Page 50 of If We Were Young

With my head on the desk, sunglasses digging into my cheek, I tried to unravel it all.

Nope. The fermented grape juice train was chugging too loud.

For fifteen years I’d been thinking about Matthew Carling, wondering what I did wrong. Even when I shouldn’t have thought about him, there he still was, owning real estate in my headspace.

All this time and he was angry because he thought he saw me kissing someone else. Why?

It seemed so juvenile. So ridiculous.

My phone vibrated again.

Matthew Carling: I appreciate that right now I’m the biggest dickwad in the universe.

I couldn’t help but smile. I clicked on the reply box.

Ronnie Childs: I can’t argue when you state the facts so articulately.

I thrust my phone back in my bag. It vibrated again and it took me a whole millisecond to grab it back out of my bag.

Matthew Carling: I have to get the train back to Edinburgh. Can I buy you a coffee?

Ronnie Childs: Okay…

I think the ellipsis communicated my confusion of the entire basis of why we were having this conversation at all.

Although…

Ronnie Childs: Thank you for the flowers.

I could see him typing. His words fluttered as dots at the bottom of the screen. My heart fluttered with them.

Matthew Carling: Coffee?

I looked as rough as old boots, my skin grey, my eyes bloodshot. I hated to think what my breath smelt like.

Ronnie Childs: When?

Matthew Carling: Downstairs.

He was here? I thrust out of my chair and grabbed my bag. “I’m going for coffee,” I shouted.

“Latte, a double shot,” Natalie called, but I ignored her, just like I ignored my eyeliner message to myself this morning.

The lift couldn’t go down fast enough. I breathed in deep. The tight band around my chest I expected to feel, relaxed looser. The Matthew effect.

I launched out of the revolving door like a bat straight out of hell.

He waited by the door, leant against the glass windowpane, wearing a long overcoat and dark trousers with chest-loving wool. His face held a frown until he saw me, then it evaporated, slipping away and morphing into a bashful smile. He pushed away from the glass just as a blonde head bobbed into my line of sight.

“Boss Lady, I’m late, I’m late.” Fred pushed a kiss against my cheek. Never ever had he done that before. “How’s the hangover? Anyway, I was thinking about the clubbing thing and…”

“Fred.” I elbowed him out of the way. Matthew’s smile clouded like rain on a picnic. “I’m busy.”

For the love of God, he caught my hand and wheeled me around. “I was thinking, shall we look at these disastrous shops this afternoon?”

“Fred, I don’t even know if we’ve still got the job.”

“Oh, of course. That man will be back to glare at you. I think he might be addicted to it.”