Page 42 of Stella is Starting Over

Richard’s flat is exactly what I had expected because it’s exactly the flat people get when they have lots of money and neither time nor interest in decorating. It’s a penthouse overlooking the river, with vaulted ceilings and beams. The floor is polished concrete, everything is open-plan and the brushed-metal stove takes up half the kitchen. He has an island with stools instead of a kitchen table, and a huge wall-mounted TV. It’s basically the least child-friendly space that I’ve ever entered, and it looks a bit like a set designer built a flat for a stereotypical bachelor.

‘This is lovely,’ I say, not totally truthfully, as he shows me around.

‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘It’s a bit neutral, but I don’t have great taste in interiors so I thought better to err on the side of caution. Plus, I think the view does a lot of the work.’

He’s not wrong there. The entire front of the flat is glass, and the river is like a moving painting. Boats, people, bridges, the sun slowly making its descent. It’s beautiful. ‘I could stand here for hours,’ I say, as he pours a buttery Chardonnay into a huge, sparkling-clean wine glass.

My phone buzzes. It’s Dom.

Is he finally going to put out??? he writes.

I pounce, turning the screen over before Richard can catch sight.

‘I frequently do,’ Richard agrees.

Richard produces two steaks from the fridge, which come wrapped in white paper so presumably came from some deeply expensive butcher rather than the supermarket.

‘Who taught you to cook?’ I ask.

He looks a little embarrassed. ‘When I moved to New York, I took one of those cooking classes for total idiots because I honestly couldn’t make so much as a sandwich.’

‘I didn’t know you’d lived in New York.’

‘Five years,’ he says, grinding pepper onto the steaks. ‘I moved back last year.’

‘How come?’

‘I had a break-up, my lease was up, it just felt like time to leave.’

‘I get that,’ I say, pulling out a stool and sitting down at the island. ‘Why’d you break up?’

He looks surprised at the question. ‘I’d rather not discuss it.’

‘Oh. Sure. No, that makes sense. Of course,’ I stammer, embarrassed to have accidentally asked something that clearly pressed on some tricky territory for him. ‘I guess I’m used to talking about my ex all the time because he’s still in my life.’

Richard looks up at me, pausing his chopping. ‘Because of your daughter?’

‘God, yes. I’d prefer never to see him again, but he has Rose one night a week. Hence me being here.’

‘I see. Well. That sounds like a good thing, I suppose? That she has time with him?’

I nod, privately thinking that it’s not a good thing at all. ‘Yeah.’

‘And as she gets older, do you imagine she would see more of him?’ Richard asks.

‘I guess,’ I say. ‘I don’t really know what we’re doing to be honest. Just kind of finding our way as we go. We agreed some ground rules, like she doesn’t meet anyone we’re dating until it’s long term, and we keep each other in the loop about any major life events.’

‘That sounds sensible,’ he says. He moves around the island and looks down at me, brushing my hair away from my face. ‘I think you’ve done an amazing job in how you’ve navigated all of this with such grace.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, breaking his gaze and looking down, flushed. ‘I’m not sure I am really, but I’m trying.’

We go back to small talk, about the process of buying the flat and the process of buying my house, and trying to sort my house out. He cooks the steaks and produces some matchstick fries he prepared earlier, then chops a green salad.

‘I don’t know how you managed this and did a whole day of work,’ I say, as he plates it up. The cutlery is like new, in fact, everything looks new. I almost want to ask for the details of his cleaner and then beg them to come to Dulwich. ‘When I was working, I just came home and made noodles most nights. God knows what I’ll be like when I go back to work.’

‘You’re going back?’ He looks surprised.

I nod. ‘Yeah, they let me take an extra month of mat leave because of everything with Gavin; my old boss is terrifying but has been weirdly incredibly kind about all of this stuff. But once Rose is one she’ll start nursery and then I’ll be in the office a couple of days a week, and writing from home the rest.’