The One Plus One

19. Jess

Tanzie was nervous, even though she would only admit to ‘thirty-seven per cent nervous, maybe thirty-eight’. She refused supper, and declined to come downstairs even for a break, preferring to curl up on the pink nylon coverlet and plough through her maths papers while nibbling at what remained of the breakfast picnic. Jess was surprised: her daughter rarely suffered from nerves when it came to anything maths related. She did her best to reassure her, but it was hard when she had no idea what she was talking about.

‘We’re nearly there! It’s all good, Tanze. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Do you think I’ll sleep tonight?’

‘Of course you’ll sleep tonight.’

‘But if I don’t I might do really badly.’

‘Even if you don’t sleep you’ll do fine. And I’ve never known you not sleep.’

‘I’m worried that I’ll worry too much to sleep.’

‘I’m not worried that you’ll worry. Just relax. You’ll be fine. It will all be fine.’

When Jess kissed her she saw that she had chewed her nails right down to the quick.

Mr Nicholls was in the garden. He walked up and down where she and Tanzie had been half an hour earlier, talking avidly into his phone. He stopped and stared at it a couple of times, then stepped up onto a white plastic garden chair, presumably to get better reception. He stood there, wobbling, utterly oblivious to the curious glances of those inside as he gesticulated and swore.

Jess gazed through the window, unsure whether to go and interrupt him. There were a few old men in the bar, gathered around the landlady as she chatted from the other side. They looked at her incuriously over their pints.

‘Work, is it?’ The landlady followed her gaze through the window.

‘Oh. Yes. Never stops.’ Jess raised a smile. ‘I’ll take him a drink.’

Mr Nicholls was seated on a low stone wall when she finally walked out. His elbows were on his knees and he was staring at the grass.

Jess held out the pint and he stared at it for a moment, then took it from her. ‘Thanks.’ He looked exhausted.

‘Everything okay?’

‘No.’ He took a long gulp of his beer. ‘Nothing’s okay.’

She sat down a few feet away. ‘Anything I can help with?’

‘No.’

They sat in silence. The pub was shabby but she quite liked it. It was so peaceful there, with nothing around them except the breeze rippling across the moors, the distant cries of birds and the gentle hum of conversation from inside. She was going to say something about the landscape, when a voice broke into the still air.

‘Fuck it,’ Mr Nicholls said vehemently. ‘Just fuck it.’

It was so startling that Jess flinched.

‘I just can’t believe my fucking life has turned into this … mess.’ His voice cracked. ‘I can’t believe that I can work and work for years and the whole thing can fall apart like this. For what? For fucking what?’

‘It’s only food poisoning. You’ll –’

‘I’m not talking about the fucking kebab.’ He dropped his head into his hands. ‘But I don’t want to talk about it.’ He shot her an angry look.

‘Okay.’

Jess took a sip of her beer. She didn’t really like beer, but it had been on special. Upstairs the bathroom window opened and a little burp of steam emerged.

‘That’s the thing. Legally, I’m not meant to talk to anyone about any of this.’

She didn’t look at him. She had learnt this trick long ago: when Nicky first came to them, the social worker had said he would open up a lot more if Jess didn’t make eye contact with him. They were like animals, men. They found too much direct contact threatening.

‘I can’t tell a soul. I mean legally.’

She stretched out a leg and gazed at the sunset. ‘Well, I don’t count, do I? I’m a cleaning wench.’

He let out a breath. ‘Fuck it,’ he said again.

And then he told her, his head down, his hands raking his short dark hair. He told her about a girlfriend whom he couldn’t think how to let down nicely, and an ex-wife who never quite left him alone, and how his whole life had come crashing down. He told her about his company and how he should have been there now, celebrating the launch of his last six years’ obsessive work. And how instead he had to stay away from everything and everyone he knew all the while facing the prospect of prosecution. He told her about his dad who was sick, and who was going to be even sicker when he heard what had happened. And he told her about the lawyer who had just rung to inform him that shortly after he returned from this trip his presence would be required at a police station in London where he would be charged with insider trading, a charge that could win him up to twenty years in prison. By the time he’d finished she felt winded.

