Page 68 of Love and Loathing

“But we may as well be clear from the start,” she interrupted. “Because you’re so blunt about everything, Aubrey, except anything that actually matters.”

She ignored his look of rebuke and continued, undeterred. “You are. You act as though you care about nothing and that I’m the only emotional, sentimental one. But I think the truth is that you have deeper feelings than almost anyone I’ve ever met.”

He cut a very small, very precise rectangle of ginger.

“And you’d rather not talk about them,” she said into the silence he left. “I know. I won’t make you. But I do see it. Just so you know.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

They ate at thelittle round dining table that was halfway between the open plan kitchen and small living room. There was one bedroom—Romona’s—Evie spending her nights on the sofa she was currently looking at, with its lumpen well-worn cushions under a navy blue cotton throw.

But it was a nice flat. Cosy with all the old wooden furniture and the polished wooden floor and the rain coming down on the slanting windows. She would have liked a flat like it, been perfectly happy here if it was really her own place and not guiltily borrowed, Romona due back from a conference tomorrow morning and probably desperately wishing she had the place to herself.

Evie had never settled anywhere, always off on some volunteer trip, sleeping in vans and tents and crashing at friends, up at dawn to stand in front of tree-felling crews, or falling asleep in corners after nights of drunkenly debating, planning. Very studenty, she suddenly thought now with a frown. Fun and exciting at nineteen or twenty-one. But beginning to feelgruelling now, none of that energy and effort even getting her anywhere. Had she ever really made a difference? Had anyone anywhere?

“You’re frowning,” Aubrey said, breaking a silence that hadn’t really been awkward at all, but…thoughtful, a little expectant, as though the only reason they weren’t talking was because there was too much to say.

“I’m wondering if I should rent a flat. I can’t crash on sofas forever. But I’d have to get a job, which means I’d have to stop most of my volunteering. Or I’d have to stop donating the money my mother gives me. Both options make me feel guilty.”

“You could live at Conyers.”

“I like London. I like being where it feels like things are happening.”

“Well.” Aubrey put his empty bowl down. “This is growing up. Realising you can’t do everything. Pruning all your hopes and dreams.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be sympathetic.”

“No. I’m not.”

Evie sighed, resigned, because she knew he was right. Then, smiling, she said, “I told you you were blunt.”

He met her teasing look with one that was amused but unapologetic, and she felt the little flicker go down her spine that she always did when he held her eye. His gaze dropped to her mouth, tracked down her neck, shoulders, chest, frank and appraising. And the current down her spine flamed, clenching tight. They were all there, all those memories, had been thrumming under the surface every moment: the shower, and her room, and Aubrey’s hand in her hair, holding her there.

He stood up, collecting their bowls. “I’ll get going. I’m helping Roscoe again in the morning.”

She watched him walk to the sink, then she stood up, too.

He came back, picked up his coat, saying wryly, “Well, thank you, I survived the soup.”

“Aubrey…”

He pulled on his coat, only looking at her once. “I’m not going to touch you, Evie.”

She flushed, irritated. “I’m not asking you to.”

He laughed slightly, glancing up from the buttons of his dark coat. “No? Just me, then, wanting to make you come right here in your friend’s kitchen, amongst all the lovely bloody ceramics. Rattle them off the fucking shelves.”

“So why don’t you?”

“I’d feel bad for poor Romona. I’ve already stolen some milk.” His quick, sardonic humour fell away, and he came over to where she stood scowling. He touched her cheek, his eyes intent on hers, soothing the petulant sting of rejection she was completely failing to hide. “It’s too soon, and you know it.”

“Why? Because we’re trying to prove we can have a relationship, as though sex isn’t a part of that?”

Aubrey exhaled patiently, like a teacher with an idiotic student, searching for some argument simple enough for her to understand. Her irritation grew.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” she said. “The way we are together… I don’t often find people who understand what I want without having to be asked.”

“As I recall, you gave me a list.”

---