Perfect Day

is that blue eyes are so much less expressive than brown ones. Alexander’s eyes are like unfathomable pools, and Chris’s are like the surface of the sea at sunset, pale and opaque as steel.
    ‘What?’
    He lets go of her hand.
    ‘Do you want me to stay? For a while,’ he adds quickly.
    ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
    She walks upstairs, stands just outside Lucy’s room. Lucy senses her there and turns over, muttering something in her sleep, then she settles again. Nell breathes slowly in and out. Once. Twice. Three times, then she goes back downstairs.
    Chris is standing in the kitchen now, arms folded over his chest. ‘I’d better go,’ he says.
    ‘Yes, perhaps you had,’ she says, still standing in the kitchen door.
    Neither moves. She’s blocking his exit through the living room to the door. Simultaneously, they dodge one way to allow the other to pass, then the other, then smile embarrassed at their impromptu little jig. Nell takes a step backwards, Chris forwards. She turns to say goodbye at the same moment that he goes to kiss her cheek. His lips catch the side of her mouth. Her hand comes up to her face as if she’s been slapped.
    She’s staring at him.
    ‘Chris, I’m frightened.’
    ‘I know.’
    He holds out his arms. She steps forwards, he enfolds her. She lets her head loll on his shoulder for a moment. He’s stroking her back.
    ‘Nell, if...’
    ‘No,’ she stops him speaking.
    ‘No.’
    ‘I didn’t make this happen, did I?’ she whispers into his neck.
    He draws back to look at her face, to make sure he’s understood what she’s saying.
    ‘No, Nell, you didn’t. Of course you didn’t.’
    And now his mouth is seeking hers, finding it, and his lips are much softer than she imagined them.

Twenty-seven

    ‘Wait a minute!’
    Kate grabs his hand to make him slow down. He stops and she tugs him towards her, backing into a shadowy doorway next to a shop that sells cut-price stationery.
    ‘Do you really love me?’ she says.
    ‘Yes!’ he says impatiently, and plants a quick kiss on her nose. He’s eager to move on, keep up the momentum. She puts her arms round his neck and pulls his mouth onto hers, kissing him hard, thrusting her hips against his. Here, now, kiss me, touch me, fuck me.
    ‘Let’s go!’ he says, pulling away from her.
    Her eyes widen, stung by rejection, so he steps towards her again, kisses her lingeringly. In the window behind he sees that Post-It notes are 10 for £5; 3 rolls of Sellotape for £1. He wonders if there’s something wrong with the glue.
    ‘But will you still love me tomorrow?’ she asks.
    ‘You know, that sounds just like the lyric of a song,’ he mocks, tugging gently at her hand.
    ‘Will you, though?’
    ‘Yes,’ he insists.
    ‘I mean if we don’t go.’
    He pretends to bang his head against the shopfront in exasperation. ‘Why do women always want more?’
    ‘Why do men never answer questions?’ Kate counters. ‘Why are you in such a hurry anyway?’
    ‘Spontaneity,’ he suggests, desperately, feeling it all slipping away from him.
    ‘There’s things I have to sort,’ Kate says.
    ‘What things?’
    ‘Just things.’
    ‘I thought you wanted to escape,’ he says.
    ‘I want to escape. I don’t want to run away.’
    Her wonderfully fresh way of expressing the obvious suddenly sounds as if she’s reading from the script of some awful film.
    ‘What’s the difference?’ he asks her.
    She looks as if she’s searching for the answer then admits, winningly, ‘I don’t know.’
    ‘Is it money?’ he asks. ‘I’ve got enough money.’
    She shakes her head. Something is bothering her, that’s not going to go away. Something she has not told him. He watches her face twisting with indecision, he wonders why he told her he loved her, and what made him think that taking a plane with her was going to solve anything.
    ‘Shall we go back to Marie’s?’ she asks.
    ‘Let’s get a coffee,’ he says.
    He wants the clarity that caffeine will bring, not the confusion of sex.
    ‘Marco’s?’ she suggests.

    The remains of his espresso have dried to a stain in the little white cup. They’re both waiting for the other to start the conversation that will inevitably separate them.
    Kate is clearly grappling with some secret she’s failed to share with him. He wants to say, look, why don’t we just leave it here, where we started? Let’s not get into recrimination and explanation. Let’s call it a day.
    Marco puts a