If we were to spend our lives together there must be no secrets. It was a long shot, but perhaps I ought to go back to the park; to the swings and slides and hang around. I felt confident that the Hulk was a regular visitor to that particular playground.

57

Rebecca

When we reached Mitch’s flat, I parked up behind his sports car, the memories flooding back and filling me with trepidation. My hands shook against the wheel as I checked the mirrors, rear and wing. The street was deserted. Mitch lived in a small side street of converted terraced houses located on a steep incline. The dashboard clock showed midnight.

Mitch knocked on the window.

‘Are you coming in? Come on, it’s freezing out here,’ he said, shivering like a seasoned thespian. I did a full three-sixty to make sure we hadn’t been followed, before I turned off the headlights. My fear was ridiculous, but real.

‘Coming,’ I said and opened the door.

I’m not quite sure what I was expecting as Mitch led me down a narrow corridor to a dark green door on the ground floor. It was tucked in behind the stairwell.

‘Welcome to my pad.’

There was an incongruousness about the shabby abode and my smooth ex-boyfriend who would have been more at home in an upmarket penthouse overlooking the Thames. His outward élan was in stark contrast to the dull interior.

‘I only moved in recently and haven’t got around to decorating. It’s a stopgap,’ he offered as an excuse for his embarrassment. This time I harboured no dreams of helping him decorate the sad shell.

‘Coffee? One sugar, strong with a dash of milk?’ He remembered.

‘Please.’

I had to quell anxieties that sprung up from the sight of two mugs which sat, side by side, on the draining board. They were stained and dirty. Mitch read my mind.

‘Trisha came round yesterday. She’s glad to have me back.’

I wandered through the empty flat, sidestepping unpacked cardboard boxes.

‘How long have you been here? It looks like you moved in yesterday.’

‘A couple of months but I can’t bring myself to unpack. I’m not sure where I want to be.’ He switched on the kettle. I stood behind him as he opened an empty cupboard, searching in vain for phantom sugar cubes. The bashful helplessness that had once seduced me was still there.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll have it black, no sugar.’ I smiled. ‘My tastes have changed.’

After toying with our coffees, Mitch spoke. ‘I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?’ We didn’t need words. What was there to say?

He lifted me up, carried me through to the bedroom and switched on a small pink bedside lamp. The colour was always going to irk. It wouldn’t have been Mitch’s choice.