The Girl You Left Behind

when I got
     divorced. I was a bit of a mess. And then he just never left.’ Paul had come to
     England ten years ago. His English wife had been miserable, had missed home, especially
     when Jake was a baby, and he had left the NYPD to keep her happy.
    ‘When we got here we found it was us,
     not the location, that was all wrong. Hey, look. Blue Suit Man is going to make a move
     on the girl with the great hair.’
    Liv sips her drink. ‘That’s not
     real hair.’
    He squints. ‘What? You’re
     kidding me. It’s a wig?’
    ‘Extensions. You can tell.’
    ‘I can’t. You’re going to
     tell me the chest is fake too now, right?’
    ‘No, they’re real. She has
     quadroboob.’
    ‘Quadroboob?’
    ‘Bra’s too small. It makes her
     look like she’s got four.’
    Paul laughs so hard he starts to choke. He
     can’t remember the last time he kept laughing like this. She smiles back at him,
     almost reluctantly. She has been a little strange tonight, as if all her responses are
     slowed by some separate internal conversation.
    He manages to control himself. ‘So
     what do we think?’ he says, trying to make her relax. ‘Is Quadroboob Girl
     going to go for it?’
    ‘Maybe with one more drink inside her.
     I’m not convinced she really likes him.’
    ‘Yeah. She keeps looking over his
     shoulder as she talks to him. I think she likes grey shoes.’
    ‘No woman likes grey shoes. Trust
     me.’
    He lifts an eyebrow, puts down his drink.
     ‘Now this, you see, is why men find it easier to split molecules and invade
     countries than to work out what goes on in women’s heads.’
    ‘Pfft. If you’re lucky one day
     I’ll sneak you a look at the rule book.’ He looks at her and she blushes, as
     if she’s said too much. There is a sudden inexplicably awkward silence. She stares
     at her drink. ‘Do you miss New York?’
    ‘I like visiting. When I go home now
     they all make fun of my accent.’
    She seems to be only half listening.
    ‘You don’t have to look so
     anxious,’ he says. ‘Really. I’m happy here.’
    ‘Oh. No. Sorry. I didn’t
     mean …’ Her words die on her lips. There is a long silence. And then she
     looks up at him and speaks, her finger resting on the rim of her glass.
     ‘Paul … I wanted to ask you to come home with me tonight. I wanted us
     to … But I – I just … It’s too soon. Ican’t. I can’t do it. That’s why I cancelled dinner.’ The
     words spill out into the air. She flushes to the roots of her hair.
    He opens, then closes his mouth. He leans
     forward, and says, quietly. ‘“I’m not very hungry” would have
     been fine.’
    Her eyes widen, then she slumps a little
     over the table. ‘Oh, God. I’m a nightmare date, aren’t I?’
    ‘Maybe a little more honest than you
     need to be.’
    She groans. ‘I’m sorry. I have
     no idea what I’m –’
    He leans forward, touches her hand lightly.
     He wants her to stop looking anxious. ‘Liv,’ he says evenly, ‘I like
     you. I think you’re great. But I totally get that you’ve been in your own
     space for a long time. And I’m not … I don’t …’ Words
     fail him too. It seems too soon for a conversation like this. And underneath it all,
     despite himself, he fights disappointment. ‘Ah, hell, you want to grab a pizza?
     Because I’m starving. Let’s go get a bite and make each other feel awkward
     somewhere else.’
    He can feel her knee against his.
    ‘You know, I do have food at
     home.’
    He laughs. And stops. ‘Okay. Well, now
     I don’t know what to say.’
    ‘Say “That would be
     great.” And then you can add, “Please shut up now, Liv, before you make
     things even more complicated.”’
    ‘That would be great, then,’
     says Paul. He holds up her coat for her to shrug her way into, then they head out of the
     pub.
    This time when they walk it is not in
     silence. Something has unlocked between them, perhaps through his words orher sudden feeling of relief. She laughs at almost everything he
     says. They weave in and out of the tourists, pile breathlessly into a taxi, and when he
     sits down in the back seat, holding out his arm for her to tuck into, she leans into him
     and breathes in his clean, male smell and feels a little giddy with her own sudden good
     fortune.
    They reach her block, and he laughs about
     their meeting. About Mo and her apparent belief that he was a bag thief.
     ‘I’m holding you to that four-pound reward,’ he says,