Chapter Text
Friday 13 March
Miranda’s phone buzzed on the coffee table in front of her. She tore her eyes away from the rolling news channel she was watching and leaned forward to pick it up. At work she hadn’t had time to pay attention to what was going on, with a complex case taking up her thoughts all day, so she was doing her best to catch up now. She saw she had received a new message from her boss.
21:16
Inés Villegas
Good evening, Detectives, as you will all have heard the government plans to confirm tomorrow that we will be in lockdown for 15 days. As essential workers, we are all going to have to do our best to keep going. I will update you when I know more, but definitely you will all need to be wearing masks and frequently using sanitiser, and we will have extra cleaning arranged. We may have to introduce different shift patterns and working from home for some of the time. I suspect it could turn out to be longer than 15 days until things can return to normal. I will update you again before Monday. Stay safe. Inés.
Big changes looked to be on the horizon for everyone: the world was in turmoil because of the pandemic that had rapidly spread from China to Europe and beyond. Miranda was glad she had a job where she was able - required - to carry on working. Keeping busy might just be the key to staying sane throughout this period of isolation and extreme restrictions.
The prospect of going through a lockdown living by herself and not being permitted to socialise at all concerned Miranda; although she valued her alone time and her personal space, she did enjoy company on her terms. She would miss going for drinks in Joan’s bar - crazy to think that only last weekend they’d all been there celebrating Max’s birthday, albeit with the worry hanging over them that the handful of cases on the island might rapidly increase. The thought of seeing less of Max was not a happy one. He’d become such a big part of her life: her compañero, her best friend, and, unknowingly, the object of her affections for quite some time now.
Miranda set the phone down again and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She had a dressing table in the corner of the room, which she would now need to turn into her home office. She set about tidying it up, giving it a clean and then finding and arranging the items she thought she’d need to be productive: stationery, a lamp, chargers, notebooks, and so on.
Office set up complete, she stepped onto the balcony and looked out to the street, now illuminated by the pools of light emanating from the lamps dotted along the promenade. It was almost deserted: the only person she could see was a man walking his dog, the one exercise that would still be permitted once the new rules came into force, though only within strict limits. What a strange time, Miranda thought. A few weeks ago when the news had started occasionally mentioning a virus in Wuhan, nobody here had imagined anything like this. The only diseases anyone had had to compare Covid-19 to in recent times were avian and swine flu and those had barely had an impact, not compared to this. Life had all of sudden become like something out of a dystopian novel and Miranda had the sense that she was living through the subject of History textbooks to come.
She gazed out over the bay, watching the twinkling lights along the curving shore and wondering what the future held. Loneliness for her in the short term probably. She agreed with Inés that the projected time limit on the restrictions was very likely to be extended, so it could be weeks possibly before she would be able to interact with anyone outside of work, and even in work it wouldn’t be normal.
Life was suddenly fraught with anxiety and uncertainty. Would she catch the virus? Would her friends and family, here in Mallorca and back in Wales? And if they did, would they all survive? The UK hadn’t imposed restrictions, but it was surely only a matter of time before they were forced to take the outbreak more seriously than they were currently, which seemed to be not very much at all. She’d seen the recent footage of the UK Prime Minister proudly proclaiming that he’d visited hospitals and shaken hands with everybody indiscriminately, as if he wanted to be infected. What an absolute idiot, she’d thought, not for the first time.
Miranda heard a car pull up outside her home. She hadn’t noticed it approaching as she’d been distracted looking out to sea, watching the lights of a night-fishing boat heading out seeking the deeper waters. A minute later there was a knocking at the front door below. It must be important, she thought, since most people seemed to be staying at home for anything non-essential already. She tripped down the stairs and opened the door a little warily to find Max in front of her, a big grin lighting up his handsome face. Noticing he was holding something, she looked down: he was carrying a holdall in one hand and at his feet was another, as well as two bulging shopping bags.
“¡Hola!” he greeted her breezily, as if this was all perfectly normal.
“Hi. What’s going on? What are all the bags for?” Miranda asked suspiciously.
“Let me in and I’ll tell you,” he said playfully.
