Can't Live Without by Joanne Phillips Page B

taught muscles under thin fabric.
    Then, as suddenly as it began, it is over, and Paul is looking at me with an expression on his face that can only be described as horror.
    ‘Stella! What are you doing?’
    Oh my God. I’ve made a terrible mistake.
    I try to think of a way to pass it off as a joke but my mind is still reeling, partly from residual pleasure and partly from shock that I could have got it so wrong.
    Forcing myself to laugh, I sit back and say, ‘God, what was I thinking? For a moment there I thought you were Brad Pitt. Must be the shock of being back in this place.’ It is weak, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.
    ‘Brad Pitt?’ Paul repeats doubtfully. Great, now he is regarding me with something close to sympathy. That’s the last thing I wanted.
    I could tell him that confusing him with Brad Pitt would be impossible because Paul is better looking by far. I could tell him that I can’t imagine not having him in my life now, and that I want more than just his friendship – much, much more. But I can’t find the words. Instead, I get up and head for the kitchen and the ever-reliable crutch of making tea.
    Paul follows me and leans against the makeshift table, lowering his head to try and see my eyes. ‘Was that what I think it was?’ he asks me gently.
    I nod, and then shrug. There really is no point trying to hide it. He can see through me completely, always has done.
    ‘But I can see I got it wrong,’ I tell him with a brave smile. ‘Which is fine. Can we just drop it now?’ Teabags go in mugs, milk sloshes over sides of mugs, kettle starts to boil frantically. I keep my face away from him, terrified I might cry and do even more damage.
    Ever the sensitive one, Paul takes the hint and leaves me to it. I can hear him shuffling boxes around in the lounge while I finish making tea. By the time I join him I’m just about OK. Now, as long as he’s not nice to me I’ll be fine.
    ‘Stella,’ Paul says softly, taking the mugs out of my hands and standing them on the floor, ‘I’m so sorry I reacted like that. I’m flattered, I really am.’
    I try to brush it off again but he stops me with a finger on my mouth.
    ‘You are a wonderful woman. Beautiful, intelligent, funny, sexy …’ He pauses and I wonder if he’s run out of nice things to say about me. Not that it matters. However wonderful he thinks I am, one thing’s for certain: he doesn’t want to play tongue-hockey with me.
    ‘Paul, it’s OK. I just, you know, just got a bit crazy for a moment. Please, please , can we forget all about it now?’
    He nods, still dreadfully serious. ‘It’s only that I’m not ready for a relationship, Stella,’ he explains earnestly. ‘With anyone. I love my life just as it is and I don’t want it to change. It’s – my life is uncomplicated and that’s just the way I like it.’
    ‘Me too!’ I lie, and we look at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing. ‘Still friends?’ I say lightly.
    ‘Still friends,’ Paul agrees. ‘Always.’
    ‘Always.’
    But as I sip my disgusting tea I find myself wondering whether somehow my faux pas might have changed our friendship for ever. Only time will tell.

Chapter 9
    Wednesday 27 th June
    Today is not a good day.
    When these diaries are published I think today may stand out as one of the worst days ever – worse even than the day I discovered that Will Young is gay. But first, I must report on other matters.
    The situation with my mother has improved a lot, mainly because she’s moved out of Grandma’s and they’ve lifted my curfew. So I can see Rob as much as I want, which is great. It’s been nearly a month since the fire though, and there’s no sign of things getting back to normal anytime soon. I’m getting just a little bit sick of being stuck in this room with nothing to do. I know I should be going into school but as I’m not planning on taking any exams and I’m leaving soon anyway it seems like a