Corny. And they completely misinterpreted the relationship between us, too.
Fucking hell, I miss him.
I do, I really miss him. I stare at the ceiling for a few minutes, thinking about the past six months. About all our nights out together, and cosy breakfasts in the warm kitchen when it was still dark outside, and silly texts and emails. All the lazy Sundays reading the papers together and having peanut butter on crumpets, and impromptu drinking sessions in The Engineer, and the Christmas decorations night, and New Year's Eve, and Hong Kong . . .
I'd love to tell him all about my new job. He'd get a kick out of it, I know he would.
Tears well up in my eyes. I feel indescribably sad. There's a lump in my throat the size of a goddamn golf ball and I feel . . . what is this feeling?
I know what it is.
I feel homesick.
I lie back on my pillow, gazing at the ceiling. This isn't the same feeling I had about Dave at all. I don't feel that sharp nauseating shock, or that hope-crushing rejection. That was different.
This is pure, unadulterated sadness.
The friendship between Robert and me is over.
After staring at the ceiling for a few more minutes, I pick up my phone and call Sophie.
'Ahoyhoy,' she says, instead of hello.
'I miss him, I miss Robert, and we'll never be friends again,' I say, and just saying the words aloud makes me so sad that I almost start crying. I control myself, however, and take a deep shaky breath. 'Sophie? Are you there? I said I miss Robert.'
There's a pause. I hear some scuffled sounds, and then the sound of a door closing.
'Right I'm alone now. Continue.'
'I just . . . I miss him, I don't know how else to say it. I've never felt like this. I'm . . . homesick for him.'
'Homesick?'
'I feel an ache in my throat and my tummy. Just like that feeling at school. I've never felt like this about anything else. I miss him.'
'You miss him . . .' says Sophie slowly. 'Maybe you should tell him?'
'I can't do that,' I say, aghast. 'It would be weird. I just have to accept it and move on.' Silence. 'I was kind of hoping you'd agree with me on that one. Maybe give me some tips on how to do it.'
Sophie takes a deep breath. 'Don't you think that maybe maybe it's odd to be more upset about Robert than you are about Dave?'
'No. Anyway, I was more upset about Dave before he dumped me . . . I have a new theory that I worried about it so much beforehand that when it happened, it hardly hurt at all.'
'Huh,' says Sophie. We talked about Dave quite a lot when I got home, obviously, but she still doesn't believe me when I say I'm fine. 'That explains why you didn't seem quite yourself at Christmas.'
'What?'
'You were a bit, uh, tense . . . Mum and Dad kept cornering me to ask what was wrong with you.'
'I was temporarily insane, that's all. Dave was a drug.'
'Well, he's an asshole drug,' says Sophie, adding loyally: 'And if he knew how amazing and wonderful you are, he would never have . . .'
'Honestly, Soph, you don't have to say that,' I interrupt. Funny how even thinking about Dave seems like a waste of time. 'Anyway, maybe he and Bella belong together.' I still haven't told Sophie about Dave's dad and Luke's mum, of course. It would just put her in an awkward position, to know something like that about her future mother-in-law, something not even her fiance knows. And besides, it's really not my secret to tell.
'I'm playing nice for the wedding because you can't de-bridesmaid your treacherous bitch of a sister-in-law without causing a huge family ruckus. But the minute it's over, I intend to unleash hell on her.' This is such an uncharacteristic thing for Sophie to say that I almost want to laugh, but the lump in my throat is aching too much.
'Huh,' I say instead. If I start to laugh, I think I'll cry at the same time.
'So . . . Robert? What are you going to do?'
'Mmm,' I say, trying to control the tears welling up in my eyes. 'Well . . . what do you think I should do?' I say eventually.
Sophie pauses for quite a long time. 'Darling, if you can't see how you really feel about Robert, then I don't I don't know what to say.'
'What do you mean, can't see how I really feel?'
There's another pause.
'Luke and I, um, we kind of thought that you guys would, I don't know . . .'
'What?'
'Get together.'
'No!'
'But you get along so well, there was all that sexual tension-'
'What? There was not! When was there sexual tension?'
Silence. Fucking hell, why is Sophie so good at holding her tongue?
'We get along sorry, we got along, past tense so well because there was no sex involved. Robert is a playboy, remember? We were only ever friends. I loved his company . . .' I pause, thinking.
'Can you honestly tell me you don't think he's handsome? Just a teeny bit?'
I don't say anything. I'm staring at the Travel By Proxy photo of us. He's absurdly good-looking. 'It doesn't matter. Robert never saw me like that. He doesn't find me attractive.'
'You don't know that. Perhaps he didn't make a move earlier because you were his flatmate, or because you are my sister. Don't shit on your doorstep, and all that. And then you were seeing Dave, anyway.'
'Um,' I say. I'm thinking. Robert paid me lots of compliments. Mostly under the influence of alcohol, admittedly. And in Hong Kong, when we were in bed, he said some very- 'He's been different, since he met you, you know,' says Sophie, interrupting my reverie.
'He has?'
'He spent more time with you than he ever did with the boys, or with any of his ladyfriends, or whatever it is you used to call them. He used to spend a lot of time alone . . . he was a grouch.'
'He did? He was?' I don't think he's a grouch at all. I did, but only till I got to know him. Now I think he's lovely. In every possible way.
'Yes,' she says impatiently. 'You're so blind, Abigail.'
'I am?'
Sophie starts laughing at my parrot-questions. I don't say anything, but start chewing my bottom lip, lost in thought.