“In the midst of a pandemic?” she scolded. “You shouldn’t even be here really.”
“Alright, Señora By-the-book,” he tutted. “I was watching the news and I had a really great idea. I thought that since we are both single households we could, you know, combine into one for the lockdown?”
“What?! No. No no no no no. No way!” The suggestion had come out of the blue and she felt a panic constrict her chest at the imposition. The thought of this intrusion into her personal space horrified her.
Max was prepared for this sort of reaction. “It makes sense for work though. If we’re one household we don’t have to worry about social distancing and masks around each other. We would count as one unit for shifts and things, and working from home together will be easy if we’re in the same home. Plus we can keep each other from going crazy from isolation, like weird hermits.” He’d spent the time since making his snap decision that evening coming up with reasoned arguments that would appeal to her desire for efficiency and her usual preference for adhering to regulations. He only hoped she would go along with his idea - it was a long shot.
“So you thought you’d just invite yourself to move in here?!” Miranda was still outraged by his audacity.
“Well, umm, I thought about asking you to mine, but I knew you’d be more comfortable in your own place. And I get to be by the sea, like a little holiday, so I’m willing to make the sacrifice. I’m taking one for the team here.” He smiled encouragingly, trying to win her over.
“I can’t believe you’ve just turned up at my door with all your stuff! What the hell, Max! You didn’t even ask first!” She wasn’t sure now whether she was more annoyed by the substance of his proposal or the way he’d gone about springing it on her like a fait accompli.
“It’s a bold move, sure,” he admitted with a little shrug. “Can we at least give it a try though? Please? Even if it’s just a two week trial or something? Then if lockdown does only last fifteen days, I’ll go home at the end of it anyway; and if it lasts longer, you can see if you want me to stay or not.” Miranda was stony-faced and silent, so Max took the opportunity to make some desperate promises to sway her decision. “I will be the best houseguest you ever had. I will give you space, I will clean, I will do all the shopping and cooking; look, I’ve even brought some of my herbs and spices and a couple of cookbooks.” He nudged one of the shopping bags on the ground with his foot. “So can we be housemates? Please?”
“What about Carmen?” she enquired, softening a little now she’d got over the initial shock.
“She’s got her family. Joan wants her home with him,” he explained, looking a little down about the enforced separation from his girlfriend. There was no chance he’d want to live with Carmen’s father for the duration though, even if the offer had been on the table; talk about uncomfortable.
“Right, and what does she think about your little plan to move yourself in here with me?” Miranda asked sceptically, folding her arms.
“Ah, well, I was waiting to see if you’d agree before I said anything,” he confessed.
She rolled her eyes witheringly. “A typical Max Winter plan then: not properly thought out. You’d better call her and see what she says.”
“So that means you’re going to let me stay?” he questioned hopefully. Had he actually managed to change her mind for once?
“As a short trial only,” she asserted firmly. “Your arguments about it making work easier might just be valid. But you need Carmen to be ok with it too.”
“Fantastic!” Wasting no time, he picked up the bags at his feet and pushed his way in. He climbed the steps up to the living area and dropped his belongings at the top. Flopping down on the sofa, he said, “I guess this is my bed for a while now.”
“Yup, suppose so,” she agreed as she came to join him, having shut the front door and locked it up for the night.
“I will help with bills, of course. The only thing I left on at my place was the fridge, so that shouldn’t be too expensive.” He was eager to make this work and avoid having to be by himself for too long, even if it meant expenses for two homes.
“Thanks,” she replied, still a bit dazed by this sudden shift in her living situation. She perched awkwardly on the sofa, as far away from Max as possible.
“So for this trial period, you tell me if I do anything wrong and I’ll fix it, then you can decide at the end if I’m allowed to stay?” he suggested.
“Fine. You can start by getting your feet off the coffee table,” she chided.
“Strike one already. Sorry,” he apologised sheepishly.
...
“So, what are your thoughts about this whole thing, all the new rules and the spread of the virus?” Max asked as he poured them both a glass of wine. Miranda looked like she needed the help to relax after finally agreeing to his plan.
