Page 93 of We All Live Here
“Most of the time I just flop. I have all these good intentions—I’m going to have a big night out, or treat myself to an evening of self-care. But honestly, more often than not I lie face down on my sofa and fall asleep at nine o’clock.”
“No…men friends? Sorry, that’s such a weird phrase.”
Jessie laughs wryly. “Well, there is someone, but it’s complicated. Or it’s complicated for me. I can never work out which. You?”
“There is someone, but it’s early days. We’re just sort of taking it step by step.”
When she says it like this, she can almost believe that it’s somehow a plan of hers, the slow, uneven pace, as if she has orchestrated it. She thinks suddenly that she might like Jessie, feels a vague relief at the thought that future trips to the playground may include a friendly face. She is enjoying this unexpected foray into normal life, just a cheerful exchange of human frailty with another like-minded person.
“God, but I’m so bored of step by step, though. Aren’t you? Do you think there are any men out there who just say, ‘Hey, I really like you. Let’s do this’? I remember when I was younger I genuinely thought that’s how it was going to be. You liked someone, they liked you, and ta-dah! You started seeing each other and that was it. It’s like that kind of man has just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“My ex was that man,” Lila says, stirring her tea. “Until he ran off with someone else, obviously.” She refuses to think about Jensen.
“Men are so bloody difficult, aren’t they? I mean, this guy I’m seeing…” She looks up, suddenly awkward. “Sorry—is this too much?”
“Not at all,” says Lila. Hearing about someone else’s complicated love life is making her feel a little better about her own.
“I’ve been seeing him for a while. But I’m starting to think he’s a commitment-phobe.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know if it’s—what do they call it now?—a ‘situationship.’ I mean we go out occasionally, he’s lovely, we have great sex. But it doesn’t feel like there’s any real progress. He’s just not very reliable, is evasive when I talk about getting the kids together, or maybe seeing each other more regularly.”
Lila feels an uncomfortable stab of recognition. “How often do you see him?”
“We speak a lot. But I only really see him about once a week. I mean in a serious, you know, date-sort-of-way.”
“He’s bread crumbing you,” says Lila, firmly. She feels a weird satisfaction at being able to name it.
Jessie frowns.
“My friend told me about it,” Lila continues. “There’s a kind of man who keeps you dangling with little crumbs of a relationship—texts, calls, the odd date—but they never make you a priority. Is it that?”
“ ‘Bread crumbing.’ ” Jessie pulls a face. “I don’t know. He’s nicer than that.”
“My friend Eleanor read me out a whole list. It’s definitely a thing.” Lila is briefly flooded with sisterly solidarity. “Honestly, all these dating concepts now that weren’t around when we were younger. I need a manual just to know what I should be worried about.”
Jessie eats a chunk of her cake. She has the kind of prettiness that doesn’t require makeup—freckled, even skin, long pale brown lashes. Lila suspects she’s in her mid-thirties at most.
“Ugh. I don’t want to think he’s got some kind of playbook. I really like him. That’s the annoying bit.” She pushes away the rest of the cake. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be boring you about it.”
“No,” says Lila, suddenly filled with zeal. “It’s really important we talk about this stuff. Women need to support each other, right? And you seem really nice. And you’re gorgeous, obviously. I’m sure there are loads of guys out there who are more straightforward. Don’t let him waste your time.”
Jessie shakes her head. “No. He’s nice. I don’t think he is…intentionally doing that thing. He’s just…he’s…” She sighs. “You might have seen him.”
“What?”
“He’s got a child at our school.”
Something ice cold and weighty drops into Lila’s stomach. It’s as if her body knows what Jessie is going to say before she says it.
“He’s the father of Lennie in year five. Slim guy, glasses. He’s an architect. Gabriel.”
Lila is not sure what her face does from that point. She is vaguely aware of nodding, of a kind of benign interest in her voice. “Gabriel,” she repeats.
Jessie’s words are rushing out of her now, like a kind of confessional. “We started talking in a coffee shop last year. His wife died, you know. I’m not sure how many people know that. And earlier this year he moved his daughter to our school for a fresh start. And he’s lovely, honestly. When we’re together it’s great. That’s why it’s so confusing.”
There is a typhoon inside Lila’s body. Everything feels like it’s spinning in a great vortex, Jessie’s voice growing louder and then quieter as if she is only half there, drowned out by a rushing sound. She hears,Sex is so great, you know?AndWe have this amazing connectionandI don’t want to push him. He’s been through so muchandHe doesn’t really want people to gossip about usand it’s not even that she doesn’t know what to say—it’s that her mouth feels as if it’s suddenly glued together, as if words are an abstract concept she is no longer capable of forming.
