‘Well, yeah. But I drew the line at manscaping.’
Nick tipped his head back and laughed. ‘Well, with the way you’re going today, it’ll be no time at all before you’re in some far-flung country, reporting for an international feminist publication, just like you’ve always wanted.’
My mouth fell open. ‘You remember that?’
‘Well, yeah.’ He looked awkward. ‘Education, access to contraception and abortion, representation in parliament, right? I know I’m no good with relationships, but I remember the things people are passionate about.’
I was speechless. When he’d listened as I drunkenly regaled my life’s ambitions to him at that Christmas party, I’d later assumed it was all part of his plan to get me in bed. But he’d remembered it all.
‘What about you?’ I asked as our next course arrived. ‘How does a photographer with your talent end up at a tabloid magazine?’
He gave me a curious look. ‘You think I’ve got talent?’
‘You’re not just a celebrity snapper. You’re an artist. You’re wasted at a place like Women’s Choice, that’s all I’m saying.’
His face coloured slightly and he looked like he was trying not to smile. ‘A bit like you, I always planned to travel the world as a photojournalist. Women’s Choice was supposed to be a temporary gig to earn a bit of easy money. But then the months morphed into years and I still haven’t left. I’ll get out of there one day. Thanks, by the way.’
‘What for?’
‘For what you said about my work.’
‘Oh. Don’t mention it.’
The waiter cleared our plates and we ordered dessert.
‘So, did we just have an actual conversation there?’ Nick asked.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
I grinned down at the table. I don’t know if it was just the effect of the wine, but ever since he’d shown he’d been listening, really listening, to my hopes and dreams all that time ago, it seemed my body temperature rose a little more with each glance we exchanged. I managed to ignore yesterday’s argument, the girl in his room, the situation with James. Everything but the way it felt to be here with him. The afternoon passed by in a pleasant haze of unreality that I wished would never end—but end it did, with a text from James.
We were finishing our meal with a digestive liqueur when my phone beeped. My stomach dropped to my feet as I read his message.
Cleared my things out of house & putting on market u can get ur stuff whenever u decide to come home
‘Bastard!’ I said.
‘What happened?’ Nick asked.
I handed him the phone without a word and watched his face as he read the message.
‘That’s harsh.’ He placed the phone face down on the table. ‘He didn’t even use punctuation.’
The hypnotic spell of the afternoon shattered into a thousand bitter pieces. ‘Yeah, that’s helpful, Nick, thanks a fucking lot.’ I snatched the phone up.
‘You’re always going on about how you hate it when people abbreviate text messages. I was just trying to be funny.’
‘By making light of my relationship being over? Hilarious.’
His lip curled. ‘So you still want him back, then?’
‘I don’t know.’
It was true. The idea of going back to that safe, comfortable, pre-break-up life was appealing, but only with the James I’d fallen in love with. Not this new, cold, uncaring James. And I felt like I’d moved past needing—or wanting—that safety net. I wanted to be independent and James had never been able to let go of his quaint need to look after me. Whatever was going on here with Nick was another, separate story altogether.
‘He can’t make that decision without you,’ Nick said. ‘Didn’t you buy the house together, anyway?’
Suspicion flashed inside me, sudden and fierce. ‘Why are you taking my side in this? He’s your friend, not me. Are you gathering intel to report back to him?’
‘For god’s sake, I’m not taking anyone’s side. You’re not the only one he’s been ignoring for the last few months, you know. I’m just saying, if your name is on the title, he can’t sell it without your consent.’
My rage simmered down to moody agitation. ‘Sorry, I don’t know why I said that. As if you care whether or not we get back together.’
Nick looked like he wanted to say something, but then leant back in his chair and remained silent. The waiter reappeared and asked if we wanted another drink, but this latest development had ruined the tranquil mood of the afternoon, and I shook my head and asked for the bill instead.
The last few months had been a turmoil of emotions, one minute thinking all I wanted was for James to come home, and the next wanting to punish him for what he’d put me through. And then being dragged from misery to happiness and back again from the events of the last few days. Throw in the Nick curveball and I was really messed up.
But there was one thing I did know. I’d loved that house from the moment we’d gone to the first open inspection. I’d squealed with glee when we’d gone twelve grand over our limit to win it at the auction. It had made me feel so mature and responsible to have my own house, and I was damn well going to hang on to it, no matter what it took. Even if I had to sell my soul and work with Adelita.
‘I should probably get back and check out this notebook,’ I said to Nick as he paid the bill.
‘You don’t want to do the sightseeing thing, then?’
‘I’m not really up for it now. Sorry.’
He wouldn’t look at me. ‘Fine, let’s go then.’
I read Ford’s notebook from cover to cover, but unless there was some kind of code that I couldn’t decipher, there was nothing in it of interest. The only thing I did learn is that The Fords’ lyrics were totally lame. If even a fraction of these sketchy verses made it into their songs, maybe the bad reviews from the Australian tour weren’t
