Читать книгу The Most Difficult Thing - Charlotte Philby - Страница 19

David had already left by the time I woke up. Drawn outside by the light spilling in through every crevice of the house, the sound of the birds perched on the feeder outside the kitchen window, I took my cup onto the patio.

Following the curve of the garden, I walked towards the ornate iron bench which stood next to the door leading out onto the Heath, settling to feel the morning sun brushing against my face, the occasional call of a dog walker, the gurgle of a toddler, rising over the wall.

This is where I was still sitting, nursing a cup of cold coffee, when David appeared through the French doors half an hour later. It was a Saturday morning and the promise of spring danced between puffs of light cloud.

He wore a look of appreciation as he approached, the sun lighting him from behind. With the halo effect of the light around his head, I had a flash of memory: that first afternoon drinking together on the beach at Brighton. It was the same look, one that I could now recognise as adoration, which he wore then. Without the affectations of his university brand – the Camden Market-style jewellery traded in for a simple leather watch; the hooded jumper replaced with a casual light blue shirt – he looked younger, somehow, like a boy who had raided his father’s wardrobe.

He was about to say something, I could tell, but he paused briefly, as if enjoying the spectacle of this moment together in the garden of the house he grew up in too much to interrupt. When he finally pulled up a chair, he pressed his lips on mine.

I smiled, pulling myself slightly away from him, meeting his eyes.

‘I was thinking, we should get a gardener,’ I said, once he had settled himself, leaning back against the bench, his legs splayed.

I had been working up to the suggestion over the past few days, still unsure whether it was within my remit to request such a thing. This was still very much his family home but, beautiful as it was, it had begun to feel frayed, the toll of David’s once steady stream of parties having worn into the edges.

He shrugged. ‘Sure.’ The glint in his eyes remained intact.

I nodded, pleased at his easy reaction, looking away for a moment before feeling my attention drawn back to him.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

He was staring, the smile pinched at either side of his mouth.

‘What, David?’ I tried not to sound impatient, pushing playfully at his arm. ‘What do you want?’

‘I bought croissants,’ he said, reaching down towards a shopping bag. ‘And juice.’

I arranged myself in my chair, ‘Excellent, thank you.’

‘And …’ he paused before reaching into his pocket, drawing out an envelope. There was a loaded silence and then he started to speak. ‘These past months with you … I know, I know, but humour me, please … These past few months with you have been the best of my life. I know it sounds horribly cheesy but it’s true. And …’

He made the sound of a drum-roll, then placed the envelope between my fingers.

Trying to read his face, I opened it and pulled out two tickets, feeling my heartbeat rise.

He watched me as I raised one hand to my mouth, the other hand clutching the plane tickets. ‘Oh my God, David, I can’t, this is too much …’

‘It’s not.’

He held my knee in his hand, squeezing harder with every second that passed.

‘I know sometimes maybe you feel I’m pushing things too fast, but I really mean it when I say that you are the most extraordinary girl …’ He corrected himself, ‘You are the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met. And I know how hard you’ve been working, and, well, it’s a selfish act. I want you there, I want you to meet my family. My dad.’

He watched me, my teeth biting down onto my lip so that I could taste the blood inside my mouth.

‘Sorry, that sounded intense. I just mean I want to spend time with you, away from here. I want you to be part of my life. Properly.’

I swallowed, looking up at him, pausing just long enough to see his desire grow a little more.

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Say you’ll come?’ He moved closer.

Greece. I felt my stomach flip.

Placing my hand on the side of my chair to steady myself, I breathed in.

‘I’ll come.’

‘He’s invited me to Greece.’

I blurted it out as soon as I had stepped inside Harry’s front door, the reality of what was happening jolting through me in fretful waves.

It was only the third time I had been at the flat since I moved in with David, feigning overnight stays with friends; claims I had been waiting for him to question, and which he never did – trusting me implicitly from the very start.

Harry was still standing with one hand on the front door, but after a moment a smile crept across his face and he pushed it closed.

‘Really?’

He moved towards me and for once I moved away, unsure of what I needed, unable to stand still long enough to accept his touch.

He was gentle with me, careful not to push, always gauging his impact on me perfectly.

‘And Clive, he’ll be there too?’

‘Of course.’

‘You’re brilliant.’

This time I stayed put as he placed his hands on my hips, pressing his palms against the gentle roll of the bone.

‘What did you say when he asked you?’

‘What do you think?’

He nodded, absorbing my words. I felt his eyes weighing me up, the balance of power between us shifting imperceptibly.

‘And you are OK with this?’ He spoke quietly, but his words were weighted.

‘Yes.’ My voice was less steady now, less convinced. I felt my body shake, my face turning to the table where his cigarettes lay.

Harry followed my gaze and leaned over to pick up the packet, pulling one out and pressing it into my hand.

‘Are you sure? Because you don’t seem sure.’

‘Harry, for fuck’s sake, I’m sure.’

I stooped to accept his lighter before looking up sharply. His lack of faith had provoked me. What did he think I had been doing these past months?

Sensing my unease, he clamped his right hand softly around the base of my neck, my flesh tingling at his touch. Closing my eyes, I felt the words fall from my mouth, ‘I’ve missed you.’