‘A bit,’ I lied. ‘Not really, but . . . you know . . . I’m only working part-time and kids are expensive, so . . .’
Joe nodded thoughtfully. ‘It would only be for a couple of weeks, though.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘A couple of weeks would be great. It would be a sort of test, wouldn’t it? To see if having a lodger is a good idea after all.’
Joe nodded. ‘I’m not any old lodger,’ he said. ‘You know I’ll drive you crazy, right?’
‘Well, if you do, then I’ll just have to poison you with my cooking.’
He nodded slowly and then sighed. ‘Sure,’ he said casually. ‘Why not?’
‘Really? ’ I grimaced internally. I’d sounded far more enthusiastic than I’d meant to. I cleared my throat and forced myself to look suitably dour.
‘I guess I’d rather pay you than that scummy B&B owner,’ Joe said. ‘Are you really gonna cook for me?’
I laughed. ‘Don’t expect the food to be up to Amy’s standards,’ I said. ‘But yes, I’m happy to cook.’
Joe snorted. ‘That would be amazeballs,’ he said. ‘I’m knackered by the time I get home, and I’m sick to death of eating bloody ready meals.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’ll be a pleasure.’
‘And what about Ben?’ Joe asked. ‘You know he stays with me at the weekends, right?’
‘He can have the other room,’ I said. ‘It’s a bit bare, but there’s a bed, so he can have that if it suits you. And if he wants to bring some stuff and leave it, then that’s OK too. The girls will be thrilled to bits.’
‘If you’re sure you don’t mind, that would be great. Because Ben was my big worry as far as the B&B was concerned.’
‘And what about half-term?’ I asked. ‘Will he be staying with you – I mean, with us – at half-term?’
‘Half-term?’ Joe repeated. ‘Shit, when is that?’
‘Next week. All week.’
‘Jesus,’ Joe said. ‘Totally slipped my mind, that one. He was meant to be spending the week in Whitby with me, but of course I’m not going now.’
‘Well, he can always hang around at mine with the girls, if he wants.’
‘Thanks,’ Joe said. ‘That’s kind. I’ll, um, check in with him and see what he says. And you’re sure about all this?’
‘I’m sure,’ I said. I was feeling a bit trembly, so I decided it was best if I left. But as I turned to go, Joe spoke again, making me pause.
‘Would Thursday be OK?’ he asked. ‘For me, I mean. This Thursday?’
‘Sure. Thursday’s fine. Any day’s fine.’
‘Right then. And if you change your mind—’
‘I’m not going to,’ I told him.
‘Right,’ Joe said. ‘But if you do, then that’s OK.’
‘I’m really not going to.’
Joe nodded. ‘OK, then. Cool.’
I gave him a little wave, put up my umbrella and started to walk away, but once again he called me back.
‘Heather?’
‘Yes?’ I’d stepped beyond the shelter of the garage door, and the rain was pattering on my umbrella.
‘That’s . . .’ he said, and as he sighed, his face looked strange – sort of swollen.
‘Yes?’ I prompted again.
‘That’s really fucking nice of you,’ he said. His voice sounded like sandpaper.
I smiled at him and then, just as he turned to resume sorting through his boxes, I thought I saw the glint of a tear in his eye.
As I walked away, the image of kissing him that I’d first imagined while talking to Kerry popped up again, only this time I let the image linger. I allowed myself to luxuriate in that thought, and it felt illicit but shockingly appealing. I wondered if there was any possibility such a thing could ever come to pass.
Joe moved in, exactly as planned, late on Thursday evening. He arrived with a simple backpack that he carried straight up to his room, before returning downstairs for supper.
As it was after nine thirty, the girls and I had already eaten, so to keep Joe company while he ate his reheated dish of pasta, I sat and sipped a glass of wine.
He thanked me a couple of times for letting him stay, and I insisted that it wasn’t a problem. He apologised for not having got any cash out to give me yet, which embarrassed me. I wished that I could own up to the fact that I didn’t need his money at all, but it seemed to me that this would just embarrass us both, so I told him that for the moment I was fine, and that there really wasn’t any hurry.
‘It was weird locking up the house for the last time,’ he said. ‘Even weirder thinking about Ant moving in.’
‘I’m sure,’ I replied. I was having quite a complex mixture of feelings about the situation myself, so I could only imagine how difficult it must be for him.
‘But not weird the way you’d think,’ he added once he’d swallowed another mouthful of food. ‘Weird because I don’t seem to care as much as I should.’
‘Maybe it just hasn’t hit you yet,’ I said. ‘Sometimes these things take time to digest.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Joe said. ‘I thought that. But maybe not. Maybe it’s just the right time for this, you know? Kind of like the end of a holiday?’
I frowned. ‘The end of a holiday? I’m not sure I follow.’
‘Yeah, you know how at the end of a holiday . . .’ Joe said, ‘. . . how you’re sad to have to leave, but also, kind of accepting of the fact you have to go? Because you just know that it’s . . . well, it’s just time, really, and this is what needs to happen next.’
‘Um, OK . . .’ I said vaguely. ‘I think I get what you mean.’
‘It’s a bit like what you said in Spain, actually,’ Joe said.
I shook my head questioningly, so he continued.
‘About how we lie to ourselves, but how at some point you just have to look at what-really-is. And I’ve looked at what-is and sort of . . . assimilated . . . the new status quo, if that makes any sense? And now I’m
