Page 49 of The Three of Us
Jack laughs. ‘Not particularly. Three’s a crowd and all that.’
‘No, we usually do our own thing when it comes to food. She’s more of a chips and chocolate girl anyway, to be honest.’
‘Okay, we’ll eat first then, shall we? Or talk while we eat, if you like.’
He slides into a wooden chair on one side of the table and watches as Carly measures out pasta and sets a pan of water to boil. She starts frantically chopping at tomatoes and slicing mushrooms, and from the straightness of her back he can tell she’s tense.
‘This should feel nice,’ she says, still facing away from him. ‘Cosy…’
‘But it doesn’t?’ he asks.
‘It’s a sort of homely couples thing, isn’t it? Making a meal after work, sitting down together to talk about our day. We never had that, Jack. We never even had a first date, did we? We’re not a couple. And now it’s too late.’
He stands and takes her hand, easing her away from her chopping and into the chair opposite him. He studies her fingers as he grasps them over the table.
‘I’m sorry, Carly.’
‘What for? For never taking me on a date? For marrying someone else? For the babies you didn’t want? For coming back to London and turning everything upside down again?’
‘All of the above.’
‘This has to stop, Jack. I want us to get along, to be friends, to be able to work together without this constant feeling of… oh, I don’t even know what it is. Uncertainty, I suppose. So, we have to just put the past aside and get on with it, don’t we? Being colleagues. Keeping our distance for as long as you’re working at Mandrake’s. Forgetting everything else. Living life as it really is. You telling your wife anything about us, past or present, would be crazy. It wouldn’t achieve anything except a lot of upset, and for what?’
‘A chance. One worth taking?’
He can see the tears forming, and tightens his grip on her hand.
‘No.’ She tries to pull away from him, but he won’t let her.
‘I want to kiss you, Carly. Please. One last time, if that’s how it has to be, but just come here, will you? You’re unhappy, I can see that. Let me…’
And she does. She stands up just as he does, and moves towards him, the tears trailing down her cheeks now and making her eye make-up run. He pulls her in against his chest and feels her breathing. He has never wanted her more.
He lowers his head at the same moment she raises hers and their lips meet. She is warm and soft. Her mouth opens, pressing hard against his own until her lips part and his tongue touches hers. Her hand comes up to the back of his neck and her fingers find their way into his hair.
‘Oops! Sorry.’
They pull apart. There is a short, very round woman standing in the open doorway, her face red, maybe from embarrassment, or maybe she always looks that way. This must be the elusive Fran. She backs away. ‘I was just going to make a cup of tea. I’ll come back…’
‘It’s fine. Come in. It’s your kitchen just as much as mine.’ Carly returns to her chopping board. ‘This is Jack, by the way. Jack, Fran.’
They manage an awkward hello as Fran flips the kettle on.
‘Can I get one for either of you? Or a coffee?’
‘No, thanks,’ they both say together, and silence returns while Fran busies herself with teabags and a mug and Carly pours pasta shapes into the pan.
‘I’ll let you get on then. Enjoy your meal.’ She scurries away, closing the kitchen door after her.
‘Well, that was a bit…’
‘Our fault, Jack, not hers.’ She is concentrating on the tomatoes which have been chopped so finely now they are turning to mush. ‘Maybe we should continue our… conversation… in my room once we’ve eaten.’
‘Or now. The food could wait.’
‘I suppose it could.’ She puts her knife down and turns off the heat under the pan.
She reaches for his hand again and leads him out into the narrow hallway. He catches a glimpse of Fran through the open door of what must be the lounge. She is holding an iron in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate bar in the other. She doesn’t look up as they pass.