard a sound, barely audible above the howling of the wind outside. Without thinking, I got up and opened the back door … and there he was. Soaking wet and shivering on the step was one of the largest, ugliest cats I’d ever seen. I dried him off with a towel, making his bright ginger fur stand up in tufts. He put his paws on my lap and nestled against me. I could feel the rattling vibrations of his purr right through my chest. And as I held him it almost seemed as if something eased within me. Just the tiniest shift in my sorrow, but it was something. And in that moment I knew that the next day would be better. And the next after that. In that moment I knew that I was going to be all right.
Which leads me onto the most amazing thing of all: Casper … well, he just idolises Josh. It’s almost impossible to believe that this is the same cat who drove away every other man who dared to set foot in the house.
I looked at Casper the other night, curled up on Josh’s lap, and Heather’s words came back to me from that day at lunch.
Find someone who can actually win round that cat of yours; now, that really will be someone worth having.
Obviously, I didn’t share that thought with Josh. It’s best to save the full extent of my madness for further along the road. But I’m falling hard and I know it. It’s like I’m on the outside looking in, and I’m willing myself to slow down, not to throw my heart on the line, but I’m powerless to stop it from happening.
Right now, our relationship exists in this fantastic, fragile bubble; it’s just the two of us. I’m afraid that if I share it with anyone else, I might jinx it somehow.
“Actually, forget it, that’s not the most important question.” Ruby makes a dismissive swipe with her hand, sending the colourful bangles on her wrist jangling. “The most important question, by far, is … how was it?”
Sadly, I was not unprepared for this query, so the answer trips lightly from my lips.
“No comment.”
“Don’t be such a spoilsport.” She prods my upper arm with a bejewelled talon. “It’s so obvious you’ve done it. I know the look of a woman who’s having great sex, and you’ve been floating around with a dreamy expression on your face all week.”
“In which case, you already know the answer to your question,” I say tartly, rubbing my arm. Her nails are sharp. “And you’re definitely not going to get any more details, so quit while you’re ahead.”
“Fine,” she huffs, flopping down onto the nearest velvet-covered bench and crossing one leg over the other. “Eve said you’d be like that, but I thought it was worth a try. Good gossip is so hard to come by in this place. Proper gossip, I mean,” she adds with a note of disdain.
I know what she means. After all, if it’s academic gossip you’re after, the museum is a veritable hotbed. Whose latest book has bombed, who’s angling for more funding, who’s resentful of their associate lecturer’s greater popularity with the students – it’s all been whispered about here, within these walls. All thrilling stuff, no doubt, if you’re a member of that world, but for the rest of us … Well, let’s just say that we all look forward to the occasional inter-departmental fling. At least that has some human interest to it.
In this city, what goes on in books, and paintings, and in the lofty reaches of the mind, is far more real and immediate than anything which might be happening in the real world. It’s simply the way it has always been, and probably always will be. It’s both ethereally wonderful and suffocatingly bizarre; I’ve got used to it, but some people never do. Ruby is one of them; I suspect that as soon as her course is over, she’ll pack her bags and move on to brighter lights. London, maybe, or Brighton. I could see her in Brighton, with the kaleidoscope of life unravelling all around her.
The thought of her leaving is unexpectedly painful and I busy myself at the cabinet, wondering when I started becoming so woefully sentimental.
At that moment Eve appears in the doorway, almost knocking Jeremy sideways in her haste to get across the room. She’s holding something at arm’s length and, as she gets closer, I realise with a stab of horror that they’re Freddie’s clothes.
“Clara, what is going on? Why has Professor Warwick given me these men’s clothes to return to you?”
Chapter 15
Ruby’s head spins around in unbridled delight.
“So this is why you were being so cagey! Professor Warwick, hey? I suppose he has a certain intellectual aura about him, although I didn’t think you went in for that sort of thing.” She gives a long, low whistle, earning an admonishing look from Jeremy, who’s still flattened against the doorframe. “Two men at once, then. I never knew you had it in you.”
Eve looks scandalised, a finely boned hand fluttering to her throat. “Clara, dear, is this true?”
“What? No!” How did this get out of hand so quickly? I look down at the miniature I’m holding. Even the fifth Earl of Kemble seems to be casting a judgemental expression. As if he’s in any position to throw stones, I think darkly. He was reputed to have had seven mistresses at one time. I restore him to his rightful place on the green baize backing and close the case with a click. “There’s a perfectly innocent explanation, I promise.”
They both look at me expectantly. Eve even takes a seat.
“I lent him some of Freddie’s clothes after he fell in the river.” I hold up a hand as Ruby opens her mouth. “Don’t ask. He’s just returning them, that’s all. So you see, all very dull, I’m afraid. Nothing salacious whatsoever.”
Eve doesn’t appear satisfied with my account of events. “And why didn’t he give them to you himself?”
“Because we sort of … had a disagreement,” I admit, albeit reluctantly. “It’s a long story.”
As it turns out, my fears of an awkward encounter between us have proved unfounded. I’ve barely seen Adam at all since it happened; in fact, I’m pretty certain he’s actively been avoiding me. When I say I’ve seen him, what I really mean is that I’ve seen parts of him: an arm disappearing here, a blur of tweed jacket there.
