Page 54 of One Night With You

After the booze, and the flirting, and the kissing outside, and now this big fight with Candice, I’m worried even human touch would disintegrate me, somehow. Like I could blow away. Of course, Nic gets it out of me in the end, less than half an hour into the journey, and maybe I knew all along he would. But the thing is, he makes it feel safe to tell him. How is it possible that he’s had this big glow-up, and kisses me like he means it,andlistens as well as he talks?

‘It sounds like she really misses you,’ Nic comments from across the table we’ve snagged. Neither of us have first-class tickets, but there’s no conductor on the train that we can see, and it’s so empty that it doesn’t feel like we’re doing anybodyany harm by finding a cosy spot where we can spread out and chat.

‘I miss her too,’ I say, green fields lit by winter sun whooshing past, my hands occupied by pulling apart some strawberry laces. I’m not even embarrassed by how much crap I got at the shop: strawberry laces and egg sandwiches and ham sandwiches and Percy Pigs and mini Colins and water and cloudy lemonade and little sausage rolls and apples. ‘But the thing is, she’s mad I left. She feels abandoned, and … well, I did abandon her, didn’t I? For three years we’ve been inseparable and then the way she sees it is that I split because of a man.’

‘A man?’

‘Abe.’ I hate saying his name.

‘Ah,’ Nic says. ‘I see. But wasn’t he just the catalyst? You’ve wanted to get your master’s for ages, haven’t you?’

‘Yeah. I mean … I suppose I could have applied for London City, or even Brighton.’

He holds out a hand for a strawberry lace. ‘Why Manchester then?’

‘It’s the best course, but even if it wasn’t I was drawn to being closer to family,’ I say. ‘It’s where I’m from, you know? Just knowing my family are up the road, even if I don’t see them – it’s a comfort.’ The penny drops, then. I see Candice’s point. ‘I think she thinks I sort of … used her. She was my family when I was in London, and now I’ve gone back near to my actual family, which sucks for her because she doesn’t have one of those. They’re all estranged.’

‘Big weight for you to carry,’ he notes.

‘Yeah,’ I agree, soothing myself with a mini Colin and a lemonade chaser.

‘Want to go halves on the egg sarnie?’ he asks. We eat incompanionable silence and consuming something proper that isn’t just sugar helps me to feel more grounded. More centred. We share the ham sandwich, too, and by the time I’ve had a bottle of water and an apple, we’re half an hour from Manchester and the world is no longer ending. I can fix this thing with Candice. Friends are allowed to get upset with one another and allowed to be mad. I really did give her a lot of attention last night, and I understand why giving Nic some attention would bother her, but we’ll have to agree to disagree on that. Surely in a few days we’ll be able to talk rationally.

‘It’s okay if you feel happyandsad,’ Nic says. ‘I don’t mean to play amateur shrink, but … feeling conflicted, it’s normal. I seem over the moon about my new life in London, but like I told you it was awful deciding to do that. And I don’t go back enough for visits – but I didn’t leave so that I could spend all my weekends on a train back up, visiting.’ He looks around the carriage. ‘All evidence to the contrary excluded.’ He smiles.

‘Have you taken the week off work?’ I ask. ‘When are you going back down?’ It’s crossed my mind that if he’s just down the M62, maybe there’d be the chance to spend some time together. I know both that there’s a connection between us, but also that our circumstances make it hard to explore. But if Lady Luck was on our side and he was around for a few days, Ididdecide to make my ‘rules’ malleable ones.

‘Tomorrow morning,’ he says. ‘Here today and back tomorrow. I don’t feel like I’ve been in the job long enough to ask for time off, you know?’

My heart sinks. ‘I’m with ya,’ I say.

‘I’m “working from home” tomorrow morning, if they ask.’ He says ‘working from home’ with air quotes. He openshis mouth as if to elaborate, closes it again, and takes a second to decide what to say next.

The scenery gets more urban, and before long we’re pulling into Manchester station and our time together is up.

‘What have you got to do now?’ I ask.

‘Wait,’ he replies plainly. ‘My connection to Liverpool isn’t for a while. And to be honest, I’m in no rush. My family will go on into the wee hours, even if they start celebrating at lunch. I’m not saying they’re all functioning alcoholics, but if you saw them you’d definitely be wondering where, exactly, all ten pints are going.’

I don’t know if I’m imposing if I ask him to hang out. He knew all the right things to say about Candice, and I’ve got nothing waiting for me at home. The only reason I got the 10 a.m. was because it was the cheapest ticket. It occurs to me that it wouldn’t be very appealing, admitting to having an empty diary. People like people who are in demand and desired and wanted, don’t they? Of course, I don’t need this man to think I am any of those things, because I’m not doing that this year, anyway, and … and … and whatever. If he was a girl, I wouldn’t be overthinking everything this way. Look at me and Candice: we met in the smoking area at an event and ended up living together. It shouldn’t be any different with Nic, just because he’s a guy. I can still be enthusiastic about wanting to spend time with him, can’t I? I’m getting in my own way, otherwise.

‘I don’t suppose you want to grab a coffee before you have to go?’ he says then, reading my mind as we gather our things and stuff the rubbish in the bin. He adds, with an impish grin, ‘I’m buying?’

I try not to sound too desperate as I reply, ‘Oh yes, that would be lovely.’

He moves back from his chair to let a woman with two young children get past, to the doors.

‘Here,’ he says to her. ‘Let me grab the buggy.’

She looks at him gratefully as she’s able, then, to pick up the kid who is crying and hold the hand of the one who isn’t, finding room now to have kind words for them.

‘I’ll get your bag,’ I say to his back, and I can’t help but glance at his arse as I do.

I allow myself exactly five seconds to take it in, and then pull my eyes away and follow him off the train.

The sun is low but eager, the streets by the station surprisingly busy with people coming and going laden down with shopping and fast-food bags.

‘I honestly think a Big Mac would be my death-row meal you know,’ Nic declares, as the salty scent of nutrition-free meat fills our collective nostrils. ‘In fact …’ he begins, and I think I know where he’s going with this.

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