“I know I’m usually a bit cautious anyway, but honestly I think we can’t be too careful with this,” she responded. “We’re going to be exposed because of our job, so outside of that I want to do all I can to minimise the risk. There are so many unknowns with it.”
Max nodded thoughtfully. “I’m with you. I know it’s hitting people who are older or who have underlying medical conditions the worst, but there are healthy young people dying too. I’d rather that wasn’t one of us,” he frowned, handing Miranda her tinto. “And we don’t know the after effects yet either - I read one report questioning about possible long-term lung damage. No thank you: that could ruin my backup career as an opera singer.”
“So, we agree then. We only see each other and we stay here as much as possible,” she stated, glossing over his profession to musical ambitions.
“Yes, even when the restrictions lift, whenever that is, we should still play it safe. Our jobs take us all over the island, meeting all kinds of people. I don’t want to be responsible for spreading it if I can avoid it. ‘Palma police behind Covid outbreak’ is so not a headline Inés would appreciate,” Max quipped.
“You’re not wrong there,” she agreed readily.
Max held his glass up and proposed a toast. “To new housemates. ¡Salud!”
“¡Salud!” Miranda repeated. The sentiment had never seemed more appropriate.
“You know, now I think about it, there’s another reason to be vigilant: if I got it and I needed looking after, I’d only have you. You’re not exactly my first pick as nurse. No offence,” he grimaced.
“Some taken,” she replied a little frostily.
...
Max Winter has named the group “Jefe y compañeros”
Group members: Inés Villegas, Max Winter, Miranda Blake
20:32
Max Winter
Hola Inés! Just letting you know for shifts and distancing etc I’ve moved in with Miranda temporarily so we are one household. Hope that makes planning a bit easier.
20:39
Inés Villegas
Is this a joke?
20:41
Max Winter
No?
20:43
Inés Villegas
I see. Thank you for letting me know. Try not to get uniform called out for any domestics, si?
20:44
Miranda Blake
I’m allowed to gag and cuff him if he gets too annoying, right?
20:45
Inés Villegas
A blind eye could be turned...
...
Tuesday 17 March
Max shoved the front door open with his foot and staggered in with several bags full of shopping. He just managed to get them all to the kitchen without anything falling out. Miranda left her tablet on the sofa and went to help him unpack. She didn’t entirely trust him to put everything away in the right places yet.
“So weird out there: almost nobody is outside apart from the soldiers we saw arriving this morning,” he informed her. “It’s like we’re in a disaster movie.”
“Watch out for zombies then,” she teased.
“You joke, but it feels exactly like that. I was lucky that I got there right after they did an evening restock. Toilet roll is basically gold dust now though, and don’t get me started on mince; the whole island must be having albóndigas every night for the next week.”
“Well, you know I’m happy with a simple cheese sandwich,” she told him as she loaded various vegetables into the fridge drawer.
“No self-respecting private chef is going to present you with just cheese and bread for dinner. I’ve got lots of ideas, don’t you worry,” he winked.
“The ideas are what I worry about,” she responded, sticking out her tongue.
...
Saturday 21 March
“Max! Wet towels on the floor!” Miranda shouted from the bathroom.
“Sorry!” he called out guiltily. He’d completely forgotten he’d left them there earlier.
She poked her head around the door. “Just because you’ve been here a week now, don’t think you can start making my place a mess. You’re still on trial, remember?”
“Yes, sorry. I was on my way to tidy up and Christian sent me this really funny YouTube clip and I got distracted... Won’t happen again,” he swore.
“And could you maybe try not to use absolutely everything in the kitchen when you cook?” she added, frustration spilling over.
“Point taken. To make it up to you, you choose your favourite thing and I will cook it for you tonight. With minimum mess, of course,” he promised.
This offer made Miranda calm down a little. “Hmm... I haven’t had lamb for a while,” she replied thoughtfully.
“Then lamb is what you shall get. I needed to get some more shopping anyway, so I’ll go out soon. And I am sensing that you need a bit of space, so when I get back, you just relax on the balcony while I stay down here cooking, ok? Do some reading or something and I will bring you an aperitif.” He looked down and started searching for inspiration on lamb dishes on his phone.