Yes, he’s back in that jacket again, I can tell you that much. Regrettably, it must have survived its immersion in the sludgy waters of the Cam.
Of course, I still feel guilty about what happened. He was within his rights to be annoyed; I should never have lied. I’d quite like the opportunity to tell him that, if he’d let me get within twenty yards of him.
On the other hand, I’m pretty annoyed myself about the way he reacted, not to mention the way he’s still reacting. That feeling has only intensified as the weeks have gone on. The more he avoids me, the less sympathetic feelings I entertain towards him. And the less I feel inclined to apologise. It’s almost getting to the stage where I’m thinking that he ought to be apologising to me.
If it were the other way around, I’d be over it by now.
I would. Totally over it.
But then again, I’m not an arrogant know-it-all, am I?
The vehemence of that thought pulls me up short. Why am I so bothered about this, anyway?
“Ah, so that explains why he’s been behaving so strangely,” Eve says knowingly.
“He’s an academic,” Ruby scoffs. “They behave strangely all the time.”
“Something of a sweeping statement, dear,” Eve chides.
I let their debate fade into the background as I lock the display cabinet and give the glass a final polish. It’s no good; I’m still fuming about this whole Adam thing. So, he’d rather use Eve as a go-between than have to speak to me directly, would he?
Well, that’s fine by me. I’ll gladly let him have his wish. What is he to me, anyway? He’s just another academic in a museum filled with them, in a city filled with them. I didn’t like him when we first met. I didn’t like him much the second time either. Whatever brief moment of understanding we might have had in my kitchen, a fleeting glimpse of someone more human, more real, it ultimately doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t change anyth
ing.
I was right when I said that we could never be friends.
“Whatever it was about, I wouldn’t like to be him right now,” Ruby says with a wary look in my direction. “If the expression on Clara’s face is anything to go by, he’s about to burst into flames at any moment.”
I quickly school my features into something more benign.
“It’s probably just as well, dear,” Eve says practically. “It couldn’t have carried on, could it? You spending all of that time with the professor, I mean. Not now that you have a proper man in your life.”
For some reason, that statement piques me.
“Why not? It’s purely platonic between us, always has been.”
They exchange a disbelieving look, which only serves to make me more annoyed.
“It is! Why will no one believe that?”
Do they not know me better than that? Clearly, Adam is not the kind of man I’d be interested in. He hasn’t a romantic or impulsive bone in his body, for starters. I’ve never even thought of him in that way. And since when did we revert to this outdated attitude, where a man and a woman are unable to form a simple friendship without a cascade of gossip and innuendo?
Okay, so Adam and I aren’t friends, exactly, but we’re certainly not … well, whatever they’re implying. From Eve, perhaps I can excuse it. But Ruby … she’s surprised me. And not in a good way.
“Well, whatever,” Ruby says artfully. “You don’t want to waste time worrying about him anyway. You’ve got far more exciting things to occupy your mind. Or should I say, people.”
She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. I try not to scowl. No way are they going to get anything out of me now.
“Nice try, but I’m not going to tell you any more about him.”
“You see?” Eve looks smug. “I said she’d play her cards close to her chest, didn’t I? It means she’s smitten.”
Ruby looks aghast. “You’re not, are you?”
She sounds exactly like Heather. At times like this, I can understand why men never tell their friends anything. It’s infinitely simpler that way.
Ruby interprets my silence as an affirmative. “Seriously? It’s been two weeks, Clara!”
“And four days,” I add defiantly, folding my arms.
She gives me a disparaging look. “What are you, twelve?” Then her shoulders drop in an exaggerated sigh. “All right, well, in that case, please at least tell me that you’ve had the conversation.”
“I know how babies are made, thanks, Ruby. I had that talk over a decade ago.”
My sarcasm simply bounces off her.
“I meant have you defined your relationship yet?” she persists. “It’s important to categorise your status.”
She makes Josh sound like a new species of fungi. I glance across at Eve. She appears as baffled as I am.
“Can’t we just …?” I venture. “Let it happen? Does it really require a discussion?”
Ruby claps a hand to her forehead in despair. “No, no, no! Do you not know anything, Clara? Not everyone is looking for a relationship; you can’t just assume. He might simply be after a fling.”
I shake my head. “Not Josh. He’s not like that.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Are you sure? What’s his place like?”
I know this is a test, and I feel smug that I can answer. “Not bad. He hasn’t had much chance to unpack yet.”
“Oh, so you’ve stayed over, then?”
At this, I waver. “No,” I admit. “He says he likes it better at mine.”
Actually, I’ve never really got that; after all, his place has the distinct advantage of privacy, which mine certainly lacks. But I haven’t wanted to push the issue; it’s not like it really matters, anyway. It’s such a small thing, on the face of it.
“And have you met any of his friends?” Ruby presses.
“Ruby, he’s only just moved here. His friends are all back in London.”
