‘I wouldn’t mind if it was just talking but it sounds like you are swanning round the office flirting with the new, young graphic designers the moment they arrive.’
‘What? I don’t do that . . . You’re being irrational.’
‘Oh, typical. Deflect attention back on to me being delusional. Crrrraaaaazy Lottie,’ I said in a pretty crazy voice. ‘She must be imagining things, it must be all in her head.’ I jabbed at the side of my head with my forefinger.
Luke stared at me, dumbfounded.
‘Gaslighter,’ I muttered, knowing I was being rather extreme. I was past the point of taking anything back, though. I was at that stage of the argument where you just have to crack on. I had committed to this argument.
‘I’m not a—’
‘You didn’t tell her you had a girlfriend,’ I interrupted, triumphantly.
‘What am I meant to do? Start every conversation with this information? We’ve only spoken about twice. And we were talking work: it would have been weird.’
‘You still could have told her,’ I repeated, determined to try and stay on track. ‘How do you think it made me feel?’
‘Oh, well, I’m sorry I wasn’t wearing my Luke luvs Lottie sandwich board that day.’ He threw up both arms to the ceiling.
‘No need to be sarcastic.’
‘There’s no need for you to be so mad but it isn’t stopping you.’
He started getting undressed and I held up a hand. ‘Woah, woah, woah.’
He paused, one leg out of his jeans.
‘What are you doing? I’m not sharing a bed with you tonight, we’re not OK,’ I said, indicating the space between us with rapid hand movements.
‘Are you’ – he stumbled, one hand out on the bed to right himself as he stepped out of his jeans and underwear – ‘what the . . . you can’t be serious. I haven’t done anything, Lottie.’ His voice was louder now and for the first time he seemed to have sobered up.
He sat stubbornly on the side of the bed, arms folded. ‘I’m not sleeping on the sofa when I haven’t done anything wrong.’ He would have looked more serious if he wasn’t wearing one sock and no pants.
‘Well, I’m not sleeping on the sofa.’ I moved across to the bed too.
He started mimicking my voice and that was all it took to make my blood boil again.
‘Stop it, Luke.’
‘Schtop it, Luke.’
‘Seriously.’
‘Seriously.’
‘Oh my God, put some pants on. I can’t fight with you if I can see your penis.’
He stood up abruptly, waggling said penis at me, and I squealed and threw a scatter cushion towards it. ‘I’m being serious, Luke.’
He stopped then, voice low. ‘Lottie, I’m being serious now. Please can we just go to bed? I don’t want to argue with you about who I’ve been hitting on in or out of the office.’ He was trying not to slur his words and had now, at least, put one hand over his offending appendage.
I tried to unscramble what he’d just said, the evening’s bad mood still making a whooshing sound in my head. ‘So you are admitting to hitting on Storm?’
Luke’s mouth opened as he swiped his other hand through his hair. ‘No, God, woman, no.’
‘So someone out of the office.’ I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
‘What? You’re not even listening.’ The other hand flew up so both hands were clutching his head, his voice growing increasingly exasperated. ‘I am not hitting on anyone. I hit on you. When I get to see you. Now will you please just get in our bed and stop being a mad person.’
‘I’m not being mad,’ I said, wondering why I was continuing this, why my blood was still boiling, why I didn’t just get in the cold shower I had envisaged earlier and then get under my crisp sheets? ‘I’ve got the brief to do, I have to work. Some of us have jobs that—’
He cut me off with a hand. ‘No, we’re not doing this tonight.’
‘Are you trying to say my job isn’t stressful?’
Luke breathed deeply once in and out, his voice, when it came, slow and precise. ‘I am going to bed now. In our bed. You do what you need to do and I will see you in the morning.’
‘Me and my shitty eyes.’
He didn’t respond.
‘Fine.’ I seized my pyjamas and marched out down the corridor and into the living room. Realising I had left my briefcase, I retraced my steps, sullenly walking back into our bedroom, catching his look of relieved surprise before scowling and picking up the forgotten item.
His shoulders drooped. ‘Night, Lottie.’
‘Yeah,’ I muttered, closing the door on him.
Tear-stained, feeling stupid and stubborn and unsure how I even got into this row, I sat on the sofa, opened my briefcase and started pulling out folders, feeling even more miserable as I took in all the work. I couldn’t concentrate, still running through how it had all escalated. It wasn’t the first argument I’d had like that with him this month. Sometimes I felt like I came home with all this energy and just needed to lash out and Luke was there and I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
I shook my head. Although this time obviously I was right. I was right to be cross. Storm had said it. He had been ‘attentive’ and how could any man fail to be attracted to her? She was so young and sexy and her crush on him was so obvious. How could he resist those doe eyes? Those adoring compliments? Oh fuck, was I being mad? I paused, swiping yellow highlighter over some typed notes. Concentrate, Lottie, I needed to remember some of this stuff for court tomorrow. Now wasn’t the time to think about my relationship, or lack of.
My eyes fluttered closed, the lever arch folder resting on top of me. Hours later, the folder slithered off me and on to the floor with a thunk. I woke, mouth dry, cushion damp from dribble, not knowing life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.
Chapter 3
Love is like finding a part of you that you didn’t know was missing
ELVA, 91
I hadn’t closed the curtains of the living room so I was awake at dawn, sunlight making rectangular patterns on the carpet. I groaned. My neck ached, my body stiff from the position I had adopted on our sofa.
Struggling into a sitting position, I wearily noticed the scattered papers from the folder that had slipped off my lap in the night, automatically stretching to scoop up the nearest one. I might as well keep working until I needed to get up.
I went to check the time, reaching for my phone, frowning as I noticed I had five missed calls. The time was 6.01 a.m. but I was distracted by the name that flashed up: Grandad.
Five missed calls. All from Grandad. All from this morning: 05.43, 05.47, 05.51, 05.56, 05.59.
I felt my palms dampen in an instant, a swirling in my stomach. I clicked on the ‘1 Voicemail’ message and listened. I must have made some kind of noise because moments later Luke appeared in the doorway, hair sticking up at every angle, dark stubble, one eyebrow raised in a question.
There must have been something on my face because I saw my own fear reflected back in his as he rushed across the room and crouched down next to the sofa. Tears had already started spilling out of my eyes as I listened to my Grandad’s choked sign-off.