‘Everything I’ve ever worked for. Everything I cared about. I’m not allowed to go into my own office. I can’t even go back to my flat in case the press hear of it and I do another stupid thing and let slip what’s happened. I can’t go and see my own dad because then he’ll die knowing what a bloody idiot his son is.’

Jess digested this for a few minutes. He smiled bleakly at the sky. ‘And you know the best bit? It’s my birthday.’

‘What?’

‘Today. It’s my birthday.’

‘Today? Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘Because I’m thirty-four years old, and a thirty-four-year-old man sounds like a dick talking about birthdays.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘And what with the whole food-poisoning thing, I didn’t feel I had much to celebrate.’ He looked sideways at her. ‘Plus you might have started singing “Happy Birthday” in the car.’

‘I’ll sing it out here.’

‘Please don’t. Things are bad enough.’

Jess’s head was reeling. She couldn’t believe all the stuff Mr Nicholls was carrying around. If it had been anyone else she might have put her arm around them, attempted to say something comforting. But Mr Nicholls was prickly. And who could blame him? It felt like offering an Elastoplast to someone who had just had an arm amputated.

‘Things will get better, you know,’ she said, when she couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘Karma will get that girl who stitched you up.’

He pulled a face. ‘Karma?’

‘It’s like I tell the kids. Good things happen to good people. You just have to keep faith …’

‘Well, I must have been a complete shit in a past life.’

‘Come on. You still have property. You have cars. You have your brain. You have expensive lawyers. You can work this out.’

‘How come you’re such an optimist?’

‘Because things do come right.’

‘And that’s from a woman who doesn’t have enough money to catch a train.’

Jess kept her gaze on the craggy hillside. ‘Because it’s your birthday, I’m going to let that one go.’

Mr Nicholls sighed. ‘Sorry. I know you’re trying to help. But right now I find your relentless positivity exhausting.’

‘No, you find driving hundreds of miles in a car with three people you don’t know and a large dog exhausting. Go upstairs and have a long bath and you’ll feel better. Go on.’

He trudged inside, the condemned man, and she sat and stared out at the slab of green moorland in front of her. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be facing prison, not to be allowed near the things or the people you loved. She tried to imagine someone like Mr Nicholls doing time. And then she decided not to think about it and hoped quite hard that Nicky hadn’t used up all the hot water.

After a while, she walked inside with the empty glasses. She leant over the bar, where the landlady was watching an episode of Homes Under the Hammer. The men sat in silence behind her, watching it too or gazing rheumily into their pints.

‘Mrs Deakins? It’s actually my husband’s birthday today. Would you mind doing me a favour?’

Mr Nicholls finally came downstairs at eight thirty, wearing the exact clothes he’d worn that afternoon. And the previous afternoon. Jess knew he had bathed, as his hair was damp and he had shaved.

‘So what’s in your bag, then? A body?’

‘What?’ He walked over to the bar. He gave off a faint scent of Wilkinson Sword soap.

‘You’ve worn the same clothes since we left.’

He looked down, as if to check. ‘Oh. No. These are clean.’

‘You have the exact same T-shirt and jeans? For every day?’

‘Saves thinking about it.’

She looked at him for a minute, then decided to bite back what she had been about to say. It was his birthday after all.

‘Oh. You look nice, though,’ he said suddenly, as if he’d only just noticed.

She had changed into a blue sundress and a cardigan. She had been going to save it for the Olympiad, but had figured that this was important. ‘Well, thank you. One has to make the effort to fit one’s surroundings, doesn’t one?’

‘What – you left your flat cap and dog-haired jeans behind?’

‘You’re about to be sorry for your sarcasm. Because I have a surprise in store.’

‘A surprise.’ He looked instantly wary.