All right, so that’s not strictly true. There are his hockey teammates; they often meet for a drink in the evening, and he’s come over to mine afterwards a couple of times. I’ve half wondered if he’ll invite me to join them, but he never has. I just assumed though that, like me, he’s enjoying this period where we have one another to ourselves.
Ruby doesn’t appear convinced by my answer. “Look, if you really like this guy, you have to find out where he stands. Before you get yourself hurt.”
I know that she’s trying to be helpful, but all I can hear is condescension in that sentence. I dig my heels in.
“I know how to handle myself, Ruby.”
She just looks at me pityingly.
“Of course you do, dear,” Eve ventures kindly.
Ruby ignores her, fixing me with a piercing gaze. “Promise me that you’ll talk to him about it.”
“Sure,” I say airily. “Whatever you say.”
Honestly, sometimes I despair of my own generation. No wonder people are struggling to find a decent relationship, if they’re trying to categorise everything into neat little boxes. Life just doesn’t work like that. Love doesn’t work like that; it’s about knowing someone, trusting them.
But I’m not about to explain that to Ruby. She’ll find out for herself one day.
She obviously senses that I’m humouring her, because she frowns. I’m serious, Clara. I really don’t want to see you get hurt by this guy.”
I look up in surprise. She really isn’t joking, is she?
“All right,” I concede at last. “I promise.”
***
I didn’t really mean it the second time either. But somehow, over the next couple of days, what she said keeps coming back to me.
Not because anything’s wrong. Far from it, in fact. Josh continues to be wonderful, Casper continues to adore him, and my heart continues to flutter.
I only begin to worry that it might be fluttering a little too much.
In a way, this was bound to happen. I’ve always been an all or nothing kind of girl, an old-fashioned romantic, falling fast and struggling not to show it. And how can I not fall for Josh, with his laidback charm and sun-drenched good looks? Not to mention his skill set in both kitchen and bedroom.
And, of course, the approval of a very discerning cat.
Everything’s rosy. So why am I lying here this morning, in what ought to be a delicious post-coital haze, locked in a mental argument with myself?
It’s the weekend, the bed is cosy and Josh’s arm is flung across my body, its heavy warmth pressing me into the mattress. Everything is inviting me to drift off into a hazy half-sleep, but I can’t relax. My thoughts just won’t leave me alone.
It was last night that did it, I decide. He called to tell me that he was going out with his teammates, and that he’d be over afterwards.
“Maybe I could come and meet you all,” I suggested.
There was silence on the end of the line.
“You wouldn’t enjoy it,” he said at last. “It’s just a load of guys … It’ll be far too rowdy for you.”
“I’m fairly sure I can hold my own,” I replied, trying to keep my tone jaunty. But in reality I was beginning to feel a touch uneasy. “Don’t you want me to meet your friends?”
There was another pause.
“Look, they’re calling for me in surgery,” he said quickly. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you later, okay?”
Obviously, I didn’t believe him for a moment about the surgery. I know evasion when I hear it; I can be pretty evasive myself when I want to be. I stalked around the house for the next two hours, unable to settle to anything. Casper and Freddie, clearly sensing my mood, made themselves scarce.
In the end, when Josh did eventually turn up on the doorstep, he was so full of contrition that it swept all of my carefully rehearsed lines out of my head.
“I’m sorry if I sounded strange on the phone,” he said. “It’s just … I like having you to myself, that’s all. Can you understand that?”
&nb
sp; I’d been forced to admit that I could. After all, hadn’t I been thinking just the same thing a couple of days previously when I was talking to Ruby and Eve?
Last night, it all seemed to make sense. And yet this morning that nudging feeling is back with a vengeance.
The thought of turning to him and asking him to ‘categorise our status’ seems beyond risible. But then again, maybe Ruby’s right; I don’t protect myself enough. It’s not like this is my first relationship, and I’ve been burned before by not asking enough questions in the beginning. I learned the hard way that it doesn’t pay to assume; do I really want to risk making the same mistake again?
But this is different. It’s Josh. And it feels right. Isn’t that enough?
Besides—and this is what I’m really afraid of—what if I ruin it by asking? What if he thinks I don’t trust him?
But then, if he’s the kind of guy I think he is, then surely he won’t take it personally. Surely he’ll understand.
Won’t he?
Great, now I don’t even know what I think. This is why one should never listen to other people. It just opens up a whole world of confusion.
“All right, what is it?”
I start at the sound of his voice. His head is turned away from me on the pillow.
“I thought you were asleep,” I stutter.
“With you fidgeting away like that? No chance.”
“Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.”
He rolls over, propping himself up on one elbow, his head slanted against his hand. “Anything you want to share?”
Suddenly, I’m afraid. I really want to just say no, to cuddle up against him and pretend that none of this had ever crossed my mind. But I can’t.
“Maybe.” I fiddle with the edge of the duvet cover. “I suppose I was just wondering …” Great start; just the worldly, assured approach I was aiming for. Like I ask this question of lovers all the time. I carry on with an effort. “Are we … well, you know?” I finish lamely.
He raises a brow in amusement. “Amazingly, no, I don’t. You’ll have to give me a bit more to go on.”