It was annoying verging on humiliating to be picking up after her, like some kind of domestic help. Matt folded the clothes into a rough pile and dumped them on top of the suitcase in the corner
that he had designated her area, noticing a stray sock as he did so and gathering that up as well.
This wasn’t really what he’d had in mind last Saturday. Where was Barbara now anyway? Perhaps it was time to talk about what was going to happen next.
Last Saturday had been good, though. Maybe not great, but definitely good. They had got back and Matt had persuaded her first to have a drink, then to tell him what was wrong. She didn’t
want to at first, but they had just been sitting there staring at each other, clearly past the point of polite conversation, but with nothing else to say. So after a while she had told him about
the difficulties with her work, with her visa, with Justin. She’d got quite emotional in the end, particularly after her second glass of whisky.
Matt had found it moderately interesting to begin with – he had never heard anyone get animated about their frustrations with the medium of clay before. He had watched the way her body
tensed as she got worked up about a point.
After a while the anger had dissipated, and when Matt could see tears on their way he moved over to the sofa and sat next to her, putting a sympathetic arm round her shoulder.
And it was good too, when it came. It had that tear-stained urgency that rarely disappointed.
Why had he done it? Well, apart from the obvious. He hadn’t planned it, not exactly. He had thought about it, yes. But he hadn’t planned it. There was a significant distinction to be
drawn. It wasn’t premeditated. He hadn’t gone to Justin’s flat with the intention of seducing Barbara. But the opportunity had presented itself. Matt didn’t think of himself
as impulsive. It was important to weigh up the pros and cons of any course of action. But if you’d done that in advance, it was much easier to act on instinct.
He’d got over the Sunday morning embarrassment with breakfast in bed. He’d brought the tray in just as she was waking up and looking round the room, and he saw the brief flash of
panic in her eyes as she tried to work out where she was. As she realized, they dulled to an awkward sheepishness that stopped just short of regret.
‘I’ve made you coffee,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d prefer it, but there’s tea if you want.’
‘Thanks. Coffee’s good.’
‘It’s not very elaborate, I’m afraid. I hadn’t stocked up. But if there’s anything you particularly want I can go down to the Brazilian shop and get it.’
‘No, this is great.’ Barbara sat up against the pillows, pulling the duvet round herself. Matt put the tray down next to her and sat down on the edge of the bed.
‘I’m going to have this toast before it gets cold, but I’ve brought cereal in as well if you’d like some.’
‘Thanks,’ Barbara said. She made no move to eat anything as Matt bit into his toast. ‘Look, Matt, about last night—’
‘I’ve cut up some fruit for you. I don’t know if apple, banana and bits of a satsuma go together, but it’s there if you want it.’
‘OK. Thanks.’ She looked at the tray, but didn’t take anything.
‘Here, I’ll do it for you. Want a bit of everything?’ He added yoghurt and chopped fruit to the bowl of bran flakes and handed it to her with a spoon.
Hesitantly, she began to eat. To hold the bowl, she had to let go of the duvet, and it began to slip slowly down, uncovering the top of her left breast. Matt forced himself not to stare.
They chewed in easy enough silence for a while. When they caught each other’s eye, he held out the coffee cup. She smiled and nodded.
‘It’s looking nice outside,’ Matt said. ‘Maybe later we could go down to Exmouth Market, or walk along the canal or something?’
‘Yes, sure.’
‘Great. Do you want butter and jam on your toast?’
Barbara nodded and handed him back her empty bowl. She swallowed the last mouthful and thought deeply for a while.
‘Listen, Matt, I just want to—’
‘It’s raspberry, is that OK? I think I’ve got some apricot or something somewhere, although it’s probably out of date by now. But I think that’s OK with jam. I
don’t seem to have any marmalade. Remind me to buy some if we go out.’
He handed her a plate. When she was just over halfway through her toast, Matt stood up to move the tray. As he did so, he deliberately let his crooked elbow jog Barbara’s. The plate
flipped out of her hand and landed raspberry side down on the duvet.
‘Shit, sorry!’ she said.
‘No, that was my fault.’ Matt put the tray down and picked up the toast, leaving a sticky smear across the sheet. ‘It’ll come off. Would you like another
piece?’
