Page 20 of A Winter Kiss on Rochester Mews
It was pretty much the worst thing that anyone had ever said to Mattie, or at least in the top ten worst things.
‘Fine,’ she said herself.
‘Fine,’ said Tom again.
Nina grinned. ‘Is anyone else feeling like maybe things aren’t actually fine at all?’ she wanted to know. Then her grin grew broader. ‘I hope this isn’t unresolved sexual tension and the reason you don’t want a third flatmate is that you’re going to be at it like rabbits as soon as we all leave?’
‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response,’ Tom said icily, launching himself away from the kitchen doorway where he’d been leaning. ‘If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my room. Please knock before coming in.’
As soon as they heard the door shut, Nina turned to Mattie eagerly. ‘I will pay you actual cash money for any dirt you get on Tom. Name your price!’
‘She doesn’t mean it,’ Noah said, gently cuffing Nina’s chin.
‘I do,’ Nina said, but Mattie folded her arms.
‘I’m pretty sure that there’s no dirt on Tom, because why would anyone in their right mind want to get dirty with him?’ she said with a shudder at the thought of Tom having … ugh! Carnal relations! ‘But even if he brought back the entire chorus line fromAnything Goes, there’s a flatmate code of conduct and I’d never spill. In much the same way that if I brought back the English rugby team, Tom would be sworn to secrecy.’
‘I never would have thought that your type would be a rugger bugger,’ Nina mused, and Mattie’s type absolutely wasn’t. In the past she’d gone for brooding, dark-haired men who’d looked good in chef’s whites, but the thing about the past was that it wasn’t the present and it definitely wasn’t the future.
Not that Nina needed to know that – and the only way to deal with Nina was to beat her at her own game.
‘Actually, talking of the English rugby team, they’re coming over in about an hour so it would be really good if you were gone by then,’ Mattie said calmly as Nina hooted in delight. ‘We’re going to need a lot of room for what I have planned.’
Nina was already on her feet, while Noah made his excuses and all but ran from the room. ‘Say no more. It’s always the quiet ones!’ said Nina.
Once Nina and Noah had finally left, Tom stayed in his room the whole time Mattie cleaned the kitchen, leaving no crumb and not one butter smear unvanquished.
Then as soon as she went into her room, Tom was out of the flat door and down the stairs without a word. Which suited Mattie very well. Now she could have a bath without worrying that Tom would hear her splashing about (the thought of being naked with only a door separating them was quite the headtrip).
They’d been in the flat for three days now and this was the third night in a row that Tom had gone out. It was better that he was out than in, especially if she was in too, but where on earth did Tom go? Did he find a quiet corner of a quiet pub and read a book rather than stay in with Mattie? Did he go out with the Banter Boys? Or perhaps Tom really did have a girlfriend who he preferred to spend his evenings with.
As Mattie ran her bath, pouring a generous dollop of her favourite fig-scented bubble bath into the water so that heavenly-scented steam clouds rose up, she decided that Tom couldn’t have a girlfriend. If he had, then there would be no reason to be so secretive about her. And also, what woman in her right mind would ever want to date a shabbily dressed man with a superiority complex?
Generally speaking, Mattie had always found it easy to avoid Tom, even now they were living and working in the same general space.
She barely saw him in the tearooms apart from when he came in for his free coffee at 10.10 exactly, and when she popped into the shop to talk with Posy or Verity or present them with spare baked goods, Tom was usually lurking in one of the anterooms with a customer or sitting on one of the sofas, his head bent over his staff-issue iPad as he updated Happy Ever After’s Twitter account. Usually, he gave no indication that he’d even registered Mattie’s presence, unless she was carrying cake. And surprisingly, it was very easy to avoid Tom of an evening because he went out every night like some tweedy party animal.
But the night after Nina left, they finally came into close contact on the stairs that led up to their flat. Mattie trudging upwards ready for nothing but bath, box set then bed, Tom descending with his ancient Nokia phone clamped to his ear.
They both immediately clung to opposite sides of the stair; Mattie pinned to the bannister as Tom pressed himself up against the wall so there’d be no chance of body contact. It was all Mattie could do not to shudder at the thought.
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes,’ Tom said, as he inched past her down the stairs. ‘I’m practically at the tube station.’
Liar, liar, pants on fire, Mattie thought to herself, then frowned, as she was once again thinking about Tom’s pants. No! Not going there! As the door slammed, she shook her head to free her mind from the searing image of Tom clad in a pair of baggy old-fashioned underpants.
Mattie made a quick supper of an omelette that was more melted cheese than egg and studded with field mushrooms, then settled down in the living room with her plate, a large glass of red wine and Netflix. She wasn’t really making the most of living in Central London – but all her non-bookshop friends were single and all they ever wanted to do was go to places where they could meet people who might make them less single. And Mattie was actually very happy alone. Deliriously happy that her heart was safely tucked in her chest where it couldn’t be hurt or broken.
It was all very well making eyes with some stranger in a bar, letting him buy you a drink or vice versa, flirting, agreeing to a date, then another and another. But that led to welcoming someone into your life only for them to take it over, destroy it, ransack and belittle everything that you hold dear.
Added to that, the Christmas party season was well under way, so any strangers that Mattie might meet would be wearing questionable festive jumpers with snowmen, robins and other assorted festive miscreants on them. They’d also think that they could take all manner of liberties ‘because it’s Christmas!’ So, Mattie would much rather spend a night staying in, trying not to let her now-unhappy train of thought derail the simple pleasures of good wine, melted cheese and a new episode ofThe Crown.
As she tried to concentrate on the latest adventures of Liz and Phil, her attention kept wandering. Not just with bad memories that she tried not to dwell on but because something about the living room was different.
It was quite empty without Nina’s mini bar and coffee table and yet it didn’t look empty. The shelves set into the alcoves on either side of the fireplace had been full of Verity and Nina’s books. (‘But not all our books,’ they were both at pains to point out, as if not having enough books was a terrible crime.)
Since Nina had left, the shelves had been bare but now the ones on the left had books on them once more. Tom’s books, obviously. They were bound to be dry, academic tomes that would hold absolutely no interest for Mattie, who had very little interest in books – althoughPassion and Patisserie at the Little Parisian Caféhad been quite enjoyable and she was deep into a proof ofThe Little Cake Shop on Buttercup Lane. She’d had no idea that there was a whole sub-genre of romantic fiction about young women running cake shops and, despite herself, Mattie was into it.
Surely there would be no romantic fiction nestling on Tom’s shelf – but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to check. When Mattie returned from a quick trip to the kitchen for afters (leftover bread and butter pudding from the tearooms that she’d made to use up yesterday’s pains au chocolat) she wandered over to see what books floated Tom’s boat.