'I need to think.'
'Yes, you do. Love you.'
'Love you.'
I don't want to think about Robert and whatever it is that Sophie's suggesting. Because if he ever liked me like that . . . if he ever, ever did, and I never let myself even think about it because I assumed he wasn't interested, and then if after we finally succumbed to the chemistry and affection between us and slept together, I discarded him like yesterday's crumpets then . . . well, then that's one almighty fuck-up.
I can't bear the thought of being in bed tonight with just my brain for company. So I take an antihistamine, one of the drowsy ones, and am asleep in minutes.
I wake up at 3 am to the sound of shouting.
And giggling.
Then I hear Robert's voice, and JimmyJames' voice. And then more giggling. Not just giggling. Girlish giggling.
'Fucking hell,' I say aloud.
Then someone puts music on. I can hear JimmyJames shouting along to the lyrics.
That's it. It's the middle of the night. I'm not putting up with this. I have a new job, goddammit. I need sleep.
I get out of bed, still in my pyjamas, and start padding furiously down the stairs. I'm almost at the bottom when I hear Robert's voice.
'Turn that shit down,' orders Robert. I can tell by his voice that he's been drinking. It's too loud, and he thinks he's whispering. 'My flatmate is sleeping.'
'Your flatmate, hmm, is that what you call her these days?' says JimmyJames, hiccupping. The music is instantly turned off.
'That's what she is,' says Robert shortly.
'Do you have any lemon for my vodka?' says a girl's voice.
'Picky little thing, aren't you?' says JimmyJames.
'I'll have some lemon, too!' says another girl's voice. 'Robbie, I love your place!'
Then I hear JimmyJames and the first girl in the kitchen, giggling and flirting as they get a lemon out and cut it. But it's not them that I'm concerned about. It's Robert and the second girl. I can't see them, but I can hear them clearly. They can't be more than eight feet away.
'I think I've broken my toe,' says the girl. 'Robbie, would you come and look at it?'
'Uh, of course,' he says. I hear the couch squeak. They must be sitting on the couch nearest the hallway. 'What nice toes you have . . .'
'You should see my arse,' she says, and laughs hysterically at her own joke.
In the dark, I make a how-disgusting face. What a tart. Robert wouldn't go for that, would he? Suddenly there's complete silence. JimmyJames must be kissing the first girl. Nothing else would shut him up for this long. Is Robert kissing the second girl? I hold my breath, willing one of them to talk.
'It's not broken,' says Robert. I sigh with relief. He was just looking at her toes. 'You'll live to wear heels again.'
'Oh thank you, Doctor Robbie,' she says. 'So . . . want to give me a tour of the house? I think we should give those two a little privacy . . .'
'Uh, sure,' says Robert. Another couch-squeak indicates he's standing up, and I immediately lurch up and start creeping backwards up the stairs. I don't want him to know that I'm here, don't want him to know I'm listening, and don't want him to see me in pyjamas when he's with this girl with the incredible toes/arse. I get to Robert's landing just as they come around the corner to the bottom of the stairs, and speed up the second set of stairs to my room as fast as I can. (Thank God for all that nimble-footed-mountain-goat practice.) 'Ooh, three storeys, it's huge!' says the girl.
'Uh, it's just a funny-shaped little place, really, cut out of a big old house, you probably didn't see the front entrance,' says Robert. 'My flatmate is asleep upstairs, so please be quiet . . .'
'Oh, she won't hear anything,' she scoffs. 'So what's in here, then?'
I'm at the very top of the stairs, in the darkness, holding my breath as I look down on them. I can't see their faces, just the bottom two-thirds of their bodies. Robert is wearing jeans and his khaki shirt. And the girl's wearing a purple dress, black patterned tights and knee-high boots. She looks like a fucking go-go dancer, I think viciously. She's quite tall and slim. Taller than me, I'd guess. The thought makes me narrow my eyes in dislike.
'Well, that's the bathroom, obviously,' he says. 'And that's, uh, my bedroom.'
'Will you show me?' says the girl.
I roll my eyes to myself. Christ, Robert's not going to fall for that, is he?
I peer down again, and fight the urge to gasp aloud: the girl is suddenly right in front of Robert, pressing herself against him . . . they must be kissing. Are they kissing? They are! I can hear a squelching sound.
'Mmm, very nice,' she says. I fucking hate this chick. I don't even hate Bella but I really hate this go-go girl. 'Come on then, show me your room.'
There's a pause. Please say no, Robert, I think. Make up an excuse.
'Perhaps we shouldn't,' he says. 'It's a terrible mess . . .'
'We can keep the lights off,' she giggles.
Then the door to his bedroom shuts, and I'm left standing in the dark, panting in horror.
How could he do that? How could that have just happened? I turn around and head back into my room. I'm having trouble breathing properly, but I think that's probably from holding my breath for much of the last five minutes. My heart is beating so loudly that my ears hurt. I get back into my cold bed and lie there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache in my stomach get bigger and bigger. I press my fingers against my ears and try not to imagine what might be going on just one floor below me.
Just one thought keeps running through my brain.
This is wrong. This is all wrong.
Chapter Forty Six.
There's no point in thinking about it, you know. I can't be angry with him for bringing home someone else. I left him in bed in Hong Kong. I walked out on whatever had just started between us. And even if I hadn't, who's to say that he wouldn't have done the same to me? Just because I've realised whatever it is that I've realised about how I feel or might feel about him does not mean that he realises the same about how he feels or might feel about me.