‘It’s a good one. Here.’ Jess handed him one of two glasses she had prepared earlier, to Mrs Deakins’s amusement. ‘I figure you’re well enough.’

‘What is this?’ He stared at it suspiciously. They hadn’t made a cocktail here since 1987, Mrs Deakins had observed, as Jess checked the dusty bottles behind the optics.

‘Scotch, triple sec and orange juice.’

He took a sip. And then a larger one. ‘This is all right.’

‘I knew you’d like it. I made it specially for you. It’s called a Mithering Bastard.’

The white plastic table sat in the middle of the threadbare lawn, with two place settings of stainless-steel cutlery and a candle in a wine bottle in the middle. Jess had wiped the chairs with a bar cloth so that there was no green left on them and now pulled one out for him.

‘We’re eating al fresco. Birthday treat.’ She ignored the look he gave her. ‘If you would like to take your seat, I’ll go and inform the kitchen that you’re here.’

‘It’s not breakfast muffins, is it?’

‘Of course it’s not breakfast muffins.’ She pretended to be offended. As she walked towards the kitchen, she muttered, ‘Tanzie and Nicky had the rest of those.’

When she arrived back at the table, Norman had flopped down on Mr Nicholls’s foot. Jess suspected Mr Nicholls would quite like to have moved it, but she had been sat on by Norman before and he was a dead weight. You just had to sit there and pray that he shifted before your foot went black and fell off.

‘How was your aperitif?’

Mr Nicholls gazed at his empty cocktail glass. ‘Delicious.’

‘Well, the main course is on its way. I’m afraid it’s just the two of us this evening, as the other guests had prior arrangements.’

‘Waterloo Road and some completely insane algebraic equations.’

‘You know us too well.’ Jess sat down in her chair and, as she did, Mrs Deakins picked her way across the lawn, the Pomeranians yapping at her feet. With the same care as a head waiter holds up cordon bleu dishes in a five-star restaurant, she held aloft two plates upon each of which sat a huge foil-clad pie and chips.

‘There you go,’ she said, placing them on the table. ‘Steak and kidney. From Ian up the road. He does a lovely meat pie.’

Jess was so hungry by then she thought she could probably have eaten Ian. ‘Fantastic. Thank you,’ she said, laying a paper napkin on her lap.

Mrs Deakins stood and gazed around, as if seeing the setting for the first time. ‘We never eat out here. Lovely idea. I might offer it to my other customers. And those cocktails. I could make a package of it.’

Jess thought about the old men in the bar. ‘Shame not to,’ she said, passing the vinegar across to Mr Nicholls. He seemed temporarily stunned.

Mrs Deakins rubbed her hands on her apron. ‘Well, Mr Nicholls, your wife is certainly determined to show you a good time on your birthday,’ she said, with a wink.

He glanced up at her. ‘Oh. There’s never a quiet moment with Jess,’ he said, letting his gaze slide back to hers.

‘So how long have you two been married?’

‘Ten years.’

‘Three years.’

‘The children are from my previous marriages,’ Jess said, slicing into the pie.

‘Oh! That’s –’

‘I rescued her,’ said Mr Nicholls. ‘From the side of the road.’

‘He did.’

‘That’s very romantic.’ Mrs Deakins’s smile wavered a little.

‘Not really. She was being arrested at the time.’

‘I’ve explained all that. God, these chips are delicious.’

‘You have. And those policemen were very understanding. Considering.’

Mrs Deakins had started to back away. ‘Well, that’s lovely. It’s nice that you’re still together.’

‘We get by.’

‘We have no choice right now.’

‘That’s true too.’

‘Could you bring out some red sauce?’

‘Oh, good idea. Darling.’

As she disappeared, Mr Nicholls nodded towards the candle, and the plates. And then he looked up at Jess and he was no longer scowling. ‘This is actually the best pie and chips I’ve ever eaten in a weird bed-and-breakfast somewhere I’ve never heard of on the north Yorkshire moors.’

