Read Online Walking Back to Happiness by Lucy Dillon - Free Book Online Page B

between hers. ‘Or object if we get a bit amorous at the table. Or under it, even.’
    Louise squeezed his hand, then pointed her spoon over the crème brûlée she’d pushed over to him. ‘Or make me feel bad about helping myself to this last bit of pudding! Mmm!’
    She was starting to sense where this was going, and she felt as if she was in a little boat heading towards Niagara Falls, paddling hopelessly against the current. Her foot curled itself round the leg of her chair, just as Peter’s foot sought hers and missed.
    ‘That sort of thing,’ said Peter, and Louise thought she detected a faint note of flatness in his voice.
    Guilt flooded her. She should be grateful to have a husband who not only tried to seduce her over dinner, but actually heated up the dinner himself. Come on, Louise, she scolded herself. Get over this.
    ‘Well, it’s lovely. Really lovely. If I’d known, I’d have dressed up,’ she gabbled, wanting to tell him what he wanted to hear.
    ‘You don’t need to. You’re gorgeous as you are.’
    ‘I’m not, I’m all . . .’ Louise started, but Peter reached out and put a finger on her lips. She wondered if he expected her to bite it saucily.
    Because if he did, he was going to be disappointed.
    ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m really proud of you for going back to work,’ he said. ‘Very proud. You’re a great solicitor, as well as a great mum. But – let me say this, OK? – there’s no pressure from me to stick it out if it’s too much stress. If you decided that, actually, no, you’d rather be at home with Toby, then I’d be fine with that.’
    ‘I’m not—’
    ‘No, hear me out, Lou. I’m not trying to undermine you. I just want you to know that you don’t have to prove anything. We can work the money out. If you’re there a few months and it’s just too much . . . I’m not going to say I told you so.’
    Louise looked up into Peter’s face. He was still a cute geek, she thought, but she didn’t get that shiver deep inside that she used to. His eyes were deep brown and he suited his ironically nerdy glasses. His cheekbones were sharp and Anka, their cleaner, always blushed and fanned herself if he came in after a run. He ran a lot more often, since Ben died. But just lately . . . noting his handsomeness was an observation, not an instinct.
    ‘I want to contribute to our family,’ she said, falling back on her best reason.
    ‘You do! You contribute more than I do just by bringing Toby up,’ Peter replied, almost hurt. ‘That’s the most important job anyone can have.’ He ran a hand through his dark hair and pushed his chair away from the table. ‘Let’s go next door.’
    He picked up the wine bottle in the cooler. ‘Another advantage of Chez Peter – don’t need to get a cab to a late-night bar. Remember that? Chasing around London, trying to find somewhere that was open after one?’
    ‘And always ending up in that terrible place that you thought was a transvestite bar but wasn’t?’ Louise knew she was playing for time at the table.
    ‘No danger of that here.’ Peter pretended to think. ‘As far as I know. Come on, come next door. Into the Lounge of Lurve.’
    Slowly, Louise took the glass and got up, blowing out the candles on the table.
    In the sitting room, Peter dimmed the lights on his fancy remote control, setting the bottle and the baby monitor on the coffee table. The music had moved on to some Ella Fitzgerald collection – grown-up, world-weary songs.
    He kicked off his shoes and settled himself on the big loveseat sofa they’d bought in the Heal’s sale two years before Toby was born. It was cream suede, shaped like a waltzer, gloriously impractical.
    That seemed like someone else’s life, thought Louise with a pang. The days before I even considered whether something wiped clean or not.
    Peter patted the space next to him.
    ‘C’m’ere, Lulu,’ he said, and a voice in her head told her that her husband looked devilishly