Tim rubbed his forehead. ‘The kiss?’

‘No, everything. It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ Jemima blurted.

‘What was it supposed to be like?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not here to… date,’ Jemima gabbled.

‘You’re not on this date, to date?’ Tim said, shaking his head in confusion.

‘You don’t understand. It’s for my book…’

Tim took a step back from Jemima, hurt etched across his face.

‘You mean this is research?’ he asked.

Jemima looked down at the pavement where a light dusting of winter snow had settled.

‘Oh wow, okay,’ Tim laughed bitterly. ‘Right well, nice to meet you – I think.’

He paced off in the opposite direction leaving Jemima standing in the cool, green glow of Nove di Nico’s florescent lights.

As her breathing gradually slowed she felt a flush of embarrassment. She had essentially told him he was an experiment – just as Lance had said to her on their date. And why, when she had genuinely enjoyed his company? If it hadn’t been for that kiss, everything would have been fine. But something about it had made her feel… weak, like she was collapsing from the inside, her strength draining away in that single moment of contact. Getting out was the only thing she could think to do. It was always the only thing she could think to do. But it wasn’t just the feelings of weakness that troubled Jemima. Another feeling had surfaced too. Was it pleasure? she wondered, half laughing, half crying. What a cruel joke life was, that with pleasure could come such pain. Yes there was one truth that kiss had unearthed. She did want more – yet the impulse to run was still so strong. In her mind, there were so many reasons why she was single, why disappearing was necessary, why she needed to keep her life so very small but ultimately did it come down to one thing: fear? Is that why giving Beverly a love life was so terrifying, because Jemima was scared for herself?

‘Wow,’ she murmured.

Not only was she getting in her own way, she’d been an obstacle to Beverly too.

She propped up her collar and turned in the direction of home. She had to walk, be on the move, do something to clear her mind. Five minutes from home Jemima rounded the corner, her head turned down, staring at footprints on the snow-covered streets. As she passed the familiar cobbled pavement opposite Nostromo, she willed herself not to look over because if she did, she would then look up. But try as she might, as always, her gaze was drawn to Chance’s practice where the lights were still on. Inside she could make out the shadow of a lone figure. It was the night of his fundraiser. She’d told herself she couldn’t go because of her date but the truth was, once again, she’d been gripped by her own fear. Was that going to be the story of her life? Before she could answer she felt her feet move and soon she had crossed the street. Her hand wavered over his intercom buzzer before pushing it.