‘I’m so glad. Happy birthday.’

They ate in companionable silence. It was astonishing how much better a hot meal and a fearsomely strong cocktail could make you feel. Upstairs Jess could hear Nicky watching television, occasional growls of frustration echoing through the open window when the static electricity interrupted his programme. Crows cawed obscenely from a nearby telephone wire. Norman groaned and flopped over onto his side, releasing Mr Nicholls’s foot. Mr Nicholls stretched his leg speculatively, perhaps trying to see whether he still could.

He looked up at her, and raised his refreshed cocktail glass. ‘Seriously. I do feel better. Thank you.’ Without his glasses on, she noticed now that he had ridiculously long eyelashes. It made her feel weirdly conscious of the candle in the middle of the table. It had been a bit of a joke when she’d asked for it.

‘Well … it was the least I could do. You did rescue us. From the side of the road. I don’t know what we would have done.’

He speared another chip and held it aloft. ‘Well, I like to look after my staff.’

‘I think I preferred it when we were married.’

‘Cheers.’ He grinned at her. And it was so genuine and unexpected that she found herself grinning back.

‘Here’s to tomorrow. And Tanzie’s future.’

‘And a general absence of more crap.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’

The evening crept into night, eased by strong alcohol, and the happy knowledge that nobody had to sleep in a car, or needed frequent, urgent access to a bathroom. Nicky came down, ate his pie and chips, gazed suspiciously from under his fringe at the men in the snug, who gazed equally suspiciously back at him, and retreated to his bedroom to watch television. Jess drank three glasses of acidic Liebfraumilch, went inside to check on Tanzie and take her some food. She made her promise she would not revise later than ten o’clock. ‘Can I keep working in your room? Nicky has the telly on.’

‘That’s fine,’ Jess said.

‘You smell of wine,’ Tanzie said pointedly.

‘That’s because we’re sort of on holiday. Mums are allowed to smell of wine when they’re sort of on holiday.’

‘Hmm.’ She gave Jess a severe look and turned back to her books.

Nicky was sprawled on one of the single beds watching television. She shut the door behind her and sniffed the air.

‘You haven’t been smoking, have you?’

‘You’ve still got my stash, if you remember. You said you were going to throw it away.’

‘Oh, yes.’ She had completely forgotten. ‘But you slept without it. Last night and the night before.’

‘Mm.’

‘Well, that’s good, right?’

He shrugged.

‘I think the words you were looking for are “Yes, it’s great that I no longer need illegal substances simply to fall asleep.” Right, up you get for a minute. I need you to help me lift a mattress.’ When he didn’t move, she said, ‘I can’t sleep in there with Mr Nicholls. We’ll make another bed on the floor of your room, okay?’

He sighed, but he got up and helped. He didn’t wince any more when he moved, she noticed. On the carpet beside Tanzie’s bed, the mattress left just enough room for them to slide in and out of the door, which now only opened six inches.

‘This is going to be fun if I need the loo in the night.’

‘Go last thing. You’re a big boy.’ She told Nicky to turn off the television at ten so as not to disturb Tanzie, and left them both upstairs.

The candle had long since expired in the stiff evening breeze, and when they could no longer see each other to talk they moved indoors, seating themselves in the corner of the snug as far as possible from Mrs Deakins and the silent men at the bar. They had moved from parents and first jobs onto relationships. Jess told him about Marty and how he had once bought her an extension lead for her birthday, protesting, ‘But you said you needed one!’ In turn, he told her about Lara the Ex and how on her birthday he had once arranged for a chauffeur-driven car to pick her up for a surprise breakfast at a posh hotel with her friends, then spend the morning in Harvey Nichols with a personal shopper and an unlimited budget, and how when he’d met her for lunch she had complained bitterly because he hadn’t taken the whole day off work. Jess thought she’d quite like to slap Lara the Ex quite hard around her overly made-up face (she had invented this face: it was probably more drag-queen than was strictly necessary).

