Sports Direct mug that Jonah had used over the weekend, which made her smile and recall nice thoughts.
Keep thinking nice thoughts . That’s what she reminded herself as she padded upstairs, switched on the main computer and took Orlando’s file out of her bag, preparing to type up his notes. Her study overlooked the road and a FedEx van delivering a parcel next door grabbed her concentration, her focus only broken when a fat raindrop landed on her window pane, making a loud, unexpected splat. A few seconds later a second drop landed, then a third, until the heavens opened, unleashing their load with vengeance, the drops becoming denser and the wet splodges on the glass reminding Claire of large, watery snowflakes.
A gloom descended, matching Claire’s mood. She got up to turn on the main light and no sooner than she’d sat back down, her mobile rang. A name flashed onscreen: Jonah.
She wanted to speak to him but she also knew she wasn’t in a suitable frame of mind. Her mood was as low and flat as the Somerset Plains and their reconnection was still too fragile for any heaviness. Then again, perhaps hearing his voice would make her feel better. She hesitated whilst the phone rang twice, three times, four times. Against her better judgment she answered the phone on its fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello babe,” Jonah began, slightly shyly. “I know you’re probably busy but I had a spare moment and just wanted to say hey.”
In the same way that Claire had attempted to wear a fake smile for Anthony the other day, she now tried to inject levity into her tone.
“Ok then, ‘hey’.”
Her response was intended to sound like a joke, but its delivery came across as more abrupt than funny.
“How’s it going?”
Claire started tapping on the keyboard nervously.
“Busy, busy,” she said. Perhaps if Jonah thought that she was multi-tasking, she might appear less strained. Her mouth felt disconnected from her brain.
“Did you hear more news from the show?”
Claire stopped typing and tried to focus all her energy on the conversation.
“Err, no, not really, except they’re pretty sure that Mondays will be my regular slot day.”
She forced brightness into her voice, confident the result must sound so convincing that even Orlando Goodman would give her acting skills the thumbs up. Silence descended on the crackling phone line as she waited for Jonah to speak.
“Are you alright?” Jonah finally asked.
“Of course I’m alright.”
“It’s just you sound……”
“Sound what ?”
“Different,” said Jonah.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m just tired. How are things going your end?”
She needed to shift the conversation away from herself.
This time it was he who sounded distracted.
“I’m sorry Claire, something’s come up. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
Jonah hung up. As Claire listened to the dead tone on the phone she felt like a piece of pastry which had been pummelled and rolled so thinly that stretchy holes were starting to break across its surface, ruining its perfect consistency. One of those holes was over her heart, which now felt like a big black twisting vortex. Jonah had only just come back into her life and she was doing a very good job at pushing him away again already. Was that really what she wanted? Why wouldn’t her thoughts just behave and get back into that damn box again? And if only they would, she swore she would seal it so tightly that it would survive a nuclear holocaust. Damn Jonah. Damn her. Damn bloody June 13 th .
CHAPTER NINE
JONAH
Lifting the cup at a grand slam final is every professional tennis player’s dream, but Jonah doubted that kind of euphoria could have felt much different to how he’d felt over the recent weekend. The benefit of maturity is that if you’re an ass enough to not already know it, you
Keep thinking nice thoughts . That’s what she reminded herself as she padded upstairs, switched on the main computer and took Orlando’s file out of her bag, preparing to type up his notes. Her study overlooked the road and a FedEx van delivering a parcel next door grabbed her concentration, her focus only broken when a fat raindrop landed on her window pane, making a loud, unexpected splat. A few seconds later a second drop landed, then a third, until the heavens opened, unleashing their load with vengeance, the drops becoming denser and the wet splodges on the glass reminding Claire of large, watery snowflakes.
A gloom descended, matching Claire’s mood. She got up to turn on the main light and no sooner than she’d sat back down, her mobile rang. A name flashed onscreen: Jonah.
She wanted to speak to him but she also knew she wasn’t in a suitable frame of mind. Her mood was as low and flat as the Somerset Plains and their reconnection was still too fragile for any heaviness. Then again, perhaps hearing his voice would make her feel better. She hesitated whilst the phone rang twice, three times, four times. Against her better judgment she answered the phone on its fifth ring.
“Hello?”
“Hello babe,” Jonah began, slightly shyly. “I know you’re probably busy but I had a spare moment and just wanted to say hey.”
In the same way that Claire had attempted to wear a fake smile for Anthony the other day, she now tried to inject levity into her tone.
“Ok then, ‘hey’.”
Her response was intended to sound like a joke, but its delivery came across as more abrupt than funny.
“How’s it going?”
Claire started tapping on the keyboard nervously.
“Busy, busy,” she said. Perhaps if Jonah thought that she was multi-tasking, she might appear less strained. Her mouth felt disconnected from her brain.
“Did you hear more news from the show?”
Claire stopped typing and tried to focus all her energy on the conversation.
“Err, no, not really, except they’re pretty sure that Mondays will be my regular slot day.”
She forced brightness into her voice, confident the result must sound so convincing that even Orlando Goodman would give her acting skills the thumbs up. Silence descended on the crackling phone line as she waited for Jonah to speak.
“Are you alright?” Jonah finally asked.
“Of course I’m alright.”
“It’s just you sound……”
“Sound what ?”
“Different,” said Jonah.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “I’m just tired. How are things going your end?”
She needed to shift the conversation away from herself.
This time it was he who sounded distracted.
“I’m sorry Claire, something’s come up. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
Jonah hung up. As Claire listened to the dead tone on the phone she felt like a piece of pastry which had been pummelled and rolled so thinly that stretchy holes were starting to break across its surface, ruining its perfect consistency. One of those holes was over her heart, which now felt like a big black twisting vortex. Jonah had only just come back into her life and she was doing a very good job at pushing him away again already. Was that really what she wanted? Why wouldn’t her thoughts just behave and get back into that damn box again? And if only they would, she swore she would seal it so tightly that it would survive a nuclear holocaust. Damn Jonah. Damn her. Damn bloody June 13 th .
CHAPTER NINE
JONAH
Lifting the cup at a grand slam final is every professional tennis player’s dream, but Jonah doubted that kind of euphoria could have felt much different to how he’d felt over the recent weekend. The benefit of maturity is that if you’re an ass enough to not already know it, you
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