He didn’t have to say. I knew what he meant. The Bea he had known would have done anything for him, was there at his beck and call, lived to see him smile. And wasn’t that a form of love? To give yourself completely, unconditionally? Maybe I could again, but first I needed to know that I could trust him. I heard Heather’s words in my head – when you find The One, he will want you as much as you do him, so let him show it, let him come to you. Hadn’t Michael just shown how much he wanted me? And I’d rejected him, despite the fire of passion between us. Oh God, I thought as it dawned on me, maybe I was the problem? Michael had shown his feelings and I’d backed off, pushed him away. In my mind, I blamed him for trying to rush me, but was it me? So fearful of being hurt, I was no longer able to let myself love? I’d closed off, become self-sufficient, told myself again and again that I didn’t need anyone, to the point that I’d become frigid. It felt so much safer not to rely on anyone but is this what I did? Self-sabotage? Saranya Ji had hinted as much. My belief that love hurt had made me put up a wall to keep pain out but, in doing so, it also kept out love. But I also knew I wanted more now than just good sex, my priorities for a partner so different to what I wanted in my twenties or thirties. I wanted someone I felt comfortable with, a companion with shared interests and, yes, hopefully, the sex would feature, but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all.

‘Michael, I am sorry …’ I started.

He held up a hand. ‘No need. It was thoughtless of me to assume that you felt the same. It should be me who apologizes.’

‘But I …’

He cleared the plates of half-eaten food away. It appeared that neither of us had any appetite. When I rose to leave, he didn’t try to stop me and, at the door, he kissed me on the cheek, not the lips.

*

I got back to Pete and Marcia’s that night feeling very low and more confused than ever. I was glad that they weren’t around when I let myself in. I was in no mood to talk to anyone. Saranya Ji, I thought as I took the stairs up to my attic room. Maybe she could help, if only we could find her.

51

I went down to the kitchen the next morning and put a wad of twenty-pound notes on the table.

‘What’s that for?’ asked Marcia.

‘Rent.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, no, I couldn’t take it.’

‘It will make me feel better to know I am contributing.’

‘So take me somewhere for lunch instead.’

‘Where do you want to go?’