‘Did you have to pay her maintenance?’

‘Didn’t have to but I did. Until she let herself into the apartment and helped herself to my stuff for the third time.’

‘Did you get it back?’

‘It wasn’t worth the hassle. If a screen-print of Mao Tse-tung is that important to her she can have it.’

‘What was it worth?’

‘What?’

‘The painting.’

‘A few grand.’

‘You and I speak different languages, Mr Nicholls.’ She studied him. ‘Have you changed the locks now?’

He shuffled a little awkwardly in his seat. ‘It’s just stuff …’ Jess must have pulled a face, because he said, ‘Okay, then, how much maintenance does your ex pay you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing?’ His eyebrows had lifted to somewhere round his hairline. ‘Nothing at all?’

‘He’s a mess. You can’t punish someone for being a mess.’

‘Even if it means you and the kids have to struggle? You’re right – you and I do speak different languages.’

How could she explain? It had taken her two years to work it out herself. She knew the kids missed him, but she was secretly relieved Marty had gone. She was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about whether he was going to hijack their futures with his next ill-thought-out scheme. She was weary of his black moods and that he was permanently exhausted by the children. Mostly she was tired of never doing anything right. Marty had liked the sixteen-year-old Jess – the wild, impulsive, responsibility-free version. Then he had weighed her down with responsibility and hadn’t liked who had emerged from it. ‘When he’s sorted himself out I’ll make sure he contributes his share again, yes. But we’re okay.’ Jess glanced upstairs to where Nicky and Tanzie were sleeping. ‘I think this will be our turning point. And, besides, you probably won’t understand this, and I know everyone thinks they’re a bit odd, but I’m the lucky one having them. They’re kind and funny. They have ideas about stuff.’ She poured herself another glass of wine and took a gulp. It was definitely getting easier to drink. She just wasn’t sure how much tooth enamel she’d have afterwards.

‘They’re nice kids.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Actually, I realized something today. The last few days have been the first time I can remember where I just got to be with them. Not working, not running around doing housework or shopping or trying to catch up on all the stuff. It’s been nice just hanging out with them, if that doesn’t sound daft.’

‘It doesn’t.’

‘And Nicky’s sleeping. He never sleeps. I’m not sure what you did for him, but he seems …’

‘Oh, we just redressed the balance a little.’

Jess raised her glass. ‘Then one nice thing happened on your birthday – you cheered my boy up.’

‘That was yesterday.’

She thought for a moment. ‘You didn’t vomit once.’

‘Okay. Stop now.’

She could no longer see him properly as they were side by side on the bench but, whether it was just the food, or perhaps the four pints of beer on top of the cocktail, or perhaps even just not having to look her in the eye, Mr Nicholls’s whole body had finally relaxed. He leant back, his long legs stretched out under the table. For some time now one of them had been resting against hers. She had thought fleetingly that she should move it, and hadn’t, and now she couldn’t without it looking as if she was making a point. She felt it, an electric presence, against her bare leg.

She quite liked it.

Because something had happened somewhere between the pie and chips and the last round, and it wasn’t just drink, or being away from everything, or the fact that they were finally so close to their destination. Jess wasn’t quite sure what it was. She wanted Mr Nicholls not to feel angry and hopeless. She wanted to see that big sleepy grin of his, the one that seemed to defuse all the suppressed anger so you could see what he might have been like if all the crap hadn’t happened to him. And when he did unleash one of those smiles it was so joyful and unexpected that she couldn’t help a huge, involuntary grin spreading in answer across her own face. And so they sat, talking quietly, listening to the hum of the television at the bar, the murmured conversation, and periodically grinning like a pair of idiots.

‘You know, I’ve never met anyone like you,’ he said.

He was gazing at the table, apparently deep in thought. Jess had been about to make a joke about cleaners and baristas and staff but instead she just felt this great lurch in the pit of her belly and found herself picturing the taut V of his bare torso in the shower and wondering what it would be like to sleep with him.

