A Christmas Wedding(28)

Even if she sometimes acts like it, bless her.

Alex lives only a couple of miles away from Rachel’s and it takes us around ten minutes to get there. It’s dark – almost 10 p.m. – so I can’t really tell what his area is like, but, from the wide street and the trees growing outside on the pavement, I’m guessing it’s pretty nice.

He lives in a maisonette in a Victorian terrace with its own entrance on the lower-ground level. I follow him down the steps to the front door.

Inside, his place is bright and modern, with some cool designer furniture and light fittings. The kitchen is to the front of the house; the living room to the back, overlooking a private garden.

Alex flicks on the outdoor lights when I ask to see what it’s like out there and a mini-oasis is revealed, the surrounding walls almost completely obscured by ferns and bamboo and other greenery.

‘Wow!’ I say, looking at the round white table on the patio, surrounded by four differently coloured chairs. If it’s sunny in the morning, that’s where we’re having breakfast. I’ll insist on it.

The surreal feeling comes over me again, followed by another stab of guilt. What am I doing? Is this really just about closure?

Maybe there’s hope for us as friends… We used to get on so well…

‘Can I see upstairs?’ I keep my tone light as I add, ‘I want the full tour, Whittaker.’

He smiles and nods, leading the way. ‘Spare room.’ He opens the first door off the corridor. It’s at the front, above the kitchen. ‘Bathroom,’ he says of the second room. I glance inside. Sparkling clean and white, with bright blue towels. ‘And my room,’ he says, opening the last door off the corridor.

I walk past him, into his room. It’s very stylish and quite masculine with a black, grey and green colour scheme and a graphic bedspread. But I can’t really take in my surroundings because I’m too distracted by the smell.

‘Fucking hell!’ I snap, looking around and spying another door that I’m guessing leads to his en-suite. ‘Where is it?’ I storm across the room and open the door.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Your aftershave, Alex. I can’t stand it any longer.’

I switch on his bathroom light and open the mirrored wall cabinet, scanning the contents.

‘Christ!’ he says, slightly affronted as he comes into the room. ‘I didn’t realise it was that offensive.’

‘It’s not offensive,’ I retort. ‘It drives me absolutely crazy. I can’t bear it. What is it? What do you use?’

He looks bemused as he reaches past me and pulls out a small rectangular glass bottle with clear, caramel-coloured liquid inside, and hands it over. I put it to my nose and inhale, closing my eyes briefly before looking up at him, straight into his amused blue eyes.

The room suddenly feels very small.

And it is small. We’re in his flipping en-suite. I jerk my head towards the door. ‘Let’s go back downstairs.’

He leads the way out, but I quickly spritz his aftershave onto my wrist before following him. He throws a look at me over his shoulder, his pursed lips telling me that he knows full well what I just did. I shrug cheekily and he laughs.

‘Well, you have a very nice place,’ I say decisively when we’re back downstairs. ‘I like it. It’s very grown up,’ I add.

‘That’s a good thing?’ he checks with a frown.

‘Yes.’

He goes into the kitchen. I pull up a stool at his bar table. The whole of the downstairs is open plan with a countertop bar area separating the kitchen from the living room.

‘Drink?’ he offers.

‘Sure. What are you having?’

‘I fancy a beer.’

‘What else have you got?’

He peers in the fridge. ‘Beer,’ he states, glancing over at me apologetically. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.’

‘I’ll have one, then,’ I tell him with a grin.

I have a flashback to Lachie cracking open a couple of bottles and chinking them as he hands them over. The image makes me wince and suddenly my nose is prickling. I quickly hop down from the stool.

‘Is this a loo?’ I call of the door under the stairs, hoping he can’t hear the tremor in my voice.

‘Yep,’ he replies.

I go into the cloakroom and lock the door behind me, catching a glimpse of my reflection through blurry vision.

There’s a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball and suddenly I miss Lachie so much, I want to sob my heart out.

I try very, very hard not to, but it’s a while before my throat returns to normal and the pricking at the back of my eyes recedes.

I return to the living room.

‘Are you okay?’ Alex asks with concern.

I nod quickly and smile brightly. ‘Fine!’

‘You’re not,’ he states.

‘Don’t,’ I cut him off. ‘Please.’

He goes over to the sofa, running his hand through his hair and scruffing it up as he sits down.

‘How did you break up?’ he asks.

I swallow, the lump back in force as I join him at the other end of the sofa. I shake my head quickly.

‘Was it you or him? Or mutual?’

‘More him than me,’ I reply unsteadily. ‘I wanted kids. He didn’t.’