‘No. I just felt in the mood for something special.’
He was right in front of me by then and he grabbed my arse and pulled me into a long, sultry snog, the kind that usually ends up on the sofa with clothes strewn all over the floor.
Much as my body and mind chorused, ‘Yes! Hot sex! Result!’ I could still perceive the nagging voice of my conscience behind it all.
But sex first, yeah? Why not?
Because the steak was burning – that was why not!
‘Ohhh,’ I wailed, running back into the kitchen, where flames had started leaping around the edge of the pan. I doused it with a damp cloth, but the steaks weren’t exactly as rare as Dan usually liked them.
Never mind. He made a valiant effort with his knife and fork and we laughed it all off. ‘How-was-your-day?’ took us through the meal to ice-cream, and that was where the road started to get rocky. (It was Rocky Road ice-cream too – appropriate.)
‘Oh, did you pick up that package?’ he asked.
He posed it as an afterthought but, in retrospect, I think he’d been building up to it, lulling me into a false sense of security before pouncing. There was a certain brightness to his eyes despite the casual tone.
‘Oh! Oh, God, no, sorry. I –’ I was so close to saying ‘forgot’‘– didn’t.’
He didn’t say anything, damn him. I needed him to throw me a lifeline, ask me if I had forgotten, say it didn’t matter and I could do it tomorrow.
‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ I offered.
‘Yes.’ That was it. No more.
He dug his spoon into the ice-cream and left it there.
‘It was such a beautiful day,’ I said, half in defence, half as a change of subject.
‘Too beautiful for keeping promises.’
Oh, if he was just going to sulk instead of … the other thing …
‘It’s no big deal,’ I snapped. ‘I don’t suppose another day will make a difference.’
‘No, Pip, don’t take that tone with me. I’m not in the wrong here.’
‘In the wrong? It’s a stupid fucking parcel, that’s all. What’s in it? Explosives?’
‘Philippa.’ A low growl.
But somehow I couldn’t stop talking myself into trouble.
I stood up, eyeing the door to the hallway nervously, my fight-or-flight response signalling ‘flight’.
‘If it’s so important to you, why don’t you get it redelivered? You’ve got the day off on Friday. You can reschedule it online. That would have been the obvious thing to do anyway, but it wouldn’t occur to you, I suppose, when you’ve got Muggins here to run around after you.’ I started walking away.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
He sounded calm, but absolutely authoritative.
I halted in my tracks.
‘Nowhere.’
‘That’s right. You’re going nowhere.’
‘What? For God’s sake, forget it, Dan. You’re ruining what could be a lovely evening.’ I’d lost it by now, shouting and gesticulating like Basil Fawlty. I disliked myself for it, but how could I make myself stop?