After I'd heard the front door slam, I was momentarily confused and I got up, and ventured as far as my bedroom door before the horrible realisation dawned on me. As it struck, I found myself leaning forward and pressing my forehead against the door frame, feeling the shame and despair wash over me. It was so painfully obvious really; I'd scared Martin away.
It was bad enough that he'd found me looking like something the cat dragged in, but I can't imagine what sort of opinion he'd now formed of my housekeeping skills, with the flat empty of food and looking a bit like we'd been ransacked by burglars. In my defence, it wasn't my turn to do the grocery shopping and I'd still had an exam to go when the other girls had finished theirs but of course it was a bit late to explain that to him now.
I wandered to the kitchen and I couldn't help a wry smile when I saw how immaculately Martin had left everything, even down to the tea towel, neatly folded, and perfectly centred over the handle of the cooker. I opened the fridge and I do admit to feeling a bit embarrassed when I saw that all the previous week's dubious contents had been disposed of, and all it now contained, apart from Holly's stash of wine, were just the precisely laid out remainders of our lunch, on individual dishes, each immaculately wrapped in clingfilm.
I thought back to the brief moment I'd snatched, before he became aware of my presence in the kitchen, and he'd been standing at the sink, intently focused on the task at hand. Without his suit jacket, he looked so different; vulnerable somehow, which of course had only just made everything seem so much more intense. As if seeing him in his perfectly fitting, crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled perfectly up above his elbows, hadn't already caused such an earth-shattering lurch in my abdomen, when he'd finally noticed I was there, he'd looked at me with such a shy and self-effacing expression that I'd just melted.
It reminded me of the other moments when I'd had the briefest of glimpses of a hidden side to Martin but, for some reason, this time it had felt more significant. As much as I was very attracted by his confident and commanding persona, being privy to his well concealed, childlike innocence was somehow even more alluring. Was I imagining that his brief glance had some sort of meaning? I couldn't exactly put my finger on it, but I had this overwhelming sensation that it was something. As I'd looked back at him, as cliched and trite as it sounds, for a split second there'd only been the two of us in the whole universe and the sensation was so intense it had almost creased me in half.
For a few precious minutes I hadn't felt embarrassed or awkward. I wasn't his difficult patient or even an annoying schoolgirl, it was just the two of us as normal people. While there hadn't exactly been a camaraderie, we did seem almost comfortable with each other and I'd even detected the faintest gleam in his eyes as he had wilfully pretended not to notice my curiosity over the contents of the little paper bag. The frown had disappeared and, even with his normal economy of movement, I'd noticed a slight swagger as he'd slipped back into his suit jacket.
I have to admit that I was enjoying being the focus of what I thought was his gentle teasing. It was almost exhilarating to feel any sort of connection with him and, as with my equally giddy reaction to watching him rolling down his sleeves and fitting his cufflinks, it seems time to acknowledge that I can no longer call the way I feel merely a crush. The cause of my total loss of composure had been just a tiny little last straw really. I'd sat down on the sofa and looked up at him in mock annoyance, attempting to challenge him but he'd merely cocked one eyebrow at me and, instantly, I'd felt my insides turn to mush. After that, I was always going to be on shaky ground; I was tired and still a bit groggy, and I really wasn't prepared for how emotional I was about to become.
When I saw it in the box, it had affected me in such an overwhelming way. I realised the care he'd taken, and how beautiful it now was, and it just floored me and, embarrassingly, I'd become weepy and sentimental. I am well aware that that alone is enough to terrify most blokes and, once again, I had been unable to control myself and, once again, I'd presented myself in a bad light. God only knows what a sight I'd looked, blubbering away, red eyed and all snotty but I honestly just couldn't help it at the time. I was overcome.
