Free Out of Sight by Isabelle Grey

friend.’
    â€˜Well, never mind.’
    Leonie could hear that he was slightly taken aback, but squashed her craven impulse to say she’d cancel. She waited, breathless.
    â€˜Did you sort out the problem with the cots?’ he asked.
    â€˜Yes. Gaby had to borrow a travel cot from one of her daughters. You’d expect people to shout well ahead that they had triplets. How many rented houses are going to have two cots, let alone three?’
    â€˜True. I had an interesting new case today. I’ll tell you when I see you.’ Patrice liked to discuss his work with her, although he never identified his patients.
    â€˜You could come along on Thursday if you want to,’ she offered, cringing at herself. ‘You’d like Audra. She’s good fun.’
    â€˜I won’t intrude. Another time. What are you up to this evening?’
    Her hopes soared. ‘Not much.’
    â€˜I’m ironing. Run out of shirts.’
    Disappointed, she wondered whether she dared suggest going over there.
    â€˜And been watching the swallows gathering,’ he went on. ‘They’ll be starting to leave soon. Nights are already drawing in, don’t you think?’
    â€˜Oh, don’t say that! Summer’s not over yet.’
    â€˜I imagined you’d prefer it out of season. A lot less busy.’
    â€˜I don’t mind. Anything rather than getting up and coming home in the cold and dark. I always hated the lack of daylight in London, so I’ll take every last bit of sunshine and heat I can get.’ When he didn’t reply, she prompted him. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
    â€˜It gets a bit stressful. Some relief when autumn comes. Call you on Friday … Bye for now.’
    Alone, she looked out of her kitchen window at the swallows endlessly swapping places on the telephone wires across the road, calming herself with the image of the birds’ mysterious voyages as a direct link to Patrice on the other side of the town. She reminded herself of the powerful part his elusiveness played in his attraction for her. That such an essentially shy man should be lured by her willingness not to rush him, by her ability to coax him with stillness and waiting, emphasised her sensitivity and empathy. She couldn’t help but like such a reflected image of herself. And Patrice was the complete opposite of Greg, whose failure to commit had stemmed from immaturity, a lack of depth. Patrice, she felt instinctively, suffered from an abundance of depth, profound places where he wrestled with difficult memories.
    She hoped one day he would tell her what they were. She was sure they were bound up with why he was drawn to homeopathy: the wounded healer. He had all but explained himself to her when he outlined the theory of miasms, of past or inherited damage that causes an endless repetition of symptoms, of aches and pains caused by old and invisible injuries and diseases. She wasn’t sure she believed in every last word of homeopathy, but she certainly believed in the healing power of love. She had only to be patient, and, she was sure, they would free one another from their pasts.
    Unexpectedly, Leonie really enjoyed catching up with Audra. They compared one another’s latest clothes andshoe purchases, chatted about random stuff, laughed over nothing much. She started to relax properly for the first time in weeks, and was on the point of ordering two more glasses of wine when her mobile chirped. She looked at the screen. Apologising to Audra, she moved away so she could speak in private.
    â€˜Patrice?’
    â€˜Hello. I realise you’re with your friend.’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜But I thought maybe you could come here afterwards.’
    â€˜Oh!’ Leonie was confused. Maybe it was the wine on an empty stomach, but she resented his assumption that he could summon her like this. Yet a ripple of desire told her she would go anyway. It also reminded her that she did not