“Ok. You might have just redeemed yourself,” she said grudgingly as she disappeared back into the bathroom.
...
“Miiirandaaaaa! It’s ready!” Max called from the bottom of the stairs.
Miranda came in from the balcony where she’d been reading and removed the coat she had donned to protect herself from the cool spring breeze whipping in off the sea.
She came downstairs and seeing the delicious-looking plate of food Max had prepared, she smiled softly. As apologies went, this one seemed like a good one.
“Looks great,” she told him.
“I’ve tried to do you a Welsh ‘surf n turf’: lamb with cockles. Hope you like it,” he grinned, relieved that he’d got positive feedback so far.
“That’s really nice of you. Thank you, I’m sure it’s tasty,” she said gratefully. She was really touched by the thought he’d put into the meal and the trouble he’d gone to for her. Living with Max certainly had its benefits.
...
Tuesday 24 March
Miranda flipped the switch on the kettle and reached two mugs down from the cupboard as the water began to heat up. She crossed to the fridge and retrieved the milk. The container was a lot lighter than she’d been expecting.
”What the hell, Max?!” she cried, holding the bottle aloft. It was almost empty.
Max looked up from tidying his bedding away. “Oh, I had some cereal after you went to bed last night. Is it not enough?” he asked innocently.
“It’s maybe just enough for one,” she sighed with annoyance.
“Oh, you have it then,” he told her magnanimously.
“Obviously,” she huffed as she poured the remaining dribble of liquid into her cup.
Max winced. “I don’t know what strike I’m on here, but I’m sorry. Won’t happen again,” he promised.
“Good. Just think ahead once in a while, yeah?” she muttered.
“Uh huh.” He thought for a moment, considering how to say what he wanted to tell her. “You know, if I were to offer you any advice, which obviously I wouldn’t... it would be to lighten up just a little bit. Anyway I would never say that to you, of course, because I’m just a guest and I wouldn’t dream of saying anything to jeopardise my trial...” He carefully avoided looking at her while he said this, instead concentrating on folding his sheet.
Miranda regarded him over her coffee mug as he turned to gauge her reaction. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m glad we’re on the same page and you didn’t say it then.”
...
Friday 27 March
“So, it’s been two weeks now and you haven’t kicked me out,” Max stated over breakfast - croissants today since it was nearly the weekend. “Did I pass the test?”
“I suppose so,” she replied after making him wait a few seconds while she pretended to deliberate. “The shopping and cooking swung it for you.”
“Yesssss!” He punched the air in celebration.
“You like it here that much?” she asked, eyebrow raised in surprise.
“Well, yes. You have a balcony with an amazing view and if I’d stayed at my place I’d have gone insane with loneliness already. I suppose you’re alright too,” he teased, giving her a nudge with his elbow before stuffing more croissant into his mouth.
“And you’re just about tolerable,” she retorted, straight-faced.
...
As the lockdown continued, the new cohabitants settled into their daily routine. Usually Miranda would wake first, come downstairs to rouse Max from his slumber, and then start brewing their morning coffee. Max would unmake his bed on the sofa, then join her for breakfast. Afterwards they’d take it in turns to shower and dress.
After work and on their days off they’d pass the time in easy companionship: reading, listening to music, watching films or box sets, enjoying the spring sunshine out on the balcony, deciding what to eat, talking about what they’d do once things were back to normal again... Max carried on taking complete control of the shopping and cooking as promised, though Miranda would occasionally take his list and go and get the food herself whenever she started to feel trapped in the house.
On weekends they would treat themselves to a good bottle of wine or two and Max would usually attempt something a bit fancier or requiring more time than the simpler dishes he’d whip up after work. He was remarkably diligent in coming up with varied meal plans that would challenge Miranda’s palate just enough to keep things interesting for both of them without putting her off. He was enjoying producing the culinary world tour as much as Miranda found she was enjoying sampling it.
Everything between them was easier than they’d anticipated, surprisingly so. Max tried his best to be tidy and respectful of space and quiet, while Miranda did her best to be a bit more laidback and a little less uptight. They still had the odd argument, but nothing serious: usually just disagreements about trivial matters like what film to watch or whose turn it was to empty the bin. Life in the Blake-Winter household had turned out to be generally happy and harmonious, despite their boss’s - and indeed Miranda’s - initial misgivings.
