Bittersweet

Chapter Twenty

The next day Rick drives me back home. Despite the fact that I try to tell him I'm more than capable of making the journey by train, he is convinced I'm not well enough to battle with first the underground then the over ground train from London to Leeds. I must admit the thought of just sitting in a car and being transported home is rather appealing and it doesn't take an awful lot of persuasion for me to agree. Although I feel better than I did, I know I'm not totally recovered yet. I'm tired and I've still got an awful cough.

A few weeks ago I would have baulked at his offer, done anything I could to avoid having to spend that much time with him alone, but now it doesn't bother me. Other than the fact that I was ill, I've actually enjoyed the time we've spent together over the last few days. Yesterday afternoon and evening was nice; he got back from work with a huge bag of food from Marks and Spencer's, stuff to cook a roast dinner of sorts and after eating that we spent the evening watching television together and talking about Lily. I felt far more relaxed in his company than I could ever have anticipated.

Spending time with him has reminded me of all the things I loved about him eighteen years ago. Of course things are far more complicated now, by cases of mistaken identity and car accidents and newly discovered teenage daughters, but some of the simple things are still the same. He still makes me laugh at stupid things, he's still kind and considerate, he's still more than a little crazy. Once I've cracked the shell of the terrible, cruel person I'd built in my mind he is actually rather lovely.

On the drive home I am a rubbish passenger. The comfort and warmth of the car has me snoozing on and off for most of the journey, leaving poor Rick to his own company. I guess he's used to driving up and down the country on his own, but I do feel bad sleeping most of the way when he's been so kind to drive me.

The journey takes a ridiculously long time. An accident in the road works on the M1 slows things down to almost a standstill and what should have taken around four hours takes more than six. It's rather reminiscent of my very first journey down to Steph's house for her funeral, without the added complication of a broken satnav.

He'd planned on driving up and back home again all in one day; he said he'd normally stay with his parents overnight, but they've got friends staying and he doesn't want to intrude on them. But the traffic looked as bad, if not worse, going back towards London and I know it will take him hours to get home. He'll be exhausted by the time he gets back, it's too much to do safely in one day as far as I'm concerned.

"You're more than welcome to stay at mine tonight," I tell him as we near home. "My spare room is slightly more girly than yours, but it's yours if you'd like to stay."

My spare bedroom was always a bit feminine in style – as is most of my cottage since Jay left – but since it's mini makeover for Lily's recent visit it's even more so. It's not all pink and chintzy, but think fairy lights around the mirror and twisted along the head of the white painted bed, along with piles of cushions and a furry throw that she talked me into buying while she was up here, and you'll get the idea. The thought of Rick spending the night in there does amuse me a little. Okay, he's not the most macho of men, but I can't imagine him loving fairy lights too much.

"When you say girly, just how girly are we talking?" He asks, glancing over at me as he pulls into the inside lane to come off the motorway. We're only about fifteen minutes or so from my home now and I feel as if I should have made this offer earlier.

"Um... well, it's most recent occupant has been a nearly seventeen year old girl if that tells you much."

"Lily I take it?" He says, somewhat needlessly, and I nod in response. "Are we talking fairy lights and stuff?"