But then I thought of Joe’s face, of his chunky body, and his thick hair, and the smile lines around his eyes, and couldn’t help but smile myself. Because no, that wasn’t it.
It was that Joe made me want to be a better version of myself. He noticed me, that was the thing. He really saw me. And that attention – something that had been missing my entire life – made me want to be wittier and kinder and cleverer. In a nutshell, being with Joe made me feel alive.
He got home extra early that day. It must have been about three, because I hadn’t even left to meet the girls from school.
‘All done?’ I asked, on entering the kitchen. He was washing his hands at the sink.
‘All done,’ he said, shooting me a sideways smile. ‘I thought I’d never finish. Jesus, that was a shitty job. Pardon my French.’
‘You’ve got . . .’ I said, raising a finger to my forehead and rubbing it, imagining how it would feel to be stroking Joe’s hair instead. ‘You’ve got paint, here . . .’ I said. ‘In your hair.’
‘Oh,’ he said, turning back to the sink, and washing his face with gusto.
‘So what now?’ I asked, as he dried his face on a tea towel.
‘Um?’ he asked, sounding fake, sounding as if he was pretending the subject was unexpected.
‘What now?’ I asked again. ‘Have you decided on your next move yet?’
Joe dried his hands and threw the tea towel on to the countertop, and then picked it back up again to hang it from the rail. Finally, he turned his back to the sink and frowned at the floor for a moment before looking up at me. ‘Yeah, I need to talk to you about that,’ he said.
His partner, Joe-the-younger, had found more work, he explained. He’d been begging Joe to stay on.
‘I see,’ I said. ‘And what have you decided?’
‘Well, it’s up to you, really,’ Joe said. ‘I, um, totally get it if you want me out.’
‘I totally don’t want you out,’ I said. ‘I love you being here, Joe. Really I do.’ It was the closest I’d ever got to saying how I felt, but even though I’d managed to slip the word love in there, it was still so far from the truth.
Joe shrugged. ‘I’m loving being here,’ he said. ‘And it’s great for Ben, too. And the work just keeps coming in . . . So it would seem silly to walk away, you know?’
‘It would,’ I told him. ‘It makes perfect sense.’
‘But that’s not it, really,’ Joe said. ‘I’m . . . um . . . I don’t know how to say it, really. But I’m happy at the moment. I didn’t expect that, not now, not with, you know, everything that’s happened. But I am. This . . .’ He gestured vaguely around the kitchen. ‘It just works for me, you know?’
I nodded and blinked back tears. ‘I do,’ I said. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘So I thought maybe we could . . . you know . . .’ Joe stammered.
‘Yes?’ I asked. I gripped one hand with the other to stop it trembling.
‘Maybe we could plan a bit longer term,’ Joe said.
‘That might be nice,’ I told him. I winced at myself. Nice sounded so mealy-mouthed, after all.
‘So . . . I thought . . . maybe, end of April. Or even May?’ Joe said. ‘See how it goes?’
‘That would be lovely,’ I said, both thrilled that he was staying and distraught that, even as he was announcing it, he was maintaining the temporary nature of his stay.
‘Um, another thing is Easter,’ Joe said.
‘Easter?’
‘Yeah. I have to go up to Dad’s.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘No problem. Do you want me to look after Ben or something?’
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘No, that’s not it. Ben’s coming with me. He loves to see his grandad and everything, so . . .’
‘Of course,’ I said.
‘No, it’s just . . . well . . . I was wondering if, maybe . . . I mean, only if you fancy it . . . but I thought perhaps you might want to tag along?’
‘Me?’ I said.
Joe shrugged. ‘Yeah. And the girls, of course. We could make it into a holiday kind of thing. Well, a break, anyway. What d’ya think?’
I chewed my bottom lip for a second and swallowed with difficulty. And then I made myself be brave. ‘That would be lovely,’ I said. ‘I’d really, really like that.’
Even though I hadn’t seen Kerry for years, and had been incredibly excited about the Easter trip she had tentatively planned, I phoned her that evening to reschedule.
‘It suits me better, to be honest,’ she said. ‘I’ve been invited to a massive party on Lake Como by my DJ friend. It’s going to be absolutely amazing and there are rumours that Clooney’s going to be there.’
My sister’s lack of disappointment made me laugh, and I strongly suspected that she would have cancelled me in favour of the party anyway.
The run-up to Easter was such a strange, emotional no-man’s-land, I really didn’t know what to think.
In a way, of course, nothing had changed. Joe was still a paying lodger, vanishing to his room at ten thirty and still planning, in theory, his move north. But in another way, everything had changed as well, because he’d told me something quintessential: he was happy here; he preferred living here. And so did his son. I ran that conversation over and over in my head and wondered if it was unreasonable to let myself dream.
My moods swung back and forth, depending on whether I chose to concentrate on Joe-the-lodger, or Joe, the object of my desire. Suffice to say, I was terribly excited about the upcoming trip to Whitby.
Ant and Amy were living down the road by then, so when I passed their house I would see their two cars parked side by side and invariably
