‘I feel a bit bad about Jono,’ Lawrence said as they drove away. ‘I didn’t get a chance to talk to him properly. But I can’t be doing with all this posh-boy stuff. He never used to be like that, before Alana. I mean, he’s always been confident, a bit loud, but not in that upper-class braying way he seems to have adopted.’
‘No, he’s definitely changed. Or maybe reverted. But I wouldn’t feel bad. He’ll understand. He knows we’re going through strange times.’
Lawrence turned his head to look at her. ‘Was last night so “strange”? Not the word I’d have used,’ he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. And Jo gave a quiet smile, as much to herself as to him.
*
It was still not yet eight when Lawrence pulled the car to a stop in front of Jo’s flat. As the engine died they both sat there in silence, staring ahead through the dusty windscreen. She felt a flutter in her stomach.
‘You could come in,’ she said. Last night still hung around her like a soft glow. She had always thought that if she and Lawrence ever did make a go of it again, that it would be more of a relief, a comforting return to familiarity. But their lovemaking had been so intense, surprisingly new. And mixed with the powerful desire was a sadness, a desperate yearning that felt almost painful, and seemed to come from the depths of her soul, and his, as they came together so passionately in that cold, damp bed. She knew there were no guarantees, that they still had a long way to go if they were ever to make it work between them. But last night at least felt like a start, a breath of promise on something she had feared was dead.
‘Yes?’ The look he gave her was hesitant.
‘I’ll make some coffee.’
He smiled. ‘I’d like that . . . very much.’
THE END