The Most Difficult Thing. Charlotte Philby

invited me to Greece.’

      I blurted it out as soon as I had stepped inside Harry’s front door, the reality of what was happening jolting through me in fretful waves.

      It was only the third time I had been at the flat since I moved in with David, feigning overnight stays with friends; claims I had been waiting for him to question, and which he never did – trusting me implicitly from the very start.

      Harry was still standing with one hand on the front door, but after a moment a smile crept across his face and he pushed it closed.

      ‘Really?’

      He moved towards me and for once I moved away, unsure of what I needed, unable to stand still long enough to accept his touch.

      He was gentle with me, careful not to push, always gauging his impact on me perfectly.

      ‘And Clive, he’ll be there too?’

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘You’re brilliant.’

      This time I stayed put as he placed his hands on my hips, pressing his palms against the gentle roll of the bone.

      ‘What did you say when he asked you?’

      ‘What do you think?’

      He nodded, absorbing my words. I felt his eyes weighing me up, the balance of power between us shifting imperceptibly.

      ‘And you are OK with this?’ He spoke quietly, but his words were weighted.

      ‘Yes.’ My voice was less steady now, less convinced. I felt my body shake, my face turning to the table where his cigarettes lay.

      Harry followed my gaze and leaned over to pick up the packet, pulling one out and pressing it into my hand.

      ‘Are you sure? Because you don’t seem sure.’

      ‘Harry, for fuck’s sake, I’m sure.’

      I stooped to accept his lighter before looking up sharply. His lack of faith had provoked me. What did he think I had been doing these past months?

      Sensing my unease, he clamped his right hand softly around the base of my neck, my flesh tingling at his touch. Closing my eyes, I felt the words fall from my mouth, ‘I’ve missed you.’