think we need to talk,’ he says. He’s still wearing his suit and his hair has been flattened by the rain. His white shirt brings out his tan and I’m not sure if it’s because his body is now out of bounds, but I desire him more than ever.
‘I don’t know if there’s anything to discuss,’ I say, placing the roller back into the tray. ‘Anyway, I have to wash my hands and face. I’ve got paint everywhere.’
I make to leave the room but he grabs me around the waist. He’s holding me so tightly that I’m winded. ‘Please, Abi. I can’t lose you.’ Pain flickers in his eyes and a lump forms in my throat. ‘I know it sounds silly, and I know we haven’t been together that long, but I’m falling for you.’
Tears prick the back of my eyelids. ‘Ben …’ but my resistance fails as his mouth finds mine and he kisses me urgently.
Reluctantly I pull away from him, knowing it can’t lead anywhere.
‘Let’s go out for something to eat. To talk. Just the two of us,’ he says.
My stomach rumbles. I’ve not eaten since breakfast, so I agree.
After I’ve showered the paint out of my hair and changed into clean clothes, we walk to the pub around the corner, away from Beatrice and away from that house. We order at the bar and then find a seat at a wooden table at the back. A candle flickers between us and I think how I miss being on my own with him, away from his twin sister.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘I’m so sorry about last night, springing it on you in that way. I’m sure when she gets used to the idea of the two of us, things will be different.’
‘I found a dead bird in my bed today. It had no head,’ I blurt out. I’m pleased to note the shock on his face.
‘What happened?’
I shrug. ‘How should I know? Beatrice said it was her cat.’
‘Sebby?’ He laughs. ‘How weird. Beatrice always jokes that Sebby is missing the mice-chasing gene. That he couldn’t catch and eat anything, even if it was right under his nose.’
‘So you’re saying he’s never done this before?’ My scalp tightens, my appetite diminishing.
‘He’s definitely not done that before. How disgusting. Must have given you a fright.’
‘It did,’ I admit, and then I say lightly, ‘I hope it wasn’t Beatrice’s way of trying to warn me off you.’
Irritation passes across his face. ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ he says, too quickly.
‘I’m joking, Ben.’ Although I’m not.
We stare at each other for a while. The silence between us is thick, brooding, like the air before a thunderstorm.
The waiter appears with our food. Ben starts tucking into his steak as soon as his plate is placed in front of him, mumbling through a mouthful of meat that he is starving. A group of men are gathered at the bar, drinking and laughing. The noise is abrasive and makes me flinch. One of the men, youngish with a sharp jaw, meets my eye and winks. I look away, blushing. I take a slug of water. ‘I don’t think Beatrice will ever accept our relationship,’ I say, replacing my glass on to the table. ‘I’m not sure if it’s because I was her friend first, or because she doesn’t want to be knocked off her perch.’
A flush appears at his throat and inches up his neck. ‘She’s fine about it. Happy for us, actually.’
I know he’s lying.
I stare back at him until he looks away and resumes eating his steak.
‘She didn’t seem that happy with me today,’ I say as I toy with the salmon. ‘She practically ignored me this morning when she was with Cass. And then the bird thing.’
A pulse thumps in Ben’s jaw, his mouth set hard. He doesn’t look at me. ‘She’s a bit hurt, that’s all. We did sneak around behind her back. I’m sure she didn’t mean to ignore you. Beatrice thinks a lot of you.’
He’s sticking up for her, of course he is. She’s his twin. A stab of guilt pierces the scaffolding I’ve constructed around my heart. How must it be for you, Ben, stuck in the middle of the two most important women in your life? I think. Maybe he’s right. Beatrice is my friend, she wouldn’t ignore me on purpose, she was busy sorting out her website, that’s all. It takes nothing to say good morning, to be polite. I shake my head, dispelling this disloyal thought. I’ve been shagging her twin brother behind her back, she’s got a right to be a little pissed off with me. And she’ll get used to it, in time.
I take his hand and squeeze it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper. ‘I don’t want to argue.’
‘So, you’re okay with taking things a bit slower,’ he lowers his voice, ‘on the sex front, for now? You still want us to be together?’
‘Of course I do,’ I say with relief, and suddenly the room seems brighter, the laughter less abrasive. ‘And I’ll apologize to Beatrice as well. She’s got a right to be pissed off with me.’
‘She’s not pissed off with you. Look, it’s probably best to leave it.’ He sounds annoyed. ‘Let’s get the bill and go into town.’ He reaches into his pocket, retrieves a battered wallet and taking out two crumpled notes he throws them on to the table. It’s barely enough to cover his half of the bill, let alone mine. Not that I expect him to pay for me. He’s smiling at me, his tone lighter, but it seems fake somehow, giving me the impression that he’s hiding something.
Rain batters against the French doors and Beatrice cups her hands around her face to block out the light from her studio so that she can see into the garden. Where is he? The sky is cluttered with fast-moving, angry clouds and she longs for the hot temperatures of yesterday. How she wishes it could always be summer. Thunder rolls across the sky in a low roar, followed by the inevitable flash momentarily lighting up the garden. Beatrice jumps back from the window; she’s always had a fear of being struck by lightning, imagining its electric fingers reaching through the glass to electrocute her.
She shivers, pulls her cardigan around her body. It’s nearly midnight. Where is Ben? She doesn’t feel safe until he’s home, hates the fact the house is empty apart from her. She’s at her happiest when the house is full of people, with Ben at her side. She fights the urge to call his mobile, not wanting to appear needy, even though she knows she is. She paces the room instead, trying to dispel the energy from her legs, her arms, her hands that are twitching to reach for the phone. Her eyes fall on to the velvet box next to her mobile. The lid is open exposing the sapphire bracelet nestled against the satin fabric, the piece that she’s most proud of creating. She’s promised to post it to her client in the morning. She’s been paid handsomely for the bracelet, although it’s not about the money, it’s about the recognition of her talent.
Beatrice never thought she would end up as an artist. She wanted to be a lawyer when she began her degree at university all those years ago, the degree she never finished because everything went horribly wrong and she was forced to run away from it all.
It was the first August of the new millennium when she met him. Most of the students had gone home for the holidays, but she had hung around Exeter with her friend Laila, both not wanting to give up their flat, or to go back home to their families, enjoying their first taste of playing at being grown-up. They had gone to the local pub, the Seven Stars, which all the students frequented in term time because the beer was cheap. Spiller’s ‘Groovejet (If This Ain’t Love)’ was on the jukebox and even now, all these years later, she can’t listen to that song without