Page 53 of 56 Days
“Go where?”
“Just come with me.”
“What’s going on?”
“For God’s sake, woman. I’m trying to surprise you here. Help me out.”
She takes his hand and lets him lead her through the living room, through the open patio doors, and out onto the terrace—
The terrace has been transformed.
Strings of miniature LED lights have been wrapped around the railing; they glow warmly in the light of a setting sun. The table is now wearing ared-and-white checked tablecloth and is set for dinner for two, complete with flickering candles and champagne flutes. She laughs when she sees that a chair from the kitchen has been commandeered as a platform for a plastic yellow bucket, the kind children play with at the beach, only filled with ice and holding a sweating bottle of prosecco inside. Oliver’s phone is lying on the tabletop, softly playing something folksy and sweet.
She turns to him.
“I was confined to Tesco for supplies,” he says, “so I had to improvise. Don’t look too closely at those lights—they’re actually little unicorns. And the tablecloth is made of paper and the flutes are plastic. And those candles are the ones you light to keep bugs away. But I think I did good, right?”
She doesn’t know quite what to say. She manages, “What’s this all for?”
“Well...you.” He puts a hand on the back of his neck and rubs it absently, which she’s started to notice he always does when he’s embarrassed or afraid that he’s about to be. “You moving in, I mean. Even if it’s just temporary and because of an unprecedented global emergency—I’m electing not to take that part personally, just so you know. I just thought we should, you know, mark the occasion. And since we can’t go anywhere...” He grins. “I should warn you, though, I didn’t put quite the same effort into dinner. Or any effort. It’s a pizza and garlic bread. From frozen.”
“Thank you,” she says, finding her voice finally. “This is... It’s lovely.”
She means it.
He reaches for her and she lets him.
“So are you,” he whispers into her ear.
That’s when she sees it. Over his shoulder, through the open door. In the brightly lit living room.
Deflated and empty now, lying on the floor by the couch.
The backpack.
48 Days Ago
Saturday morning they wander around town for a while, searching for somewhere to have breakfast. She points out a bustling café at the top of Dawson Street with seats outside, but he doesn’t really want to give hundreds of people the opportunity to take a good long look at his face as they stroll past, and he doesn’t like feeling as if someone unseen could be watching him. When he suggests a small,basement-levelrestaurant a few doors down, she makes a face and says that maybe somewhere bigger and more open would be a safer option—you know,global-pandemic-wise? In the end they settle on Bewley’s on Grafton Street, partly because they’re both vaguely aware that it’s supposed to be somewhere special and partly because there’s already a line of people waiting to get in, a good sign.
As soon as they get through the doors themselves, Oliver sees that it’s the perfect choice. Inside it has the same airy,high-ceilingdesign as grand continental cafés and, better yet, the host leads them all the way to the back and around the corner to a little table where there’ll be no passing traffic. He offers Ciara the seat that faces into the café so he can sit with his back to it.
He doesn’t care about the food or the coffee. He just wants to make sure that he won’t have to regret this any more than he already does.
He picks up the menu and pretends to read.
“I amstarving,” she says, picking up hers.
Thursday night was supposed to be the end of this. He was going to meet her for a drink and then disappear. That’s what he’d needed to do and hewasgoing to do it.
And it would’ve been easy to, what with everything that’s going on now. She probably wouldn’t even have thought twice about it, and she certainly wouldn’t have suspected him of anything.
Instead, they’d ended up back at his place. Undressing each other. Somehow. Now she not only knows where he’s living but she’s slept in his bed and seen his scar.
Caught out unexpectedly, he’d told her the same story he’d told Lucy back in London. He hopes this isn’t a sign of things to come.
Part of him can’t believe that it’s happened, but a larger part knows it did because he’dwantedit to.
Because he likes her.
