Who We Were Before by Leah Mercer Read Free Book Online Page A

anything.
    Am I ready to sleep with Fiona? Because I’m sure that’s what she’s expecting. You don’t invite a woman to Paris without sex on the agenda, and if we’re sharing a room, then it’s a given. There’s so much I like about her: the way she focuses in on me whenever we’re together, as if I’m the only thing in her world. The easy way we talk and laugh, with no hidden meanings or added layers. How she’s a blank slate, reflecting only the good things in me . . . the way I want to see myself once again. Not to mention her fantastic body; the woman has an arse Beyoncé would die for. I shift in my chair, getting horny just thinking of it.
    Although we’ve never crossed the line from friends to something more, I know we’ve both thought about it. Last night, when we went for a drink after work (or, more accurately, several drinks), I leaned in to kiss her goodbye on the cheek. She turned her head, and my lips brushed hers – just briefly, but enough to feel the air spark between us. Having sex with Fiona is just what I need right now, but sleeping with someone else really does put the final stake in my marriage: the point of no return. Is that what I want?
    Aw, fuck it! My fist slams down on the dingy duvet cover. I’m tired of sitting here, tired of thinking of my wife. The silence of the hotel room presses on me, and I get to my feet again. I have a few hours to kill before Fiona arrives, and now that the alcohol is wearing off, that familiar restless feeling is making my legs twitch. My body throbs with fatigue from the long workweek and the late nights, but my feet carry me back to the lift and out to the street again.
    I shield my eyes from the late-afternoon sun and pivot, not sure where to go. Down the street past the rows of cafés, or under the arch and into the square? It’s the first time in ages I haven’t had something to do, work to go to or people to meet. The glint of a fountain draws me towards the square, and I walk under the archway and sink onto the grass. Closing my eyes, I let the sound of the fountain fill my ears. The ssssshhhh of water against concrete reminds me of the Thames lapping the walkway, and that same blissful calm washes over me. It feels so good to sit, to be still for once, and to let the water numb my thoughts.
    I missed the river when we moved from London. It brought me and Zoe together, a benevolent matchmaker: our watery Cupid. Our new village was beautiful – stuffed full of ‘olde worlde’ charm, yummy mummies and their equally adorable offspring, complete with doting dads, but there was no river or lake . . . not even a fish pond. But by then, we didn’t need the river. We had Milo to hold us together.
    My jaw tightens and I get to my feet again, striding across the square. It was a mistake to stop. I don’t know where I’m going, but I have to keep moving.

13
    ZOE, SEPTEMBER 2009
    ‘S o are you in loooovvvve ?’ Kate grins at me then swigs her ice water. ‘I knew it had to happen sometime. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes . . .’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s great that he’s a bit older than you, too. He won’t waste your time.’
    I shake my head. ‘We’ve only been together for two months, Kate. Give it a rest.’
    I have to say, though, this summer has been magical, like a montage of those fairy-tale romances you see in Hollywood films – not that I believe in fairy-tale romance, not any more. Relationships are a risk, and not every ending is happy. I learned that the hard way.
    Still, the setting is perfect for falling in love, and the stunning weather’s helped: day after day of scorching sun as London bakes in a rare heatwave. Come five o’clock, the whole city floods into cafés and pubs, making the place seem like a carnival. Edward meets me at my work and we head down to the South Bank, wandering among the other couples before claiming our bench. I knit while he relaxes, staring out at the river or