Page 90 of The Art of Loving You

There was something in his expression, something different. Perhaps not attraction as I’d thought before when we’d spun around to Chuck Berry but something else.

Regret?

Longing?

Whatever it was it made me uncomfortable. I shifted away from him slightly.

‘You do know that there’s no chance that … this … us … will ever turn into a relationship, don’t you?’ I should have said this before when he’d tucked my hair behind my ear, touched my face. ‘I appreciate you helping with the house—’

‘Libby!’ He looked horrified. ‘If I’ve ever given you that impression—’

‘Sorry. It’s been a tough few days. Can we just forget I said that?’ I regretted pushing Alice away earlier, I didn’t want to alienate Noah too. ‘I feel that right now, you’re the only person on my side. You’re the only person I can talk to.’

I spoke truthfully because I had thought then that he was my friend. I had thought he was on my side.

I didn’t know that he had a hidden agenda. Soon I would find out, but that day, as we sat in companionable silence, it seemed he was my little bit of sanctuary. My little bit of peace in an otherwise frantic world.

Again, I was a fool.

Chapter Thirty

Three days.

It had been three days since I had convinced myself that leaving the house had been the key to Jack appearing but after I’d returned home after visiting the churchyard the house was still.

Silent.

Cold.

It had been three days since I had seen Noah.

Alice.

Three days in which I’d barely slept, not wanting to miss Jack.

Three days since I had answered my phone.

The doorbell rang.

Mum stood on the doorstep, wind blustering her hair around her face. Her mouth fixed in an expression of determination or perhaps resignation; whatever it was, it wasn’t a smile. She couldn’t quite meet my eye as she stepped inside.

‘I’ve been trying to ring you.’ She bustled into the kitchen.

Normal. Act normal.

‘Sorry. My mobile battery’s flat. Do you want something to drink?’ I could have been reading from a script.

‘You look awful, Libby.’

My hand instantly smoothed my hair. It felt limp under my touch, a greasy sheen to it. Had I washed it today? Yesterday?

‘… Jack.’ The sound of his name jolted me back to Mum.

‘What about Jack?’ I asked.

Mum tutted. ‘Have you listened to a word I’ve said?’

She pushed my steaming mug towards me. I didn’t remember making coffee or sitting down. Panic rose and I quashed it.

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