The shock of this thought was so great that she nearly said it out loud. I think it would be quite nice to have sex with Mr Nicholls. She looked away and gulped the remaining half-glass of wine, feeling the burn of complaint as it went down.

Mr Nicholls was looking at her. ‘Don’t take offence. I meant it in a good way.’

‘I’m not taking offence.’ Her ears had gone pink.

‘You’re just the most positive person I’ve ever met. You’re practical. You fix stuff. You never seem to feel sorry for yourself. Every obstacle that comes your way, you just scramble over it.’

‘Ripping my trousers and falling over in the process.’

‘But you keep going.’

‘When someone helps me.’

‘Okay. This simile is becoming confusing.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘I just … wanted to tell you. I know it’s nearly over. But I’ve enjoyed this trip. More than I expected to.’

It was out before she knew what she was saying. ‘Yeah. Me too.’

They sat. He was gazing at her leg. She wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking.

‘Do you know something, Jess?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve stopped fidgeting.’

They looked up at each other and a question passed silently between them. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t. Mr Nicholls had just been a means of moving forward out of an impossible mess. Now all Jess could see were his big dark eyes, the way his hair left his forehead in an impossibly thick, lush line. The hypnotic way his top lip sculpted itself into a tiny cradle.

You need to get back on the horse.

He looked away first.

‘Whoa! Look at the time. It’s late. We should really get some sleep. You said we had to get up early.’ His voice was just a bit too loud. ‘Yup. Nearly eleven already. I think I calculated that we need to leave here by seven to make it there for midday. Does that sound right to you?’

‘Uh … sure.’

She swayed a little when she stood up, and reached for his arm, but he’d already moved away.

They arranged an early breakfast, bade Mrs Deakins a slightly-too-hearty goodnight and made their way slowly up the stairs at the back of the pub. Jess was barely aware of what was said. For she was acutely conscious of him behind her. Of the unsteady way her hips moved when she walked. Of her bare shoulders. Is he watching me? Her mind swirled and dipped in unexpected directions. She wondered, briefly, what it would feel like if he were to lean forward and kiss her bare shoulder. She thought she might have made a small, involuntary sound at the thought of it.

They stopped on the landing, and she turned to face him. It felt as if, three days in, she’d only just seen him.

‘Goodnight, then, Jessica Rae Thomas. With an a and an e.’

Her hand came to rest on the door handle. She gazed up at him then – at his broad shoulders and his clean identikit T-shirt and his soft, sad eyes – and her breath caught in her throat. It had been so long. Would it really be such a bad idea? She pushed down on the handle and leant in. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘I’d offer to make you coffee. But you’re always up first anyway.’

She didn’t know what to say. It was possible she was just gazing at him.

‘Um … Jess?’

‘What?’

‘Thanks. For everything. The sickness stuff, the birthday surprise … In case I don’t get a chance to say this tomorrow …’ he gave her a lopsided smile ‘… as ex-wives go, you were definitely my favourite.’

Jess tried to smile back, but her answer dried in her throat. She pushed at the door. She was going to say something else, but she was distracted by the fact that the door didn’t move.

She turned and pushed down on the handle again. It gave, opened an inch, and no more.

‘What?’

‘I can’t open the door,’ she said, putting both her hands on it. Nothing.

Mr Nicholls walked over and pushed. It gave the tiniest amount. ‘It’s not locked,’ he said, working the handle. ‘There’s something blocking it.’

She squatted down, trying to see, and Mr Nicholls turned on the landing light. Through the two inches of door space, she could just make out Norman’s bulk on the other side of the door. He was lying on the mattress, his huge back to her.

‘Norman,’ she hissed. ‘Move.’

Nothing.

‘Norman.’

‘If I push, he’ll have to wake up, right?’ Mr Nicholls began leaning on the door. He rested his full weight on it. Then he pushed. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said.

