The Switch(56)

Now, though, I am calmed, I have brownies, and – finally, at last, after so many missed weekends … Ethan is here.

He throws his bags down and swoops me up in a hug as soon as I open the front door.

‘Welcome to the rural idyll!’ I tell him as he lets me down.

‘It smells like something’s burned?’ Ethan says, then, catching my expression, ‘But delicious! Burned in a delicious way! Chargrilled? Barbecued? Those are great ways of burning things.’

‘I made brownies. Quite a few times. But look!’ I lead him proudly to the plate of perfect chocolatey squares on Grandma’s dining-room table.

He grabs one and takes an enormous bite, then closes his eyes and moans. ‘OK,’ he says through his mouthful. ‘That genuinely is delicious.’

‘Yes! I knew it.’

‘Always humble,’ Ethan says, then he reaches to grab the drying-up cloth I’d slung over my shoulder. ‘Look at you, baking! All domestic!’

I grab the cloth back and swat at him with it. ‘Shut up, you.’

‘Why? I like it.’ He nuzzles into my neck. ‘It’s sexy. You know how much I love it when you do the fifties housewife thing.’

I blush and push him off. ‘That was a murder-mystery party costume and I was not doing a thing, and even if I had been, it would not have been for you!’

‘No?’ Ethan says with a cheeky grin. ‘Because I distinctly remember you doing a thing …’

I laugh, batting away his roaming hands, and move through to the kitchen. ‘Do you want a tea?’

Ethan follows. ‘I want something,’ he says. ‘But it’s not tea.’

‘Coffee?’

‘Guess again.’ He presses up against me from behind, hands snaking around my waist.

I turn in his arms. ‘I’m sorry – I feel so unsexy right now. I’ve spent most of the day crying, and it’s been such a weird week. Being back here is making me …’

‘Turn into your grandmother?’ Ethan says, with a teasing twitch of his eyebrows.

I pull back. ‘What?’

‘I’m kidding!’

‘Where did that come from?’

‘Spending your day baking, no interest in sex, wearing an actual apron …’ He clocks that I’m really not laughing. ‘Come on, Leena, I’m teasing!’ He takes my hand and tries to twirl me. ‘Let’s go out. Take me to a bar.’

‘This isn’t a bar sort of place,’ I say, awkwardly spinning into the twirl.

‘There must be a bar somewhere. What’s that little town nearby? Divedale?’

‘Daredale. That’s over an hour away. And anyway, I thought we could bob around to see Arnold this evening, my neighbour – he said he’d make us lamb for tea.’ I try a smile. ‘He’s a bit grumpy, but he’s a lovely guy at heart.’

‘I should probably do some work this evening, really, angel,’ Ethan says, dropping my hand and heading to the fridge. He pulls out a beer.

‘Oh. But …’

He kisses me on the cheek as he reaches for a bottle opener from the drawer. ‘You’re welcome to chip in. I’m looking at white-space opportunities on the project I told you about last week – I know how you love a challenge …’

‘I feel plenty challenged at the moment, to be honest,’ I say, then blink as Ethan turns the TV on.

‘Millwall’s on,’ he says. ‘I thought we could have it on in the background.’

He didn’t care about white-space opportunities or Millwall playing when he was asking to go to a bar. I swallow, reminding myself that he’s come a long way to see me, and he’s right – I’m in a difficult place at the moment, I’ve gone a bit … backwards on this grieving thing. I can see how it could be frustrating.

Still. He’s not exactly getting in the spirit of the rural getaway, is he?

He looks up at me from the sofa, catches my expression, and softens. ‘I’m being a knob, sorry,’ he says, reaching up to take my hands. ‘I’m not good at this rural-life schtick, angel. Give me a bit of time to adjust to the new you?’

‘I’m not a new me,’ I tell him grumpily, coming around to sit next to him on the sofa. ‘And I’m not my grandmother.’

He pulls me in, tipping me so my head lies on his chest. This is my comfort place. I used to feel almost desperate if the fear and grief hit when Ethan wasn’t there – I needed this, his arm around me, my ear listening to the beat of his heart. This was the only way it felt safe to stay still.

I soften into him. He kisses the top of my head.

‘I’ll tell Arnold we’ll come around for lamb next time,’ I say, as Ethan pulls me in closer, into just the right spot.

*

The next morning I get up early for a run and when I get out of the shower I climb into bed naked, pressing my still-damp body up the length of Ethan’s frame. He wakes slowly, with an appreciative noise, his hand reaching for my hip, his lips finding my neck. It’s lovely, just like it should be, and the weird tenseness of last night feels ridiculous – we joke about it as we bring our coffees back to bed, and he combs through my hair with his fingers as I lie against his chest, like we always do at home.