Tell Him About It by Holly Kinsella Page B

Sara moved her hand forward to knock on the door she tried to ignore her doubts. Several drinks from the mini bar helped dilute them too. The future could, or couldn’t, take care of itself.
    But this is wrong. This isn’t you... If ever I spend the night with him, I want him to make love to me. Not me pretending to be a Lisa.
    Rather than knock upon the door Sara merely gently pressed her palm against it, imagining the door was his chest and she could feel his heartbeat – in tune with hers. Melancholy, more than ardour, shaped her features.
     

 
    15.
     
    Amber sunlight poured through the curtains of Sara’s room the following morning. She woke to the sound of bin men rather than birdsong. Her head throbbed a little and she drank half a bottle of water to rehydrate herself. She stood before the mirror, her bob far from Louise Brooks-like and her eyes half-closed.
    You’ve looked and felt better... At least he might now believe I was too ill to attend the event last night, on seeing me like this.
    She wanted to go home, to cocoon herself from the imminent fall-out of ending things with Simon. How honest should she be with various people explaining why it was all over? He should feel ashamed of his actions, but she would be the one embarrassed when telling people about it. It felt like it would sting each time she would have to say that he cheated on her. She wanted her own bed. Rosie would take care of her too.
    Yes. It was best all round it she went back to London. Even though nothing had happened last night, Sara would still feel uncomfortable around Adam. Sara could deny it to him, but she couldn’t deny it to herself that she had feelings for a man who she hadn’t even known for a week.
    *
    Grey clouds ambled across the sky. The sun still tried to lighten the scene although, by the time Sara stood with Adam outside the hotel waiting for her cab to take her to the train station, it seemed like it was fighting a losing battle.
    Adam proved understanding when Sara let him know about her desire to return to London. He was concerned rather than angry or upset. She seemed genuinely ill and he sensed that there was something else wrong too. Sara said she would send an email whilst on the train in regards to any info he might need for the event that night in Cumbria. She also gave him his train ticket back to London.
    “It’s a shame that you’re going to miss out on a trip to the Lake District. I guess this was not the happy ending to the tour that you’d envisaged,” Adam remarked, breaking the silence between them. On the surface the scene was merely that of an author saying goodbye to his publicist and thanking her for the work she had done over the past week or so. But it was unspoken that more was being said. If the eyes were the mirror to the soul they shared a couple of soulful looks.
    “We’ve both read enough Turgenev to know that there are no happy endings,” Sara replied, as much to herself as to Adam. It was her time to stare distractedly – and sadly – into the distance.
    “It would be nice to see you again Sara.”
    “You’ll see me again at the publication dinner, don’t worry.”
    That’s not what I meant.
    Oh God. That’s not what he meant.
    “And I may get to work on your paperback and next hardback, if you want to give me a second chance after abandoning you like this.” She said it as a joke, but Sara again suffered a twinge of guilt for leaving Adam to his own devices.
    “Sara, you’re a lovely person. I’d give you a second, third and fourth chance – and twice on a Sunday – if need be. It’s more important to know though that you can give yourself a second chance. You should apply for a position in editorial if that’s what you want – and also write your novel. Have faith in yourself. I read something recently, saying that there’s never been a summer that wasn’t followed by winter – but there’s never yet been a winter that wasn’t followed by