As discussed, Richie had returned late that night and slept on the sofa. I told him I’d be in bed as the option for me to stay elsewhere was at Isabella’s and he wasn’t keen on that. I was already in bed by the time he’d come back, but stayed awake in the hope that I might find an excuse to go downstairs. I didn’t. I did, however, stay awake until around 2am, hoping he might creep up to see me. He didn’t.

 

I must have been in need of some decent sleep as I didn’t wake until 10am the following morning. I could hear voices downstairs - it was Richie and his mother. From the rise and fall of her voice, I figured she was walking to and from the kitchen and the lounge while talking to him. Her tone indicated that she was not best pleased with what she had found on her sofa that morning. But I was used to them bickering and expected it to pass, so I decided to shower and dress to give them time to talk it out.

 

I had wanted to put on something nice for Richie, but didn’t want his mother to think any of this had been planned or that I had heard him and was behaving desperately in any way, so I opted for something simple. 

 

I went to the kitchen first, where I could hear Richie’s mum’s voice and said good morning.

 

“Good morning. Looks like you needed your beauty sleep,” she said jokingly, motioning her eyes towards the clock in the kitchen. 

 

“Must have! How are you? I thought you had visitors, I heard voices.”

 

“Oh, we have a visitor all right! Look what the cat dragged in! In there,” she said pointing towards the open lounge door, “Look!”

 

I looked back at Richie’s mother, narrowing my brow and turning down the corners of my mouth in what I hoped was a display of intrigue then casually wandered through the door while I rearranged the muscles in my face into something more mischievous for Richie’s benefit.

 

“Oh! What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming round. Did you sleep there?” I asked, pointing in his and the sofa’s direction.

 

“Yeah! I was sleeping until the Inquisition started.” He shouted his reply semi-jokingly for his mother to hear. “I told Mariella I’d be coming back soon,” he continued in a raised voice, this time projecting the comment firmly in the direction of the kitchen. 

 

His mother wandered back in. She was wearing a dressing gown, fluffy slippers and rollers in her hair, like something from that British comedy programme I sometimes watched, the one full of old people moaning.

 

“You must need your head examined taking him back. He says that’s the plan? Personally, I’d kick him out on the street, but each to their own, I suppose.” 

 

There was rarely any warmth in his mother’s voice, so I didn’t know whether to take the comment as a joke or not. I just stood there, silent, unable to find anything appropriate to say, so decided that a brief escape would be the easiest way of relieving the awkwardness.

 

“I’m going to Sainsbury’s to get some things for the kitchen. Is there anything we need that I can pick up?”

 

“I was going to cook some fish later if you want to eat here? You could pick up some potatoes for me?”

 

“Of course. Richie?”

 

“Can you pick me up a takeaway coffee from that place down the road?”

 

“She’s going to Sainsbury’s, not doing a delivery service! Leave it, Mariella! Let him get his own coffee.”

 

“It’s OK, it’s nice out. The walk will do me good.”

 

As soon as I got out of the front door and into the sun, I felt a strange warmth inside me, followed by the urge again to get a slice of that cheesecake. This time I would chill it in the fridge before eating it, just to take the edge of any warmth that it had gathered on the journey back. It would keep the texture just firm enough to slice through with a fork without the softer parts folding and the base crumbling.

 

The sun was delightful on my arms and neck and everything around somehow seemed more alive: the colour of the flowers more vibrant, passing dogs and their owners friendlier, even the advertising hoardings that often irritated me with their shouty messages seemed calmer, softly suggestive. I considered everything I noticed as I moved along the street and contemplated this warmth I was experiencing. I wanted to put it down to Richie being back, an assurance that the normal order of things had been reinstated, that Cupid had reassigned that stray arrow. Something told me that this wasn’t quite it, but for now I was happy to leave it there, enjoy the moment and follow my appetite.

 

I decided to get the coffee first so that the strawberry cheesecake would require less time in the fridge once I got back, which also allowed me a detour through the small but abundantly green local park. As I strolled, I came across a cute coffee stall, an old London cab with its coffee machine fitted into the back and a gazebo structure extending from the open boot of the cab. I thought about getting Richie a fresh coffee, but decided instead to treat myself to a delicious looking milkshake I saw the owner of the stall feasting on. I simply asked for what he was having and he duly obliged, paying great attention to its creation, adding broken oreo cookies and whipped cream to top it off. 

 

“Now, that’s I call a Milkshake!” I said to him, beaming, wondering if every Sunday could be like this.

 

I headed back and the feeling faded. Richie’s return had definitely stirred some of the old anxiety in me, even though I felt sure I wanted him back. His greeting on my arrival back at the house was frosty. Where had I been? He might as well have been to Brazil and back to get the coffee himself, he coldly told me,.

 

“Thank you Mariella!” I remarked sarcastically.

 

“Yeah, thank you. But I didn’t ask for an iced coffee, did I?”

 

“The place is a ten minute walk away and I had to get stuff from Sainsbury’s on the way back”

 

“Why didn’t you do that first?”

 

I didn’t answer and headed into the kitchen to put the cheesecakes into the fridge to chill. Yes, cheesecakes, I’d bought three - I was bound to want another one later and thought I could have the third as a Monday morning breakfast treat to kick-start the week.

 

I returned to the lounge and offered to heat Richie’s coffee up for him in the microwave a little. He refused the offer explaining that he needed to head out soon in the car so that he could pick up the rest of his stuff. I thought about asking if I could help, but then realised that not only would that be ridiculously awkward, but that while he was away I’d have some time to myself, time to eat the cheesecake and time for another gentle stroll.

 

I saw him to the door.