...
Wednesday 8 April
Stepping out of the bathroom, Max noticed a medium-sized, brown cardboard box in front of Miranda, who was busy reading a letter.
“Special delivery for Ms Blake?” he queried with interest as he finished fastening the last couple of buttons on his linen shirt.
“From my nain. Have a look; there’s one for you too,” she told him without looking up.
Max lifted the flaps at the top of the box to reveal two large Easter eggs.
He grinned. “I think I like your nain.”
“She’s really sweet,” Miranda agreed.
Max wondered what she’d told her family regarding him. “She knows about me then?” he checked.
“Well, yeah, I mean, she asks me about my work... And she knows you’re staying here for a while,” Miranda admitted with some reticence.
“I see,” he replied. She wasn’t giving much away. “Can you send me her address? I’d like to write her a thank you note. She’s almost made up for missing out on the Holy Week processions and the Fira del Ram. Might still be able to get some of the special pastries though...” He trailed off as he started to plan a visit to a bakery or two.
Miranda picked up her phone and looked up the contact details he’d asked her for. She hesitated: did she really want to set Max up in correspondence with her grandmother? Realising it would be churlish to refuse, she sent him the information, with a slight twinge of doubt.
...
Monday 20 April
“Max, have you checked your phone?” Miranda asked, having come downstairs ready to leave for work.
“It’s over there charging. Why?” he said over his shoulder as he washed his coffee mug.
“Roberto’s caught it,” she informed him. “We were with him last week so that means we have to self-isolate.”
“Scheisse, is he ok?” Max turned round, concerned for their colleague.
“A bit feverish and coughing a lot apparently. Could be a lot worse,” she reassured him.
“Let’s hope he starts to recover soon. And more to the point, let’s hope we didn’t catch it,” he added.
“Yes, fingers crossed. Do we have enough supplies to last us?” Miranda had no idea now that food was Max’s area.
“We have enough for the first few days. I also stocked the freezer with some emergency backup stuff,” he updated her.
“Then what do we do?” She’d heard that supermarket delivery slots could be all booked up a couple of weeks or more in advance lately.
“Hmm... Oh! I know. Leave to it to me,” he replied mysteriously.
...
8:57
Inés Villegas
I hear you are both self-isolating after your contact with Roberto. I will find you plenty of paperwork to do from home, don’t worry.
9:01
Max Winter
That’s a relief.
9:03
Inés Villegas
Do I detect sarcasm, Detective Winter? I do hope not.
9:04
Max Winter
Umm, no. Of course not.
9:05
Miranda Blake
What he means to say is that he is pleased we can still be of use despite the situation.
9:07
Inés Villegas
I don’t think he does, but nice try. Anyway, I have just heard that Luisa has also got it now.
9:08
Max Winter
Is she ok? :(
9:11
Inés Villegas
Similar to Roberto - not great, but not terrible. They’ll both be fine soon enough, I’m sure.
9:12
Max Winter
Phew!
9:15
Inés Villegas
Yes. Enjoy your lock-in, detectives.
9:18
Miranda Blake
Thanks :/
...
13:21
Max Winter
Hey man, hope you’re feeling better soon :)
13:32
Roberto Herrero
Thanks. In my current state, the sweet release of death would not be entirely unwelcome.
13:33
Max Winter
That bad? :/
13:36
Roberto Herrero
My lungs are aflame and the disease has enervated me to the point of inertia.
13:38
Max Winter
Wow. That IS bad.
13:44
Roberto Herrero
You are correct. Is staying with Miranda still going ok? If Luisa and I tried that it would end very badly indeed.
13:47
Max Winter
Better than you might think. We’re getting along pretty well.
13:49
Roberto Herrero
You know, when I first met you both I thought you might be a couple. Crazy, no?
13:52
Max Winter
Ha! Just compañeros.
13:54
Roberto Herrero
Yes, I was unaware at the time of your relationship with Carmen.
