Two weeks after that, as the July heat rose steaming from the city pavements, and every available green space filled up with sunbathers and picnics, Emma messaged him asking if she could pick up the rest of her stuff. He offered to bring it to her instead, so they arranged to meet at her old apartment. It would be the first time he’d been there.
It was exactly the kind of place he’d imagined Emma living – huge sash windows, airy ceilings and original features.
Only she clearly wasn’t living there. She’d welcomed him into an empty living space – boxes lined up where furniture should have been, pictures propped against one pale wall beside a roll of bubble wrap instead of hanging on the walls.
‘You’re moving.’ He put the holdall containing her books, photographs and the kitchen implements she’d left behind on the bare wooden floor.
‘I never moved back in. I’m renting a little cottage near the farmhouse.’
He nodded. No further explanation needed as to why she didn’t want to move back into the home she’d shared with Bridget.
‘I had to pick up the rest of my things, and thought it would save you coming out all that way. My sisters offered to come and fetch everything, but I’ve got a reputation to maintain as the organised and efficient one. Plus, I didn’t really trust them to uphold my strict packing procedures. They weren’t even interested in looking at my spreadsheet.’
He shook his head, wincing. ‘Come on now, surely every responsible packer knows you have to stick to the spreadsheet. Otherwise, before you know it they’ll be folding not rolling your jumpers. Putting items from the bedroom and the kitchen in the same boxes. It’d be utter carnage.’
She raised her eyebrows, quirking her mouth in response. ‘Hmmm. I maybe would have trusted you to do it. Eventually. If you approach packing as seriously as you do baking.’
‘I’ve never moved more than a couple of bags, but if I did, then I’d certainly follow your instructions to the letter.’
‘That’s why we were 94 per cent compatible.’ She gave him what appeared to be a definite smile then, and a weight the size of a giant suitcase tumbled off his back and he found himself blinking back tears. Now probably wasn’t the time to mention that he’d fiddled their compatibility score.
‘Do you want a drink while you’re here? Or something to eat? I thought a meal would be a bit too full-on, but I’m experimenting with a vegan version of Mamma’s sfogliatelle. I seem to be making it a lot these days, so you’d be doing me a favour if you ate some.’
She flicked on the kettle. ‘I’ve only got tea. The coffee machine moved at the same time as me. And no milk.’
‘Black’s fine.’ He’d have happily drunk own-brand instant coffee if it meant accepting a peace offering.
They settled back against the dark blue kitchen cabinets, each holding a mug in one hand and a pastry in the other.
‘Would it ruin the atmosphere if I dragged up again how sorry I am?’
‘Yes!’ Emma exclaimed, rolling her eyes. ‘I thought it was an unspoken agreement that we never spoke of such things ever again. Part of our fake-divorce settlement.’
‘Okay. But I think there was a minor subsection permitting me this one, brief, statement. Despite me not being in any way deserving of it.’
‘Go on, then. If you absolutely must.’
‘I must.’ He finished the last chunk of sfogliatella, dusting off his hands before speaking. ‘I wanted to say that, as gutted as I am, if gutted is in any way an appropriate word to convey something so massively huge and life-altering, as gutted as I am about us not working out—’
‘You not working out, because you were in love with my sister all along.’
‘Yes. I wanted to say that the thing I’m sorriest about, and ashamed and furious at myself about, is what I’ve done to you and Bridget.’
‘That kind of implies that me – us – what we could have been, didn’t mean that much to you, then.’
‘No. It’s not that. But I knew I didn’t really deserve you. I’m conditioned to expect my life will turn back to crap. But this is the first time I completely ruined someone else’s.’
She downed the last of her tea and dumped the mug on the worktop. ‘It’s not your fault. Well. Not entirely. Or even mostly. Personally, I think the walrus’s share of the blame falls squarely on the smug shoulders of Professor Cole.’
Cooper thought about that. About whether to accept this token of grace graciously, or continue to argue for his prosecution. Being part of the Donovans had clearly had some impact. It wasn’t that difficult to choose grace.
‘He won’t be quite so smug when he has to face Prof Love at the awards dinner and explain the outcome of his bet.’
Then, Cooper did something he hadn’t thought he’d do for a long time. Something he hadn’t thought he’d ever do with Emma again: He laughed.
She laughed too. Another chunk of bitter regret crumbled away, and then the front door crashed open.
Emma sprang away from the worktop, eyes wide with alarm. Scanning around, she grabbed one of the biggest books. Footsteps thudded closer.