Jess shook her head. ‘You don’t know my dog.’

He let go of the handle and the door shut with a gentle click. They stared at each other.

‘Well …’ he said finally. ‘There are two beds in here. It’ll be fine.’

She grimaced. ‘Um. Norman is sleeping on the other single. I moved the mattress in there earlier.’

He looked at her wearily then. ‘Knock on the door?’

‘Tanzie is stressed. I can’t run the risk of waking her. It’s fine. I’ll … I’ll … just sleep on the chair.’

Jess headed down to the bathroom before he could contradict her. She washed and brushed her teeth, gazing at her alcohol-flushed skin in the plastic-framed mirror and trying to stop her thoughts chasing themselves in circles.

When she arrived back at the room, Mr Nicholls was holding up one of his dark grey T-shirts. ‘Here,’ he said, and threw it at her as he walked past to the bathroom. Jess changed into it, trying to ignore the vague eroticism of its clean male smell, pulled the spare blanket and a pillow out of the wardrobe and curled up in the chair, struggling to bring her knees up to a position that made it comfortable. It was going to be a long night.

Some minutes later, Mr Nicholls opened the door and turned off the overhead light. He was wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of dark blue boxers. She saw that his legs bore the long, visible muscles of someone who does no-excuses exercise. She knew immediately how they would feel against her own. The thought made her mouth go dry.

The little bed sagged audibly as he climbed in.

‘Are you comfortable like that?’ He looked at her over the lavender-coloured bedspread.

‘Totally fine!’ she said brightly. ‘You?’

‘If one of these springs impales me while I sleep, you have my permission to take the car the rest of the way.’

He gazed at her across the room for a moment longer, then turned out the bedside light.

The darkness was total. Outside, a faint breeze moaned through unseen gaps in the stone, trees rustled and a car door slammed, its engine roaring a protest. In the next room, Norman whined in his sleep, the sound only partially muffled by the thin plasterboard wall. Jess could hear Mr Nicholls breathing, and although she had spent the previous night only inches from him, she was acutely conscious of his presence in a way she hadn’t been twenty-four hours earlier. She thought of the way he had made Nicky smile, of the way his fingers rested on a steering-wheel. She thought of him slumped on the dry stone wall, his head in his hands, as he talked about what he had lost, the hurt and anger etched deep on his face.

She thought about some expression she had heard Nicky use a few weeks ago – YOLO – You only live once – and remembered how she had told him she thought it was just an excuse idiots used for doing pretty much anything they felt like doing, no matter what the consequences.

She thought about Liam, and how she knew in her gut that he was probably having sex with someone right this minute – that ginger barmaid from the Blue Parrot, maybe, or the Dutch girl who drove the flower van. She thought about a conversation she’d had with Chelsea when Chelsea had told her she should lie about her kids because no man would ever fall in love with a single mother of two, and how Jess had got angry with her because deep down she knew she was probably right.

She thought about the fact that even if Mr Nicholls didn’t go to prison, she would probably never see him again after this trip.

And then, before she could think too hard about anything else, Jess eased herself silently out of the chair, letting the blanket fall to the floor. It took only four steps to reach the bed, and she hesitated, her bare toes curled in the acrylic carpet, even then not quite sure what she was doing. You only live once. And then in the near-total dark there was a faint movement and she saw Mr Nicholls turn to face her as she lifted the duvet and climbed in.

Jess was chest to chest against him, her cool legs against his warm ones. There was nowhere else to go in this tiny bed, with the sag of the mattress pushing them closer together and its edge like a cliff-drop just inches behind her. They were so close that she could breathe in the remnants of his aftershave, his toothpaste. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, as her heart thumped erratically against his. She tilted her head a little, trying to read him. He put his right arm across the duvet, a surprisingly heavy weight, gathering her in closer to him. With his other, he took her hand and enclosed it slowly in his. It was dry and soft, and inches from her mouth. She wanted to lower her face to his knuckles and trace her lips along them. She wanted to reach her mouth up to his, and run her teeth gently along the soft curve of his upper lip.

