Page 92 of Love and Loathing

“Fine,” he said at last. “You win.”

Evie still hadn’t stopped shaking by the time she got back to Romona’s. She got the keys from her bag as she walked down the street, then promptly dropped them at the sight of Aubrey turning away from the door.

He looked up at the sound of her keys hitting the pavement.

“I suppose this explains why you weren’t answering the door.”

“You’re here,” she said stupidly.

He smiled tightly, as though he wasn’t quite sure he should be. She picked up the keys and hesitantly closed the few steps between them, stopping about a metre away.

“Hello,” she said, remembering another doorstep—Roscoe’s—and this same man.Not her type,she had decided. She’d never been more wrong in her life.

“I thought we could talk,” he said.

“Get dinner,” she suggested.

He didn’t miss a beat, smiled that same tight smile. “See if this could possibly work.”

It felt so fragile in that moment, the thread between them. She longed with all her might to pull on it, heave him towards her, wrap them both tight, but she was afraid it might break. There was a guardedness about him. Tense, unhappy. Hesitant.

But he was here. He had come. That was something. It might be everything.

“Will you come up?” she asked. “Have that talk?”

He nodded once, still guarded, and she went to the door, unlocking it with nervous fingers, leading the way up the stairs, so aware of Aubrey’s silent presence behind her that she felt dizzy.

He looked around the small place, probably thinking of all the things she was. What had happened last time. Everything that had been gained and lost since.

“Tea?”

“Coffee.”

She didn’t even know how he liked it. Wasn’t that ridiculous? She ought to know—she wanted to know. Maybe that was a part of all this, of falling in love. The desire to know everything, and to find all of it interesting, whether she agreed with it or not. Because it didn’t really matter if they preferred their coffee in different ways, or had different favourite foods, or liked different music, or books, or were different in almost every way. Whatmattered was liking someone regardless, liking someonedespiteeverything,becauseof everything. Liking them beyond everyone just for themselves.

Anyway, she could remember he took milk. She doubted he took sugar. He would like it dark, strong, and bitter.

Aubrey waited at the far end of the galley kitchen, where it opened out onto the living room, while she made the drinks. He leant with one hip against the counter end, arms folded, looking out of the slanted window. There were little patches of green algae in the corners. The slate roofs across the street looked damp, though it wasn’t raining anymore. The sky was white, marbled with pale grey. It would be November soon and she—

She froze with her spoon against the edge of the cup, halfway through the act of removing her tea bag. It would be November soon. It had been September when they were at Conyers. September when the cramps started on the way back to London. September when her last period came… And it would be November soon.

Cold, hot, moving very carefully, Evie took the tea bag out, squeezed it, dropped it in the bin, thinking, thinking… She was often irregular. It was why she was on the pill, trying to even things out. She had just started the pill when she got back from Spain. Was still getting used to taking it every day. Very occasionally forgot…

She darted a glance at Aubrey, feeling suddenly precarious, suspended high above everything, on an invisible tightrope, scared to look either side. Couldn’t tell him. Knew nothing for sure. Had to buy a test. God, God, God… This could not be happening.

“Here’s your coffee,” she said, handing it to him.

“Thanks.”

She smiled. A normal, normal smile. Everything ever so normal.Nothing to see here. Not panicking. Not at all.

“I don't know how to start,” she admitted, standing near him in the kitchen, leaning against the opposite side. The mirror of him. She held her mug in both hands, looked at the tea, faint bubbles against the side. “But I’m sorry. It’s a pathetic word for what I feel. I’m sorry I ever planned to… Almost came close to…”

“Maybe you could start with what you said the other day. About it being real from the start.”

She glanced up, found him watching her, his eyes giving nothing away as he sipped his coffee. They could have been discussing the weather.

“I…” How could this possibly be embarrassing to talk about? But it was different here, in the quiet of Romona’s flat rather than the whirlwind of that moment. “I meant it. I…um…I’ve had feelings for you for a long time. Mostly annoying feelings, to start with, if I’m honest. Like an itch. But when I went to Conyers… I truly believed I was going there just for FTP, but maybe I just wanted an excuse to be around you…” She blushed, putting her tea down on the counter at her side.

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