‘No. I’m good.’
Matt pulled the duvet down further to inspect the stain. Barbara reluctantly let it slide. He looked up at her, grinning. ‘I should probably get it off and into the wash, though. Just to
be on the safe side.’
‘Really?’ She looked sceptically at him.
‘Just to be on the safe side.’ He stared at her body emerging from the folds.
In one quick movement, Matt whipped off the duvet, letting it settle on the floor behind him. He made no move to take it away. Barbara stayed where she was too, naked and poised against the
pillows.
Later, when Barbara complained she was cold, Matt retrieved the duvet from the floor. No more was said about the jam stains.
Barbara went back to sleep for an hour or two, so Matt got up to do some work in his cramped study. The problems quickly absorbed him. Until he heard the shower running, he forgot all about
her.
She came into the study fully dressed and serious.
‘Listen, Matt, I need to make something clear.’
‘Do you want some lunch?’
‘No. I—’
‘Are you sure? I can make some avocado salad or something.’
‘No. I should go.’
‘Where to?’
She stood staring at him, legs placed firmly apart as if braced for a fight.
‘I don’t know,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you stay here tonight, then?’ he said. ‘You know, as a friend?’
She laughed sharply. ‘Yeah, “as a friend”.’ She studied his face. ‘I feel like I don’t know anything about you.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘I don’t . . .’ She seemed taken aback by the question, and fell silent for a moment as she thought about it. ‘OK, your accent. Where’s it from?’
‘I grew up in a small village outside Preston.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Where’s that?’
‘It’s in Lancashire,’ he said. ‘The north. Have you been up there?’
‘I went to the Yorkshire Dales once.’ She pronounced it York-shyer.
‘Right. Where are you from?’
‘A bunch of places. We moved around a lot.’
There was a short pause.
‘You’re a lawyer, right?’ she said.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you defend criminals and that kind of stuff?’
‘No.’
She stood staring at him for a few seconds and he sat staring back.
‘Are you sure you don’t want any lunch?’
‘OK then.’
She’d insisted on going shopping and had come back an hour later and made some kind of complicated salad. Matt decided it was probably best not to bring up the question of meat. He
didn’t want to ask about her pots either, which left the conversation pretty stilted. In the end they talked about Pilates for the first half of the meal and the persistence of courtroom wigs
for the other.
Matt didn’t normally bother with the Sunday papers, but after lunch he went out and bought both a
Sunday Times
and an
Observer
, barricading himself behind the news sections
in the living room. Barbara tried one of the magazines for a while, before going to her bag and getting out a book called
How to Believe in You
. Matt raised the paper a little bit
higher.
In the evening, Matt had found an unopened box set of
The World at War
, given to him by an aunt last Christmas. When they went to bed after that, Matt discovered that Barbara had found
some of his old pyjamas.
Waking on Wednesday, he discovered that Barbara was asleep on the sofa. He left before she woke up and she stayed on the sofa after that, filling the living room with clothes and accoutrements
that had appeared from somewhere.
Which was why Matt found himself on Saturday morning folding up a Merino cardigan and putting it next to a hair-dryer whose cord he had just wound round the handle. He had barely spoken to
Barbara since last Sunday. Neither of them had made much of an effort to change that. It already seemed fairly clear to Matt that, whatever there was between them, it was fizzling out.
Yet she was still there. Matt did not know what to do about this. He considered it as he tried to fit Barbara’s belongings into the suitcase that had appeared on Thursday. There was no way
he could tell her to leave. Even subtly. He had already received a very disapproving e-mail from Rosie on Tuesday, which he had ignored. If Barbara was forced out of his flat in fury or, even
worse, in tears, Rosie would probably feel she shouldn’t forgive him.
Feeling a rumble of hunger, Matt remembered he had not had any breakfast, and went into the kitchen to make some lunch. In the fridge he found some packaged salami, which he laid out on a plate,
garnishing it with a few slices of Cheddar. Barbara had packed out the salad drawer, so Matt chopped up some tomato, cucumber and lettuce, adding a handful of bean sprouts and plenty of
dressing.
