Page 69 of If We Were Young

I frowned, making my forehead hurt. “No. That’s not true at all.”

“Ah, aaaaah! So it was a date?”

“Hannah!”

“Mum. I really don’t mind.” Her smile dropped for a moment. “I know you’ve got to move on. You were thirty when Dad died. I don’t expect you to never meet anyone else.”

“Hannah, it’s not like that.” I wished it might be that straightforward, but it wasn’t.

She nodded and all too late I realised we were in the midst of a serious conversation. My daughter wanted to talk to me about the prospect of me dating. My chest tightened, that steely band settling back into place. I fought against it.

“Your cheeks were bright red when you walked in.” She pointed a look at me.

“It’s cold out there. Here, feel.” I pushed my fingers down the back of her pyjamas and she screeched. I laughed and the band of tightness eased.

“Anyway. I just want you to know that I’m cool with, whatever.” Her hands waved with the universal teenage sign for whatever.

“Thank you, but it really isn’t like that.” I sat down on the chair opposite her, my brain fogging up with that kiss. I mean, that really felt like that.

But nothing else had been said. I guessed Monday I’d see Matthew at work as a client, and I knew he was going back to Scotland. His time here in London was brief—little chance of rebuilding a friendship, let alone… my stomach dipped.

No, it wasn’t like that at all.

“What’s it like then?”

“Matthew is a friend from uni. Once we were best friends.”

Hannah’s face dropped into a picture of startled gormlessness. It would have been funny if we weren’t discussing Matthew and dancing around the edge of me acknowledging my ridiculous obsession. “He’s the guy you told me about the other day.”

“Yes.” He’s always the guy I talk about. Never was a thought more depressing.

“He’s the one with the girlfriend so you became his best friend.”

“Yeah. For the record I don’t advocate that.”

“What happened to his girlfriend?”

“She became his wife.”

“Oh. That’s not a happy story.”

“Nope. They’re getting divorced through… or are divorced. I’m not entirely sure.” I winced. I should have got to the bottom of that conversation.

Hannah smiled. “Okay, it’s getting better—I thought we were heading for a Shakespearean tragedy for a moment.”

I wanted to high-five the girl for the acumen of using the phrase ‘Shakespearean tragedy’. This was the Ronnie Childs tragedy and Shakespeare had nothing to do with it.

“He lives in Scotland.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And well, it’s complicated. Lots of things that should have been said but weren’t. Lots of miscommunications.”

“Did you love him? You know… before you met Dad.”

Well, that’s the question. I should have expected it, really. “I don’t know.” And yes. “It’s a long time ago now though. I never expected to see him again.”

“But you wanted to though?”