13:57
Max Winter
Of course. Hope you’ve got enough chocolate to see you through. Ooh, did you know Carmela’s are doing deliveries now?
13:59
Roberto Herrero
At last some good news! The second my gustatory senses return, I will be putting in a big order.
...
Friday 24 April
Christian gently placed some bags of shopping outside Miranda’s place and knocked on the door. He stood back a few steps and looked up, waiting for his friends to appear on the balcony as arranged.
“Christian, you absolute lifesaver!” Max called down, thrilled to see his old friend again.
“Yes, thank you, Christian,” Miranda added, the golden sunset illuminating her blonde hair as she joined Max.
“You are welcome, my friends,” Christian said happily. “How is it going in there?”
“We’re doing fine. No symptoms for either of us, so maybe we got away with it. And there are worse places to isolate!” Max returned, spreading his arms out to indicate the beautiful vista in front of him.
“You haven’t killed him yet, Miranda. He must be behaving himself!” Christian joked, directing a wink at Max.
“He’s doing all the cooking so I’m not doing too badly out of this,” Miranda confirmed.
“You do both look surprisingly... happy for having been stuck with each other for so long,” Christian observed.
“We’re the dream team, obviously,” Max stated as he put a friendly arm round Miranda’s shoulder. She stiffened a little, but didn’t immediately push him off as she had done in the past.
“It’s getting chilly with this wind, so I’ll say goodbye, Christian. Thanks again,” Miranda said, before separating herself from her partner and heading inside. She was more comfortable with Max’s occasional physical contact than she used to be, but not enough to want to cope with it for a whole conversation.
“See you, Miranda,” Christian shouted as she moved out of sight. Confident she could no longer see him, he mimed passionate kissing, running his hands up and down an imaginary body in front of him.
“Cut it out!” Max ordered as he leaned over the railing.
“I bet you want to though, right?” his friend teased.
“Shhhh, she’ll hear you!” Max urged, quickly looking back to check Miranda wasn’t too close to the balcony doors.
“I know you, you’ve definitely been thinking about it,” Christian insisted.
“Have you forgotten my girlfriend? Dark curly hair, artist, pours a lot of your drinks, goes by the name Carmen?” Max asked sarcastically.
“Yeah, but having a girlfriend doesn’t mean you can’t do things in your head. We are only human,” came the pragmatic reply from below.
“I think this chat says more about what’s in your head than mine.” Max wasn’t having any of it: he was with Carmen, and he and Miranda were professional partners, end of story. He also imagined his compañera would take a dim view of this discussion, so he was keen to wrap it up as quickly as possible.
“Ha, don’t try to deny it,” Christian scoffed. He pulled the zip on his jacket up to his chin. “Anyway, Miranda is right, it’s cold out here. Let’s get some beers as soon as this is over, ja? I’m going to need a lot to make up for all the lost time.”
“You are on,” Max agreed readily. “Tschüss, Christian.”
Max waved, then watched as his old friend departed into the rapidly-darkening evening. He wondered when they’d be able to see each other again. That drinking session could be a long time coming.
...
Thursday 30 April
Max picked up the morning post and rifled through it: flyers, something official-looking for Miranda - probably a bill, and a small, white envelope addressed to him in slightly shaky handwriting, with stamps that indicated it had started its journey in the UK. He dumped the rest of the mail on the arm of the sofa and sat down to read the item addressed to him. He ripped open the envelope to reveal a card decorated with cheery daffodils. The message inside read:
‘Dear Max, Thank you for your lovely note - Miranda said you were a nice man. You are very welcome for the chocolate egg. You’re a good friend to my granddaughter and I’m very glad you’re staying with her now - we worry about her all by herself. Look after her and give her a big cwtch from me. Gwen x’
What an adorable card, Max thought. He’d better look up what he was supposed to give Miranda though. He searched on his phone: ah, a cuddle. He couldn’t quite work out how to say it though; those Welsh and their obscure language. He found an online translator that read the word out for him, hoping to be able to get it right since he was about to use it on a native speaker.
He got up and stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready to give the new noun a try. He called up to Miranda, who was getting dressed in her bedroom. “Miranda, your nain says I have to give you a big cwtch from her! Did I say that right, cwtch?”