A thought came to him as he turned the problem over, looking at it from all angles. He had been looking for ways out of the final dinner, from the obviously fake illness to some more exotic, and
therefore more plausible, excuse. Or even just pressure of work. That was one that everyone found annoying and tried to persuade you out of, but couldn’t, ultimately, argue against.
But if they went, if he made Barbara come with him, there was a chance Justin would try to get her back. Not a certainty, knowing Justin, but at least a possibility.
And he might succeed. Barbara clearly wasn’t having the time of her life here. If she went, Matt thought, he would also be a wronged party. That would nullify criticism for what had
happened so far. It seemed like the perfect solution, really. Matt felt pleased with himself. He added another slice of salami to his plate.
In the hall, a key scraped in the lock, and Matt heard light footsteps in the hall. They went straight past into the living room. He had never given her a key, and wasn’t sure where she
had found it. It seemed rude to ask.
‘Hello,’ he called out.
The footsteps approached the kitchen.
‘Hi,’ Matt said.
‘Have you seen my blue sweater?’ Barbara asked.
‘Did you leave it on the sofa? It’s probably in the suitcase. I tidied up.’
Barbara tutted, turned, went over to the living room, and came back wearing the sweater. Matt pictured the clothes that had been stacked above it scattered across the carpet again.
‘I’m making some lunch,’ Matt said. ‘Do you want any?’
Barbara looked at his plate. ‘What are you eating?’
‘It’s just cold meat, cheese and salad.’
‘I’ll take some salad.’
Matt chopped up some more tomatoes. He still hadn’t raised the question of meat. Barbara had not asked for or eaten any. He couldn’t help but be disappointed.
He set the plate on the table and they sat down facing each other.
‘Where did you go this morning?’ Matt asked.
‘I was out.’
‘I know. I was interested what you’ve been doing.’
‘I went to hot yoga.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s like regular yoga, but you do it in a sauna.’
‘Oh.’ Matt ate a slice of salami. ‘Why?’
‘It flushes the toxins out of your body.’
‘I see,’ Matt said.
Barbara prodded the lettuce with her fork. ‘What’s the dressing on here?’
‘Just a bit of oil and vinegar.’
Barbara ate a lettuce leaf. In the high stillness of the flat, Matt could hear the snap and crunch of the stalk between her teeth. He watched her cut another leaf in half, shake off the oil, and
eat it without any apparent pleasure.
Matt felt obliged to look away so that they didn’t catch each other’s eye. They chewed silently for a while. There was no tension in the room, just a faint ambience of
irritability.
In the end, Barbara spoke. ‘So I guess you just worked this morning?’
‘I went for a run.’
‘How far did you go?’
‘To Highbury and back.’
‘How far is that?’
‘A couple of miles.’
‘What was your time?’
‘I wasn’t really counting.’
Did she snort slightly at that? Barbara looked down at her plate, perhaps feeling her duty was done. Matt got up and cut himself a slice of bread. He silently offered one to Barbara, but she
shook her head.
Matt sat down again, hearing the chair legs scrape across the lino. ‘About tonight,’ he said. ‘I told them we’d be there about seven thirty.’
‘Tonight?’ Barbara looked up sharply. ‘What’s tonight?’
‘Dinner at Marcus’s house. You hadn’t forgotten?’
‘I assumed we wouldn’t go to that.’
‘Well, I see what you mean, but I said we’d go, and it would spoil the competition if we didn’t.’
‘I think they would understand.’ Barbara ate another piece of lettuce.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Matt said, mopping up the dressing on his plate with a hunk of bread. ‘Anyway, I’ve been working all week and I want to go out.’
‘You go, then. I’ll stay here.’ Barbara pushed away her plate, as if suddenly disgusted by the three remaining lettuce leaves.
‘I know you don’t want to see Justin’ – Barbara recoiled slightly at the name – ‘but you have to do it sometime.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘And it would probably be best to do that on neutral ground,’ Matt pressed on.
‘You go if you want. Say I’m ill or something.’
Matt ate a bit of bread and tried another tack. ‘He probably won’t be there anyway, you know. Would you go, if you were him? He’s probably practising his sick voice
now.’
Barbara didn’t smile. ‘He’ll go,’ she said firmly.
‘I can’t think why he’d want to.’