We stayed in by the telly.
Squeeze

Friday

She sat in her car for a long time, head pressed against the steering wheel, trying to gain some sort of composure before getting out. She hated how pathetic he made her. Seeing him in his clean flat, brightly lit by the massive glass window that stretched across the living room wall, with his son to cuddle up with and read stories to, only made her more resentful of her large, empty home, with nobody to talk to, never mind cuddle. She'd been perfectly capable of going home to an empty house before he came along; why couldn't she now?

Shit.

She jolted upright at the sound of someone tapping at the window. She turned her head to see a stupid lopsided grin, shining in the darkness. He must have had his teeth whitened.

She'd forgotten she'd invited Harry over. Maybe the house wouldn't be so empty after all.

He opened the door for her, and waved his arm in a large gesture, before bowing; the whole routine reminding her of a weird cross between a car valet and a Mr Darcy like character helping her down from a carriage.

"Mi Lady,"

"What's in your bag?" She's questioned, rolling her eyes at his little display.

"For me to know and you to find out,"

"We need to order takeaway,"

"You're just going to accept it like that?" The old Nikki he had known would have demanded an answer.

"Accept what like what?"

"That I'm not going to tell you what's in the bag,"

"Too tired to argue," She mumbled, as she unlocked the front door. "How long have you been here?" She asked after looking at her watch, and seeing it was 7, realising she'd told him she would have been home for 6:30. Although, she reasoned, it had been a very off hand, casual estimation – she doubted he would have stuck to it in the same way as you stuck to a time for a meal out.

"Couple of hours," She rolled her eyes, making her way into the kitchen to hunt out the takeaway menu from one of the various untidy drawers. That would have to be her task for her next day off. She made a mental note to put it on her to-do list. "Just a few minutes,"

Her new house was nice – very nice. He hadn't properly taken it in on his first visit 2 weeks previously – he'd been more focused on making sure Charlie got out of his car and into the house. He wondered whether it was bought or if she rented. It must have cost a fortune – bay windows protruded from the white, period walls and the main hall had what looked like original oak board flooring. There was a carpet runner up the stairs and the kitchen she led him into was like one he thought could only ever exist on TV - pans hanging from a ceiling rack, a fruit bowl in the centre of a large breakfast bar, wooden cabinets and pale green walls.

Then there was the surrounding mess, which probably wouldn't have been there if it was a TV kitchen.

Plastic trains littered the floor, and the sleek fridge had alphabet magnets and various drawings stuck up on it. Harry peeked round the corner to see the open plan dining area, where the table seemed to be home to a Lego castle.

It all seemed far too domesticated for the Nikki he knew.

"What do you want?" Nikki asked, leafing through the menu.

"Chow mein," He put his bag up on the counter and pulled out 2 bottles of wine.

"Chicken?"

"Sure,"

"Open the wine," She watched as Harry hunted through her cupboards for glasses, as she ordered. He used to know where everything was in her kitchen. Eventually, he found them, and handed her a full glass. "It'll be about half an hour," She said, putting down the phone and picking up the DVDs he had brought. "Monty Python? You know I hate Monty Python,"

"I took a chance," He shrugged. "I thought maybe you'd developed a sense of humour and taste in my absence,"

"Sure," She put it back in the bag. "Die Hard? Really?"

"Again, took a chance,"

"You thought I'd become a man?"

"Anything can happen," He grinned.

"You don't even like Die Hard,"

"I do,"

"You're not manly enough to like Die Hard," Before he could protest, she'd moved onto his next DVD. "Star Wars. That one doesn't even need discussing," Back in the bag it went. "That's all you brought?" He nodded. "Terrible."

"We're not watching one of yours," He said quickly, following her into the large living room.

"It's our only choice," She argued, kneeling down on the floor.

"It's not; I brought 3 perfectly good DVDs,"

"For a man," She began pulling out the Disney DVDs that occupied the front of the shelf to get to the layer of DVDs behind them, where the adults movies were kept, out of her son's sight – although, just to be safe, she'd hidden anything with a rating above 12 on a higher shelf that Charlie couldn't reach. She cringed slightly seeing that all of Graham's favourites were there. "This one is perfectly good," She said, sliding the DVD into the player and picking up her wine glass, before sitting down on one of the large leather sofas. "You can sit down, you know," She smiled at his awkwardness. He nodded quickly, wishing he could feel as at home as he did in her old flat, and joined her.

He groaned as the opening titles appeared.

"Nikki!" He wailed.

"What?"

"I am not watching this,"

"Yes you are," All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep, and was beginning to regret inviting him over. She was far too tired to put up with a film he'd enjoy.

"What is it with girls and The Notebook? Lilly was obsessed,"

"Lilly?" Damn. He spent the past week hoping she wouldn't ask him about his girlfriend, and it was him who had foolishly brought it hope. Stupid Harry. "Oh," She caught on. "The 4 year girl?"

"The 4 year girl," He confirmed.

"What happened?"

"Lots of things,"

She struggled to remember him sadder than he was at that very moment. Of course, she'd seen him sad before, but this was different. This was hopelessness; a lack of faith; no willingness to do anything about the sadness; anger; betrayal; crushed dreams, and finally, worst of all, a sense of mourning of something that could never be retrieved or made good again. She wondered if he'd meant for her to see this – to see him fragile and open and hurt – maybe he'd thought she would no longer be able to pick apart his emotions like she used to, that time may have taken that gift away from her. It hadn't.

"What things?" She wondered if it was the right question. She had a habit of asking the wrong question at the wrong time. And she really didn't want this to be one of those occasions. For she genuinely cared, and wanted to be helpful, she wanted to make up for being unable to help for the years previous. And she was no longer tired, for there was no longer space or time for tiredness, her thoughts were full of him – not only him, but of her too, this mysterious, unknown woman who seemed to have hurt him so.

"I don't know. Normal relationship stuff." The doorbell rang.

Once they were settled down with their food, she didn't ask any more questions about the girl. He didn't seem to want to talk. And, once she let her thoughts become less focussed on his heartbreak, she remembered how tired she was, and found she too had no desire to open her mouth for any purpose other than shovelling in her food.

Apologies for the lateness – I've spent the past week glue to Captain Corelli's Mandolin – a new candidate for favourite book I think. I'll be posting something to do with the Secrets challenge soon – just tweaking it. Thanks for reviewing and reading!