You only live once.

She lay there in the dark, paralysed by her own longing, by the fact that just this once she did not know the answer, or even the question.

‘Do you want to have sex with me?’ she said, into the darkness.

There was a long silence.

‘Did you hear what –’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And … no.’ He spoke again before she could turn completely to stone. ‘I just think it would make things too complicated.’

‘It’s not complicated. We’re both young, lonely, a bit pissed. And after tonight we’re never going to see each other again.’

‘How so?’

‘You’ll go back to London and lead your big city life, and I’ll be down on the coast leading mine. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.’

He was silent for a minute. ‘Jess … I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t fancy me.’ She prickled with embarrassment, remembering suddenly what he’d said about his ex. Lara was a model, for Chrissakes. But even as she shifted away from him, his hand tightened around hers. His voice was a murmur in her ear. ‘You’re beautiful.’

She waited. His thumb brushed over her palm. ‘So … why won’t you sleep with me?’

He didn’t say anything.

‘Look. Here’s the thing. I haven’t had sex in three years. I sort of need to get back on the horse, and I think it – you – would be great.’

‘You want me to be a horse.’

‘Not like that. I need a metaphorical horse.’

‘And now we’re back to confusing metaphors.’

‘Look, a woman you say you find beautiful is offering you no-strings sex. I don’t understand the problem.’

‘There’s no such thing as no-strings sex.’

‘What?’

‘Someone always wants something.’

‘I don’t want anything from you.’

She felt him shrug. ‘Not now, maybe.’

‘Wow.’ She turned onto her side. ‘She really got to you, didn’t she?’

‘I just …’

Jess slid her foot along his leg. ‘You think I’m trying to lure you in? You think this is me trying to entrap you with my womanly wiles? My womanly wiles, a nylon bedspread, pie and chips?’ She interlinked her fingers with his. She let her voice drop to a whisper. She felt unleashed, reckless. She thought she might actually faint with how much she wanted him then. ‘I don’t want a relationship, Ed. With you or anyone. There’s no room in my life for the whole one plus one thing.’ She tilted her face so that her mouth was inches from his. She could almost taste the toothpaste sweetness of his breath. ‘I’d’ve thought that would be obvious.’

He moved his hips an awkward fraction away from hers. ‘You are … incredibly persuasive.’

‘And you are …’ She hooked her leg around him, pulling him closer. The hardness of him made her briefly giddy.

He swallowed.

Her lips were millimetres from his. All the nerves of her body had somehow concentrated themselves in her skin. Or maybe his skin: she could no longer tell.

‘It’s the last night. You know … you can drop us off tomorrow and we’ll never see each other again. At worst we can exchange a glance over the vacuum cleaner and I’ll just remember this as a nice night with a nice guy who actually was a nice guy.’ She let her lips graze his chin. It carried the faint echo of stubble. She wanted to bite it. ‘You, of course, will remember it as the greatest sex you ever had.’

‘And that’s it.’ His voice was thick, distracted.

Jess moved closer. ‘That’s it,’ she murmured.

‘You’d have made a great negotiator.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ She moved forward, a fraction, until her lips met his. She almost jolted. She felt the electric pressure of his mouth on hers as he ceded to her, the sweetness of him, and she no longer cared about anything. She wanted him. She burnt with it. ‘Happy birthday,’ she whispered.

He pulled back a fraction. She felt, rather than saw, Ed Nicholls gazing at her. His eyes were black in the darkness, unfathomable. He moved his hand and as it brushed against her stomach she gave a faint, involuntary shiver.

‘Fuck,’ he said quietly. ‘Fucking fuck.’ And then, with a groan, he said, ‘You will actually thank me for this tomorrow.’

And he gently disentangled himself from her, climbed out of bed, walked over to the chair, sat down and, with a great sigh, hauled the blanket over himself and turned away.