Page 71 of Just Do It
‘Merci, ma belle.’
‘Message me later when you’re feeling better.’
‘You assume I will.’ She summoned up enough energy to send me a tragic look.
‘I’m sure you’ll drag yourself through it. If not, I’ll make sure the funeral is magnificent.’
‘I knew I could count on you.’
I grinned and she responded with a watery smile, the most she could apparently manage but I appreciated the effort.
‘Get well soon. Love you lots.’
‘Merci. J’aime aussi.’ Her eyelids drooped again. Suddenly she forced them open. ‘He’s good for you, you know. Finn. He’s good for you.’
It was hard to disagree but Colette seemed to take the hesitation before I replied as such.
‘He is. I know he’s not your usual type but that’s not a bad thing. He’s widening your horizons – and I mean that in a good way. Not everything is about academia.’
‘I do know that.’
She gave me a look that suggested she thought otherwise.
‘I do. It’s just hard. I’ve had that all my life. I suppose it was just what I knew.’
‘What was safe,’ Colette added.
‘Maybe.’
‘I really like him. And I really like him for you.’
‘I really like him too.’
‘Is he there?’
‘No. He had to go and get his car from his sister’s and then meet up with some friends.’
‘What are you up to?’
‘I’m going out to try and clear my head.’ I held up a large water bottle. ‘And dilute my blood back to a level where it doesn’t feel like it’s 80 per cent proof.’
‘I know that feeling. I’m hoping to do that by sleeping. Your way sounds like far too much effort.’
‘Let’s hope both ways work. I’ll let you sleep. Talk to you later.’
She snuck a hand from under the duvet again, waved sleepily and I hung up.
‘You look nice.’ Finn smiled as he greeted me on the steps of the stately home hosting tonight’s book launch.
I looked down at the basic black dress I’d chosen. It was functional and plain and, I knew, boring. But it suited me and the image I wanted and perhaps felt I needed to portray. Sensible. Serious, and to be taken seriously.
‘Thanks,’ I said as I handed over my coat to the cloakroom. I caught a glance of other guests in far more sophisticated dress and felt an unexpected stab of envy. Colette had made several attempts to get me to ‘lighten up’, as she put it, my sartorial choices but I resolutely stuck to my guns. I couldn’t help but wonder though, as a historian I recognised from telly swished by in a hot pink, bias-cut silk gown, her hips swaying, the fabric rippling sensuously as she walked. What would it be like to step out of this look I’d cultivated for myself. Could I take the chance? The woman in pink flashed Finn a smile. I gave myself a mental kick, told myself my clothes were perfectly adequate and folded my arms across my chest. Finn placed his hand gently at the small of my back and we entered the room.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked sometime later in the evening. Normally laid back and chatty, Finn had been unusually quiet this evening.
‘Yeah. Probably just a bit tired. Sorry. Long day.’ There was a tightness about his mouth and eyes that I had rarely, if ever, seen.
‘We can go shortly. I promise.’
