This is the final chapter. I am very aware that I drifted away from nonconsent/reluctance a while back. I didn't mean for this to be as long as it has turned out to be and the focus has definitely changed from what it was initially. I considered moving it into a different, more suitable category, but after asking for feedback I decided against it, for continuity reasons. So sorry about that, but at least this will be the final time.
A final thank you to misternik and to vmc312 for all their hard work editing. And thank you for those of you who have voted, faved, left feedback, I've really appreciated it. The next few stories I have planned are going to be in romance (I should probably get it out of my system!) I think, in case you would like to keep following my work and don't follow that category.
*****
Joe stepped over the threshold and into the hallway, casting a proprietal glance around.
"Nice."
She nodded mutely while an internal stream of questions buzzed around her mind. What was he doing here? What did he want? Why was he turning up now, after all this time?
He wasn't talking loudly exactly, but he was standing right outside Sophia's bedroom door and she was worried he was going to wake her up. That would be a disaster. She had no idea how she would explain Joe's unexpected presence to Sophia; strange men didn't normally arrive at her house unannounced. She shuddered at the thought.
"Come into the kitchen." She tried to fix what she hoped would look like a polite smile on her face, but it felt more like a grimace. "I'll put the kettle on."
She went in, not giving him a chance to reply or suggest the more intimate setting of the her tiny sofa on the front room. She wanted the kitchen table between them.
As he sat down she tried to shoo the unwelcome image of Stephano sitting in the same place a few weeks ago after the fire as she moved nervously around, putting the kettle on, wiping the already clean table. She was starting to unravel, like a wool cardigan that had snagged on something.
Finally the hot drinks were made and she sat down opposite him. Perched uncomfortably on the edge of her seat, she wrapped her fingers round her mug, deriving comfort from the heat of her chamomile tea. She watched him, taking him in, waiting for him to speak. He looked well, much better than he had last time she had seen him; which, to be honest, wasn't a great achievement, considering what he looked like. He was clean-shaven, his hair had recently been cut, his clothes were clean and new. They were clearly not as expensive and dashing as the things that Stephano wore but he looked good, great in fact. He still had his charm and his boyish good looks, but she couldn't help compare it to Stephano's more sophisticated beauty in her mind.
A choppy conversation followed, in which everything was familiar and yet not familiar at all.
"You look well."
"I've been in rehab."
"Eleanor and John didn't say."
"They didn't want to get your hopes up."
She frowned, cross with them for not warning her of his imminent reentry into her life.
"Did they know you were planning to..."
"No, I didn't tell them I was planning to come here, but when they told me about the fire, I... I just needed to see you, I had to make sure you were both okay."
She nodded. "Yes, we're fine, we were very lucky. Sophia was off school for a few days. But they checked her out again a few weeks ago, there is no lasting damage to her lungs." She didn't elaborate, she wasn't sure if Joe knew about Stephano. She wasn't sure how to broach the subject.
"Shall we go for a drink? Lets go out to the pub ."
"I can't, Joe. Sophia, she's asleep, I can't leave her."
He looked at her blankly for a minute. "Oh yeah, of course. I wasn't thinking, sorry."
There was an awkward silence until he spoke again. "So, what have you been up to?"
Andrea visibly balked at his question, and Joe looked uncomfortable. Seeming to realise his faux pas, he concentrated very hard on the table.
She struggled to control the emotions that reared up in her as a thousand possible responses passed through her mind. She thought of the number of times over the years she had imagined how she might answer this if Joe asked it. If Joe had been there to ask it, if Joe had ever deigned to contact her at any point in the last six years. In the end, her voice tight with suppressed rage she settled for noncommittal.
"Oh you know, this and that."
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them, until eventually she felt compelled to fill it.
"I'm a chambermaid. I work in one of those big hotels up west."
"Do you like it?"
"It pays the bills."
"Sounds, umm, posh. You must meet loads of rich people." She bristled at his dismissive language.
"We don't see that much of the guests." She felt herself colour as another uncomfortable silence transpired while he watched her quizzically. She worried that he was going to ask why she was blushing, but much to her relief, he didn't.
"You didn't go to dance school?"
"No." She felt a pang of regret. It had been her dream, before she got pregnant. But despite being offered a place on one of London's most prestigious performing arts schools, despite the potential that everyone told her they could see, she hadn't. She couldn't. Didn't he realise there had been a baby to take care of? An unwelcome surge of anger began to rise up. She swallowed it back down; she didn't want to start an argument and risk waking Sophia.
"I'm starting teacher training in September."
His face lit up. "You're really making something of yourself Andi, I always knew you would."
She had forgotten how captivating Joe's smile could be, how charming he was with his boyish good looks. She could see why she had been so smitten him. Memories started to come flooding back all at once, filling her mind like the commuters she watched clambering onto the bus every morning. She shook her head, trying to chase the memories away. It didn't work, and she couldn't help but compare him to Stephano with his more sophisticated, masculine appeal. But there was something else about his reaction too, something that she couldn't quite put her finger on; there was an implication in his words, that some how she was managing something he could never achieve and she didn't like it.
"How are Tracey and Paul?" He asked.