”Close enough,” she shouted back. “And you’ve told me, so that’ll do, thanks.”
”Oh,” he replied, a little crestfallen. He’d hoped that she would agree to a hug for her grandmother’s sake at least. “If you’re sure.”
”Completely,” she assured him. Best to keep her distance.
...
Saturday 2 May
“So, we’re allowed to go for a walk at last. Luxury!” Max said. “And perfect timing with our self-isolation just finishing.” He read through the list of regulations the government had set on his phone. “Pretty strict rules though: only once a day, with someone you live with, between six and ten in the morning or eight and eleven at night. Better than nothing, I guess.”
“I’ve missed my daily runs,” Miranda admitted.
“I’m not sure my lockdown body can keep up with you if you’re going to start sprinting off,” Max groaned. “We can only go up to a kilometre anyway.”
“I suppose I should start gently after all these weeks. Just a daily stroll along the promenade after dinner at first then?” she proposed.
“Perfect,” he agreed. He was excited to be allowed out of the house for something other than work or food shopping at last. Even better that it would be for evening walks with his favourite lady.
On her part, Miranda was relieved to be able to start doing more to mitigate the effects of weeks of Max’s excellent cooking.
...
Friday 22 May
Max trudged down the stairs, phone in hand. He looked shaken, his face a little pale and drawn.
Miranda glanced up from her book. Taking in his expression, she asked, “Max, you alright?”
He sat on the sofa uneasily, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees. “Carmen... she ended it.”
“Oh, Max! I’m so sorry. Did she say why?” She sat awkwardly next to him and gave him a slightly hesitant pat on the shoulder.
“She said she hadn’t been missing me as much as thought she should, and that she couldn’t see us ever getting married, so it would be best for both of us to end it now.” The heartache he was feeling was obvious from his tone.
“Oh, I see.” Miranda searched for what to say for a few seconds. “What do you think about it all?”
“I hadn’t thought anything until she called. I don’t know, maybe she’s right. I have been thinking about her less lately. And you shouldn’t get married if you have doubts. I suppose I did have some, I was just very good at ignoring them.” He leaned back into the sofa now, feeling drained of energy.
“So at least it’s sort of mutual then?” Miranda queried.
“I suppose. Still hurts,” he muttered, rubbing his palms down his face wearily.
“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” Seeing him in pain was not pleasant for Miranda and all she wanted to do was make it go away, but how?
“You can get the wine opened,” Max requested darkly.
“Of course. Two large glasses coming up.” She sprang to her feet and trotted to the kitchen. As she opened the wine with her back to him, she allowed herself a small smile: he was single at last. Maybe now he might eventually grow to return her feelings?
...
A glass of tinto each quickly became two, then three, as they chatted about everything and nothing: relationships (or lack thereof), family, what they missed most under lockdown...
“I never really did it all that often before, but now I can’t, I want to go out dancing,” Max proclaimed.
“Really? I thought you’d be more bothered about beers with Christian,” she declared with surprise.
“We will do that as soon as it’s safe, but dancing may be off the table longer. Will you dance with me now?” he requested.
“Now?!” Miranda wasn’t sure that was such a good idea.
“Yes. Tonight is about cheering my poor broken heart up! Please?” he begged.
“Just this once then,” she sighed.
Max selected a track on his phone, rose and pulled Miranda up to join him. He grabbed one of her hands and placed the other one on his shoulder.
“Ready?” he checked.
“I don’t even know what dance we’re doing!” she exclaimed.
“I’m not sure either. Just follow my lead,” he instructed, his words ever so slightly slurred. “With all the wine we’ll probably end up swaying and stepping on each other’s feet anyway.”
“Oh no you don’t! I remember the last time,” she scolded. Her foot had been sore for at least three days after their paso doble in Cazador. She had enjoyed it up to that point though; she’d never experienced a dance so intense and, despite Carmen, a part of her still wished they hadn’t been prevented from kissing by another dancer crashing into them.
“Oh yeah, sorry... ok, I’ll try my hardest not to stamp on you,” he said guiltily.
