between them and begun to spread. Lucy was convinced he had been flirting with Becci throughout that meal. He on the other hand, though happy to admit that he found her attractive, did not regard occasional eye contact and the odd smile as flirting. The spectre of jealousy, so early on in their togetherness, made him feel uncomfortable. By the time they reached the south western suburbs of London, Richard was bracing himself for the delivery of a familiar line: “I think we should put this down to a holiday romance. I don’t think it would work out. Your friendship is really important to me, Lucy, and I don’t want to lose it.” “If you say so.” He dropped the two of them off at her flat in Primrose Hill and gave the sleeping James a kiss, before kissing Lucy to tears. On the way back home, he called in on his restaurant for a quick update and a free meal. Back at his flat, he fired back a couple of brandies to burn away the road and went to bed early, looking forward to his one more day off, just doing nothing.
Dafydd drove Aurélie straight to Heathrow for the Paris shuttle. Despite the improvement in the weather, they had spent far too much of the intervening time in near-deserted pubs drinking too much beer with unfriendly locals and waiting for Sean to turn up. Aurélie’s unswerving conviction that he would arrive in Newquay around the time of his birthday had been systematically shredded by each day of his non-appearance. They too were silent throughout most of their journey, as they struggled to come to terms with the impact of the last few weeks. Whenever they went up to the edge of their present lives and looked over, bewildering contradictions stared back at
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