We’d reached the second floor – my floor – and so Joe wished me goodnight. I hesitated for a moment, wondering if there was some way I could now tell him about the dream, if there was a way I could use that story to move things in the right direction. But even drunk, I couldn’t bring myself to attempt it. So I just gave him a fingertip wave, wished him goodnight, and opened my bedroom door.
When I switched on the light, I gasped. The bed was covered with plaster where a chunk had fallen from the ceiling. I called Joe back down and he joined me in the doorway to survey the damage.
‘Shit,’ Joe whispered. ‘Must have been the kids bouncing around upstairs.’
‘Maybe I can just shake it off?’ I said doubtfully. ‘But is it safe, do you think? Or might the rest fall on me while I’m sleeping?’
We both peered up at the damaged ceiling. ‘It might do, actually,’ Joe said. ‘I think we need to move you to another room.’
He crossed the landing and opened a door, but though the room’s ceiling was intact there was no mattress on the bed. It was also icy cold in there.
‘If you can—’ I started.
Joe shushed me. ‘Dad’ll be mortified if he finds out,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll tell him tomorrow, OK?’
I nodded. ‘If you can just help me carry the mattress through?’ I asked, speaking more quietly. ‘I’ll sleep in here.’
‘Sure,’ Joe said, glancing back towards my room. ‘Unless you want . . .’ He nodded his head sideways, strangely, as if perhaps stretching his neck. ‘Never mind.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing. Just being silly . . . too much of the old vino, I think.’
He started to move back towards my room then, clearly intending to begin moving the mattress, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. ‘Unless what, Joe?’ I asked. ‘Please say what you were going to say.’
He scratched his chin. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Better not. Let’s just get this mattress moved.’
‘But I do, Joe,’ I said, risking everything. ‘I do want to.’
He froze and squinted at me. ‘Really?’
I nodded, and as I looked up at him, I could feel that I had tears forming. ‘I really do,’ I croaked.
He leaned in, pecked me on the cheek and then grabbed my hand to pull me up the stairs. ‘Yay! Bedding situation sorted!’ he said happily.
Other than that kiss, nothing actually happened that night. We really did simply share the bed. The situation had taken us both by surprise, I think, and by the time we got to Joe’s room we were already feeling as embarrassed as we were excited. I was also hyperconscious that our three children were sleeping next door, and I don’t doubt that Joe was too.
But when I woke up in the morning, Joe’s heavy, hairy arm was draped across me, and I was able to bask in the sensation of being held for almost an hour before he woke up. I’d forgotten just how wonderful that could feel.
Eventually Joe stirred. He opened his eyes, yawned and said, ‘Oh! Hello, you.’ He then pecked me on the cheek again and surprised me by scrambling from the bed. I watched, bemused, as he hopped into his jeans and then, with no more than a wink, vanished from the room.
I luxuriated in the warm bed for a while, but then doubts began to gather, spoiling the moment. Because why had nothing happened? Sure, we hadn’t wanted to make a noise, but we could have kissed. We could have cuddled . . . And why had Joe jumped from the bed and all but run from the room if it wasn’t simply that he was embarrassed about the drunken mistake of having shared a bed?
We were crazily busy all day, and that busyness was useful as a distraction from my worries about Joe.
We cleared the fallen rubble and dust from the bedroom and then Joe went off in search of plaster, while I helped Emma cook a big brunch for everyone. As the DIY store was closed, Joe was back within ten minutes, but instead of helping us in the kitchen, he vanished upstairs to strum on his old guitar, which struck me as a bit out of character.
‘So are you and Joe together?’ Emma asked me, at one point.
I was in the process of chopping mushrooms, and as we’d been discussing what Whitby was like in summer, her question rather flummoxed me.
‘You don’t have to answer that,’ she laughed, when I hesitated. ‘I’m always getting into trouble for being too direct. It’s just that there’s a vibe about you two.’
‘No . . . it’s . . . um . . .’ I stumbled. ‘It’s just that I don’t know really,’ I finally managed. ‘I don’t think so. Not in any proper way, anyway. We just share a house for the moment, that’s all.’
‘For the moment,’ Emma repeated.
‘Yes,’ I said. I could feel myself blushing. ‘I don’t know.’
‘But you’d like to?’ Emma said.
It was my turn to laugh. ‘Gosh, you are a bit direct, aren’t you?’
‘Well, you’re right to be interested, anyway. That’s all I wanted to say. From everything I’ve heard, he’s quite the catch. That Amy doesn’t know what she’s given up.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s the impression I’m getting, too.’
Emma crossed to the sink behind me, but as she passed by she paused and rested one hand on my shoulder. ‘And don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I won’t say a word.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’
‘Not even to Reg.’
‘Especially not to Reg.’
She gave my shoulder a squeeze then, and saying, ‘It can be our little secret,’ continued on to the sink.
Eventually, once the table was set and everything was ready, Emma sent me to call everyone to the table. I found Reg in the lounge, reading, and the kids playing cricket
