Page 79 of A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
‘That’s the most rhetorical question since records began …’
‘Smoke some fags, drink some beer, shag some birds ’cause the Banter Boys are here!’ It wasn’t just the shocking content of the war cry but the Mockney accent that Tom had assumed while he chanted it that made Mattie slide off the sofa onto the floor so she could roll from side to side, her arms clutched around her aching ribs.
‘I. Can’t. Breathe,’ she wheezed. ‘No more.’ Then she managed to sit up. ‘Do it again!’
‘Do what again?’ Tom asked in his usual voice. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ Then he smiled wickedly. ‘Needless to say, none of us actually smoked and we were eighteen, all newly arrived at university, and none of us had so much as held hands with a girl, let alone shagged any.’ He peered down at her. ‘You can’t be comfortable down there, Mattie.’
‘I kind of am actually,’ Mattie said because she could stretch out her arms and legs, which were aching after a long day, and also she didn’t have the energy to haul herself back onto the sofa. She waved a hand at Tom. ‘How did you go from Saint Banter to … to … you know, how you are now?’
‘You mean a prim and proper doctor of Philosophy and Literature who walks about with a face like a slapped arse?’ Tom asked her drily, and though Mattie had never described him using thoseexactwords, they were close enough.
‘You said it, not me. I meant the change from Banter Boy to … um … not Banter Boy?’ Mattie asked.
‘It was a gradual process,’ Tom said, holding up his lager to see how much was left. ‘I’d gone to an all-boys school but once I got to Durham and actually started to meet girls – and there were alotof them studying English Literature – I realised to my surprise, that they were autonomous beings in their own right, with their own thoughts and feelings and opinions. That they didn’t simply exist in order for idiotic boys to try and shag them. But my bantering companions were studying far less female-friendly subjects so they never had the same epiphany as me. It really was quite the revelation.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ Mattie said, struggling to sit up and swivel around so her back was supported by the sofa. ‘Must have been a real learning curve.’
‘Yeah, got my face slapped a couple of times, which I very much deserved,’ Tom said, rubbing his chin. ‘Anyway, I had a couple of short-lived relationships, then I moved to London to study for my MA and I met Candace and well, you know what happened next.’
Mattie knew some of what had happened next. But some of it was still a mystery. ‘But Candace didn’t put you off dating and relationships?’
Tom’s face was grave as he considered Mattie’s question. ‘Well, relationships aren’t my favourite thing. Maybe that’s why I prefer to be a Lothario.’
‘You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?’ Mattie groaned, tipping her head back to pout at Tom who raised his eyebrows at her.
‘It shouldn’t matter, not after all this time, but every time I get a woman’s phone number, it proves Candace wrong when she said that I was a poor excuse for a man,’ Tom said and Mattie’s heart ached for him a little. ‘Though there is something to be said for the thrill of the chase.’
‘And do you catch them once you’ve chased them?’ she asked because if he did, then he certainly didn’t introduce them to his colleagues.
‘A few,’ Tom conceded with a wry grin. ‘Quite hard to let anyone get close once you’ve had your heart ripped out for someone else’s amusement, if you know what I mean.’
Mattie sighed. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
‘Yes, I think you probably do,’ said Tom and then neither of them spoke. Mattie imagined that he was thinking of Candace but she was hardly thinking of Steven at all. Since their showdown, he’d become less of a demon who haunted her at every turn and more of a minor irritant, like a cut or burn that was itching while it healed. And soon even that pain would be gone and she’d have the smallest of scars to show for it.
She wanted to tell Tom that maybe he’d have the same kind of closure after his recent encounter with Candace, but before that she had one pressing question to ask him.
‘Um, Tom, are you stroking my hair?’ Mattie mumbled then wished she hadn’t because the hair stroking, which had actually felt wonderful, immediately stopped.
Mattie was still sitting with her back to the sofa but Tom had shifted position so that he was sprawled out on his side with Mattie’s head resting against his chest, which made the most perfect pillow, being firm with just enough give, as if he was someone more active than his bookish exterior suggested. For example, someone who could leap over a six-foot-high electronic gate without breaking a sweat.
The same someone who’d been propped up on one elbow while his other hand had been absent-mindedly running his fingers through Mattie’s hair.
‘No,’ Tom said shortly, straightening up so that Mattie was forced to sit up too. ‘You know, you’re tired. You should go to bed.’
‘I should,’ Mattie said, making no move to get up from the floor.
‘Long day tomorrow,’ Tom said in a slightly robotic voice, his eyes fixed on the extreme bakers who were creating a nativity scene through the medium of sugarcraft. ‘The last Saturday before Christmas. Didn’t you say you were planning to get up at six to get a jump start on all your baking stuff?’
‘I did,’ Mattie said without much enthusiasm and if she just slumped slightly to her right, she’d be leaning against Tom again.
Tom stiffened and pushed Mattie upright again. ‘Go on,’ he ordered in a very peremptory tone. ‘It’s gone eleven now. Off to bed with you.’
‘All right, all right. I’m not a child, I’m quite capable of deciding when I’ll go to bed.’ Although it was nearly half eleven and yes, she had foolishly decided to set her alarm for six. Mattie stood up with a laboured grunt. Tom tapped her on the leg with an impatient hand.
‘Sorry, you’re blocking the TV,’ he said, as if the hair stroking, the leaning, had been the work of someone else. ‘It’s just this programme is riveting. Who even knew you could use vodka to wipe fingerprints off fondant icing?’
Unusually, Mattie had zero opinions on fondant icing but she had quite a few opinions about Tom and right now, they weren’t good ones. Trailing her blanket behind her, she left the room with what she liked to think was a quiet dignity.
