One advantage of Jess not being around was that it gave Laurie licence to wallow in the bath without any sense that she was getting in her cousin’s way. She’d just topped up with hot water for the third time when she heard the doorbell.
‘Shit!’ Laurie lay in the bath, willing whoever it was to go away.
Another ring. Most likely it was Jess, having forgotten her keys. Laurie rose out of the water, wrapped a towel around herself to catch the worst of the drips and went through to the hallway, leaving a trail of footprints behind her. More in hope than expectation, she put the entryphone to her ear: silence. The line was dead as it had ever been. Jess still hadn’t got around to fixing it. Well, this would be an opportunity to remind her.
Laurie was about to press the button to release the latch below when a draught caught the back of her wet neck. The shiver made her pause: she didn’t know this was Jess; perhaps it was time to be sensible. She went back into the living room and stuck her head out of the window to view the street below before calling, ‘Jess?’
A figure in a cycle helmet stepped back from the front door and looked up at her. No, this was not Jess. It was Paul. He held a paper bag in his right hand. ‘I’m sorry. I should have called first, but I got your message and thought I’d just come round. Fancy a croissant?’
Only Laurie’s head was visible. Paul couldn’t know she was wearing no more than a towel, could he? Why did she suddenly feel so exposed? She took a moment to reply. ‘Yes, you should have called first. And I’m not sure croissants really make up for it. But thanks for coming. Give me a minute and I’ll buzz you in.’
Laurie made the coffee. She had left Paul waiting outside while she pulled on some clothes, but she was still acutely conscious of his eyes on her from where he sat at the kitchen table. She was proud of her milk-frothing talents. They were wasted on the espresso-drinking Paul, but choosing a cappuccino for herself at least meant she had something to keep herself occupied while she concentrated on small talk. ‘I’ve realised I still don’t know where you live. Is it near here?’
‘Not far, I suppose,’ Paul replied. ‘Out beyond Finsbury Park. Not as nice as round here – one effect of the divorce, I’m afraid.’
Ah yes, that opened up lots of possibilities. Laurie seized on one of them gratefully as she brought the coffees over and sat opposite him. ‘So how are the kids? Have you seen any more of them?’
‘No, last week was my lot for a while. One telephone call a couple of days ago and that’s all. It’s been a bit crazy at work. You remember how I had to run off on Monday?’
Laurie could only nod. Of course she remembered!
‘Well,’ Paul continued, ‘there was a flood at the gym. I spent the whole week moving equipment, sourcing replacements, dealing with clients, writing insurance reports. It’s been mad.’
Paul drank his coffee while he spoke. Elegant though they were, his hands were large enough to make the cup look tiny, like something that wouldn’t be out of place in a doll’s house. Laurie ripped open the paper bag that sat on the table between them. ‘Let’s see what you’ve brought.’
‘Well, I thought it was too early for brownies, but I did get a pain au chocolat in case that’s your thing. My favourite is the almond croissant, but they’re really filling. I’ll split that with you if you like. Then there’s the plain croissant as a sort of fallback.’
They agreed to share the almond croissant. Paul got a knife and halved it with such accuracy that his ‘I’ll divide, you choose’ was entirely unnecessary. He clearly knew where to buy his pastries; it was delicious.
‘So how’s your week been?’ Paul was speaking again. ‘You said something in your message about finding out where that key came from?’
‘Yes,’ Laurie began. Then she stopped. There was a flake of pastry at the corner of Paul’s mouth. He hadn’t noticed it. Rather than point it out, she leaned forward to brush it away with her thumb, her hand lingering at his jawline, feeling the contrast between the softness of his lips and the faint roughness of the skin around his mouth. Paul smiled, brought up his hand to hold hers, pulled her towards him and kissed her.
Laurie thrust her tongue between Paul’s lips and gripped him tightly. She made no objection as he lifted her up, cradled her in his arms and carried her through to the bed next door. There was a brief moment of separation while each tore off their shirt and fumbled with their trousers. Then they came together again, skin on skin, her arms around his neck, tasting his sweat.
Later, they lay on their sides underneath the duvet, facing each other, barely an inch between their bodies. Paul was the first to speak. ‘Penny for your thoughts?’
‘So do you always carry condoms with you?’
‘Yes, but not because I’m always having sex. It’s just – well – one less thing to think about, I suppose. Do you mind?’
‘No of course not. It’s thoughtful.’
‘Anyway, thanks for not being annoyed with me for not calling this week.’
‘Who says I’m not annoyed?’ countered Laurie. ‘It’s too late for you to find out what I’d do if I wasn’t.’
‘Well, either way, you’re also wonderful. Anyway, tell me about the key.’
‘Later.’ Laurie said firmly, rolling over to face him and smiling.
Laurie let Paul go ahead of her. The towpath was really too narrow for two to cycle abreast safely, and although she was the nominal leader of the expedition – showing Paul a part of London he’d never seen before – it was not as though he could take a wrong turning. She liked watching him from behind, weaving around oncoming traffic, overtaking surprised pedestrians, his legs pumping with easy economy. In a couple of bridges she would take over, lead him on to the British Library, show him the match with the key she’d slipped into her pannier, share both her triumph and disappointment. It was still only three o’clock; a weekend together stretched out before them. What would they do that evening? Would Jess have returned? Laurie hoped not; she liked the idea of being back in the flat, alone with Paul.
They were approaching Granary Square now; there would be crowds there, gathered around the development at the old gasholders, no doubt about it. Here, however, for a short stretch, they were alone. Paul had stopped. He smiled and pointed to a family of moorhens – three smaller ones following what could only be their mother – crossing the path in front of them. Laurie pulled up beside him, ready to breathe in the joy of it all.
Why did she answer her mobile? She was to ask herself that question many times over the next few hours. And each time she could only come up with the same half-hearted attempt at self-consolation: they’d have tracked me down eventually.
‘Hello Laurie, it’s Michael.’ The weariness that washed down the line was unmistakable. ‘I’m in the office. Henry wants to make a few tweaks to the model. He’s authorised your overtime. Do you think you could come in?’
‘What, now?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ And then, by way of explanation: ‘He wants to take it to investment committee on Monday.’
The investment committee? That was a sign Henry liked it, wasn’t it? Laurie looked over to Paul, waiting with every appearance of patience. She could say no, she was busy, but something was stirring within her, something she hadn’t felt for a while. Was it ambition? This was her chance to show off in front of Henry. And she couldn’t ignore the overtime either. ‘OK,’ she heard herself replying, ‘I can be there in about half an hour.’
‘Great. See you then.’
On impulse, Laurie didn’t put the phone away immediately. Instead she used it to take a picture of Paul leaning on his bike, the sun full on his face. He started when he heard the click of the camera, put up a hand like a celebrity avoiding the paparazzi. Then she broke the news. ‘I’m sorry. It seems like we’re fated. I’ve got to go into the office. I’ll call you when I get the chance. Are you around for the rest of the weekend?’
Paul looked rather put out. ‘Yes, well, if I’m not you can always leave me a message. You still haven’t told me what you found with that key. What do they want you for anyway? Is this normal? Do they pay you enough?’
That last question was a bit odd. Was Laurie’s pay any of Paul’s business? Was he implying she wasn’t important enough to be needed at the weekend? Somehow it made the parting easier.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I’ll call you tonight.’ Then she turned her bicycle round and headed back west. Following the gentle curve, she looked back to see Paul still where she had left him, holding his bike, apparently lost in indecision. He responded to her wave with his own half-hearted salute. Then she set off again. A wind seemed to have come out of nowhere, channelled into her face as she rode into the gloom under every bridge.