‘You do know!’ he says, almost impatiently, and he steps forward again, as if to touch me, but instead he clenches his hands into fists by his sides, his knuckles white with frustration. A passer-by scurries alongside the wal of the church, and we both turn. Ben lowers his voice. ‘Natasha –
can’t you see? He’s never going to change, what are you waiting around for?’ He trails off. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’
I stare at him again. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘Not horrible.’ His voice is low and soft. ‘It’s because I want you to be happy. It’s because – God, can’t you see it? I’m in love with you, Natasha
– I have been for a while.’ And he reaches up to his chest, and touches his heart with his fingers. I don’t think he realises he’s doing it.
‘You’re what?’
‘I’ve fal en for you. What the hel . I have fal en for you. Your smile, the way you bend your head when you’re embarrassed, your long legs . . .’ He opens his hands, his eyes burning into me. ‘How talented you are, and you don’t see it, how tough you try to be, how sad you are, and how happy you deserve to be. You’re so strong al the time and you don’t always have to be. You need someone to look after you.’
‘Stop it, Ben,’ I say, and I’m trying not to shake. ‘Stop it.’
‘You deserve everything, Nat.’ He nods. ‘And you don’t deserve him. You deserve someone much better.’
‘What? Like you?’ I practical y spit the words out, sudden anger coursing through me. ‘How dare you,’ I say. ‘Just because you’re single again, and you don’t like Oli, and you think you know me – you don’t know me, Ben! We’re col eagues, we’re not . . .’ I shake my head, looking for the right words. His eyes are stil on me, searching my face. I think again how naked he looks without the beard and hair. Defenceless. I don’t want to hurt him. ‘Look, I’m sorry. It’s probably best if – I’m going to go now.’
‘Nat – don’t go –’ he cal s. I turn and run up the street. He is fol owing me.
‘Please, just leave, just let me go!’ I am almost hysterical. I turn in to my road, which is completely dead, and as I do I look back down Wilkes Street. Ben is standing there, watching me, a lone figure, dark in the yel owing lamplight. He turns and walks away.
My phone rings again and I pick it up, unlocking the front door.
‘Yep,’ I say. ‘You’re back already?’
‘Yes,’ Oli says, his voice so familiar it beats a tattoo in my head. ‘Let myself in. Is it OK? ’S’not too late? For a visit?’
He’s drunk. I’m drunk. I know what I’m about to do. Slowly, I shut the door and go upstairs, wondering where the hel that came from, whether it’s always been there, and wishing, with a desire I tel myself is completely childish, that Ben were stil here now, that I was in his arms, my head on his broad, comforting, safe chest, feeling his heart beating underneath. His heart.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When I get upstairs, the flat is a tip again. Al evidence of the tidying up I did that morning, so long ago now, is vanished. Oli is standing in the centre of the room, his hands in his hair. He is swaying slightly. As I shut the door, he turns round. He’s been crying. His eyes are ful of tears.
‘Natasha –’ he says, and he pads over towards me. ‘Natasha. It’s so good to see you, babe.’
‘Hi, Oli,’ I say wearily, putting my bag down on the hal table. Suddenly I wish he wasn’t here, that I was alone. ‘What do you want? It’s late.’
He stands in the doorway to the sitting room, hands on either side of the door frame, pushing himself backwards and forwards. ‘I wanted to see you,’ he says.
‘Has Jason kicked you out?’ I ask. ‘Why are you here now? I – I don’t want to see you,’ I say brutal y. I think of Ben, walking through the wet, icy night, back home, alone. Instantly guilt rushes over me.
‘Just miss you,’ Oli mumbles. He holds out a hand. ‘C’m’ere.’
I take his hand, and he pul s me towards him. And I stil want him. Oh, the smel of him: yeasty, beery, sweaty, but spicy too, something to do with his aftershave. His hair, so soft and floppy. His scratchy stubble on my cheek. He’s my husband, he’s the man I thought I was going to be with for the rest of my life. I know it’s fucked-up, I know he’s drunk, but so am I, and hey, isn’t that what we should have done a while ago? Get drunk and just say what we think? With a mighty effort, I pul away.
‘You seeing Chloe again then?’ I ask. ‘What’s going on?’ Oli doesn’t say anything, he turns and goes into the bedroom. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Sort of –
yeah. No.’
I don’t know whether to be pleased by this news or not, or even whether to believe it. I don’t know what I think. I am real y tired, drunk, my hair is wet from the rain, my feet are hurting, and I just feel sad, sad about Ben, sad about this. I should press him on it, but I don’t want to hear what he says.
Oli flops down on the bed. ‘Look,’ he says. ‘Honestly just came t’get some more shirts and stuff. I know it’s late, I know I’ve had too much to drink. I was out with the boys from work, and they al went off early, and I suddenly . . .’ He looks up at me, I am standing against the chest of drawers looking at him. ‘I just real y wanted to see you. To hold you. Sleep in our bed just once more. You know? No, you don’t know.’ He struggles to stand up again and he mutters under his breath. ‘’S’Natasha, remember?’ Then he says, ‘You hate me and you want me to go. It’s fine.’
Cold-hearted Natasha. I push him back down on the bed, just as I pushed Ben away, the same hand, the same gesture. ‘You can stay,’ I say.
‘It’s fine. But nothing’s going to happen. I’m tired.’
‘So am I,’ he says. He smiles. ‘I miss you. I saw