I felt in my pocket and retrieved his handkerchief, unable to help myself giving it a little squeeze. To look at it, you'd just think that it was a plain hanky but then you notice the softness of the cotton. On closer examination, there's a subtly woven stripe around the border, and the hem is flawlessly stitched. Of course it had been white, and perfectly pressed, before I wiped it across my face, smeared it with yesterday's mascara and crumpled it up in my pocket. There's no monogram on it of course, that would be far too flashy for Martin but, in every way, I realise it's a really apt analogy for him and for some reason that amuses me a lot; dignified, of excellent but understated quality, and always useful in a crisis.
I was so surprised and just incredibly grateful really for the effort he had put into the repair of my watch. I've been the recipient of a lot of kindness in my life, probably more so than most people and undoubtedly more than I deserve, although I can honestly say I've appreciated everything everyone has ever done for me. But, as I stared down at it, shining brilliantly and rendered even more spectacular by the lovely new chain Martin had affixed it to, I felt something more than gratitude. I knew then that he must understand how much the watch meant to me, and how important it was for me to have something positive to remember about my dad. Previously it had been a pretty keepsake but now it was a beautiful piece of antique jewellery, the nicest thing I'd ever owned and possibly would ever own in the foreseeable future. Better still, in that very moment, it wasn't just a reminder that my dad had loved me enough to get it for me in the first place, but that Martin had cared enough to spend his precious free time making it perfect for me.
I cringed when I recalled what happened next. I can't even say that I decided to kiss him because that would imply that I'd given the idea conscious thought. But, honestly, I didn't consider the consequences, or even think 'to hell with them', it had just spontaneously occurred. That's what happens I suppose when your heart is bursting with appreciation and delight, and there's a million other emotions whirling around your body faster than you can give any of them names. But, for Martin, I'm sure it would have just reinforced his long held opinion of me as erratic and impulsive and totally lacking in self control.
It had only been a chaste peck; I'd hardly done more than press my lips briefly to his cheek and he certainly hadn't reacted. In fact, he'd stood like a statue and hadn't moved a muscle. It didn't evolve into a friendly hug, nor had he said a word, in fact he didn't respond at all which I suppose just indicates, in hindsight, that I'd made him feel very uncomfortable. I can't tell you how much I regretted that. I had only touched him for a matter of seconds but just the feel of him had been so very gorgeous. Our height difference had meant I'd had to lean on him to reach up as far as his face and I'd enjoyed every second of contact, from the fine quality material of his lapel under my hand to the surprising smooth warm softness of his cheek as I brushed my mouth against it.
Without any encouragement forthcoming, I'd quickly retreated but as I did, I'd touched his arm, and it had felt as rigid as if he was hewn from stone. I'm not sure why but that had actually intrigued me. I suppose, rather than relying on my imagination, I now had tantalising proof that, underneath the suit and the urbane exterior, there was a fit, strong, well built young man. Suddenly it was as if all my blurry and vague romantic notions crashed head-on into an alarmingly powerful feeling of physical attraction, stirred up like a wasp's nest by his closeness and intense, masculine energy.
In hindsight, it was probably at that very moment that I took that faltering step across the threshold from a vague, juvenile attraction to something a lot more significant and meaningful. I couldn't quite bring myself to name it but I was feeling it all the same. Was that what made me get carried away? At the time, asking him to assist me with trying on the necklace seemed to be a good distraction, but in hindsight it was anything but. I should have taken his awkward response as a hint really but, sadly, I didn't and, in my elation, I had pushed him too far. In retrospect, my behaviour seemed so pathetically flirty and obvious and I cringed, feeling yet more shame and disappointment.
Lunch began to weigh heavily on me and I suddenly felt really tired. I dragged myself back to my room and lay on top of the bed, feeling a mad and exhausting mixture of elation, desire and regret. I finally fell asleep again, but only after I had lain on my back for ages, analysing every minute, overthinking every word and second guessing every action, consequently tying myself up in a bit of a knot. There was a bright spot though, amongst my numerous misgivings, because somehow I couldn't shake the feeling that something was now fundamentally different between Martin and me, and that was enough to give me just a little bit of hope.