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.