the bin, I turned on the cold tap to rinse off my hands, holding my wrists under the cold stream for a moment with eyes closed. I took a deep breath in and blew it out slowly through pursed lips.
‘I can’t really remember exactly what I said the last time I saw you.’ Charlie’s voice made me jump. I turned around to see him in the doorway, arms raised above his head, fingers clinging to the kitchen door frame and his pale, perfect arms peeking out of his shirt, his head ducked low.
‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ I said. ‘But probably not entirely undeserved.’
‘I was so angry,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t mean it, whatever it was. You know what I mean, don’t you?’
I nodded automatically, wishing I could forget so easily. I remembered every word. Every cruel, carefully selected insult. I’d replayed it so many times, each time running it through a guilt filter, I’d probably made it worse than it really was. What I wouldn’t give to trade that searing accuracy for a comfortable blur.
‘I thought you were still seeing him,’ Charlie said. ‘I didn’t know it didn’t work out.’
I wrapped my fingers around the stainless steel of the sink, the cold tap dripping in time to my heartbeat as I stood there, waiting. ‘Well, it didn’t,’ I said in a tight voice. ‘Sometimes it doesn’t, does it?’
‘I know that shouldn’t have made any difference,’ he went on, scuffing his toes along his floor tiles. ‘Because you have been my best friend for so long and even if I can’t remember what I said, I know it wasn’t very nice. I wanted to hurt you because I was hurt. My ego was hurt; I thought that you loved me. You said you did.’
‘I do,’ I said without thinking.
He looked up suddenly.
‘You do?’
‘I did,’ I corrected softly, crossing one arm in front of myself, cradling my elbow in my other hand.
With a sad smile, he choked out a half-laugh in the back of his throat.
‘And how do you feel now?’ he asked.
Drip drip drip. Thud thud thud.
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I missed you.’
Charlie looked around the kitchen, his head gently nodding up and down as he considered my response.
‘There have been a million times in the last few months when I’ve thought, “I wish Charlie was here.”’ I carried on talking, scared of what would happen if I stopped. ‘Or, “Charlie would think that was so funny.” But you weren’t there and it was my fault that you weren’t there. I really want us to be friends again.’
‘Friends then?’ He turned his golden eyes on me and there was nowhere to go.
Friends. It was all I wanted. Or was it?
I’d worked so hard for the last few months, trying to get on with my life and over my feelings for Nick, thinking Charlie and me had been a mistake. But here, now, I wasn’t so sure. Nick was gone but Charlie was here. Would it be incredibly stupid to even think about giving us a chance?
Suddenly, Charlie burst out laughing.
Apparently it would.
‘I’m so happy I’ve got my mate back,’ he said, crossing the kitchen in a single stride and wrapping me up in the least sexual embrace in human history. ‘You know, I’ve had no one to watch Vampire Diaries with, it’s been a disaster.’
‘Your secret shame,’ I winced as he rubbed his knuckles across the top of my head and pawed at my hair to smooth out the frizz. ‘Good to know I’m good for something.’
Charlie looked down at me and our eyes met as he reached out a hand, his knuckles brushing my cheek.
‘Watch out,’ he said, opening the cupboard behind my head. ‘I’ve got an emergency pack of Hobnobs in here somewhere. I say we crack them open, make another cup of tea and get the telly on. You in?’
‘I am,’ I agreed, trying to shake off the tension that apparently only I felt. ‘But only if you’ve got the Hobnobs. Otherwise you’re going back out to Tesco in the rain.’
He rifled around behind the dinner plates for a moment before producing a bright blue package. ‘Milk chocolate Hobnobs at that,’ he said, tapping me on the head with the packet. ‘Best Sunday night ever.’
‘Best Sunday ever,’ I replied, happy, sad, and with a Hobnob craving like you wouldn’t believe.
‘Morning.’
‘Nnueeughh,’ I groaned, my face buried deep into a pillow that I immediately knew was not my own.
‘You’ve always been such a delight first thing in the morning,’ Charlie said as he opened the living room curtains. I rubbed my eyes with tight, tired fists. ‘Nice pants.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, rolling myself up in his quilt and promptly falling off the settee. ‘God, I feel rubbish, I should have gone home.’
‘I’m not sure sleeping on my settee is why you feel rubbish,’ he said, tapping an empty bottle of white wine with his foot. ‘But you were in no fit state to go home, madam.’
‘And apparently you were in no fit state to give up your bed for a lady,’ I replied, clambering back up onto the settee, curling my legs up underneath myself and pressing my head back into the pillow. ‘What a gent.’
‘You refused,’ he reminded me. ‘You said you didn’t need to be patronized, you were perfectly fine on the settee and you wanted to be closer to the toilet in case you threw up.’
‘Oh yeah.’ I looked across into the bathroom and saw the toilet seat up. ‘It’s coming back to me now.’
‘And you said I’d have to carry you and, honestly, I couldn’t be arsed,’ he said, stretching upwards and tapping his fingertips on the ceiling. His T-shirt pulled up around his flat belly, showing off a trail of brown hair that disappeared under the waistband of his shorts as well as some abs I definitely didn’t remember seeing before. His no-biscuit regime was clearly paying off.
‘I should get to work,’ I said, sitting up and trying not to cry. Charlie’s settee was not the place to get a good night’s sleep. ‘If you’re late, Ess makes you wear the Hat of Shame.’
‘Hat of shame?’ Charlie asked, flicking at his phone, a look of concern on his face.
‘It’s a bright pink baseball cap with the word “cock” embroidered on the front.’ I tried to run my fingers through my curls but last night’s rain, sleeping in a plait and a night on the settee had worked together to create one giant dreadlock. Wearing the hat might actually be preferable.
‘I can’t believe you’re working as an assistant to an arsehole.’ He leaned over the back of the armchair to give me a sad look. ‘I know you’re a complete martyr when it comes to work but at least at Donovan & Dunning you were getting somewhere.’
‘I worked eighty hours a week and I was the first person they made redundant when the shit hit the fan,’ I replied. ‘Yes, totally getting somewhere.’
‘But this is better?’ he asked. ‘Fetching and carrying for a wanker?’
‘This is how it is,’ I told him. ‘You know how people say, “you’ve made your bed, now lie in it?” This is my bed. This is me lying in it. You have to start at the bottom, Charlie.’
He made a humming noise and tucked his phone away in his back pocket. ‘You say it like you don’t have any options, but you do. You could get another job in advertising tomorrow.’