They began to dance, bumbling about slightly and occasionally breaking into giggles at their uncoordinated shuffle. After a while, Max spun Miranda around then lowered her into a dip. Their eyes locked, both searching as if asking the question: do you want more too? They slowly moved their faces together, stopping only a few centimetres apart, unsure whether to continue. Miranda moved forward again, brushing her lips against his, then a split-second later abruptly jerking back, before he even had the chance to decide whether to respond. She pulled herself out of Max’s hold.
“Sorry. I’m sorry...” she raced into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind her, leaving Max alone with the music.
What the hell just happened, he wondered as he went to the kitchen for a glass of water to try to stave off a hangover. He got one for Miranda too and put it on the bottom stair. When she emerged a few minutes later looking flustered, he told her it was there to pick up on her way to bed.
“Great. Thanks. Err. Night,” she replied, cringing. She rapidly exited the room, practically running up the stairs.
Max threw himself backwards onto the sofa and closed his eyes. “Scheisse,” he muttered.
...
Saturday 23 May
A raging thirst woke Max at three in the morning. He got a fresh glass of water from the kitchen and sat on the sofa, deep in thought.
The previous evening had taken quite an unexpected turn. Did Miranda really like him or was she just drunk and caught up in the moment? He realised he wished she hadn’t pulled away so quickly; was it merely that after the months of isolation and then the breakup, he was craving intimacy? Probably not, he thought, because I think it’s only Miranda I want. Do I really like her like that? God, I think I do. I’ve been so blind. She’s obviously beautiful, but it’s more than that: she’s clever and funny, and I want to spend all my time with her. When the lockdown was announced, that should have told me: I didn’t really think about moving in with Carmen. Miranda was always my first choice.
So, now what? That’s two almost-kisses, and if I know Miranda she’ll tell me to forget about this one too, he mused. Maybe some time to think wouldn’t be a bad thing though: I need to try to find out how she really sees me, and I shouldn’t rush things anyway. I’ve only been single for a few hours! I’ll take it slowly, see what happens.
...
Miranda awoke just before nine with the sudden, stomach-churning realisation of what she’d done last night. What a stupid thing to do, she chastised herself. She was fairly certain her feelings were unrequited; she should never have acted on them. It would have been better to carry on as they were. She could be happy with just a platonic relationship, couldn’t she? She hoped they could get back to that now.
...
Max gingerly approached Miranda, who was busy making their usual morning coffees, having quietly walked past him as he slept.
He swallowed, his mouth feeling dry despite his attempt at rehydration during the night. “Miranda, should we talk about what happened last night?” he asked tentatively.
She lifted her head from her task, not quite able to look him in the eye though. “There’s nothing to talk about,” she said slowly. “Because nothing happened.”
He thought for a second, then nodded carefully. “Nothing happened. You’re right.” That was for the best - he needed to get his head around all this.
“Coffee’s ready.” She put the cups on the counter in front of him, next to some buttered toast.
“Thanks. I’ll take them up to the balcony. Nice morning today.” He hoped he’d managed to sound casual enough throughout this conversation.
“Ok. I’ll be up in a minute.” She needed a moment to collect herself.
Miranda waited for him to take the breakfast tray upstairs, then leaned on the counter and breathed out shakily. She hoped that had been sufficient to make things normal between them again. She wanted him and had done for a long time, she knew that, but if there was even a remote chance of something developing between them she didn’t want it to happen like this. He’d just been broken up with and she wouldn’t be some meaningless rebound fling. If their relationship did ever become a romantic one it needed a firmer start than that; they both had to really want it. She wasn’t even sure he did want it at all though. Was he just friendly towards her or was it something more? No, she decided, it was too much to hope that someone like him would be interested in her. He was warm, popular, outgoing; she was closed, introverted, private. He lit up a room as soon as he stepped through the doorway; she often entered completely unnoticed. It would be best if she tried to keep a lid on her emotions and let things stay as simple as they could be. She couldn’t face the humiliation of him learning her true feelings and not returning them.
As Miranda’s thoughts spiralled downstairs, up on the balcony Max was caught in his own emotional tumult. It was as if the events of the last twenty four hours had flipped a switch in his head, taking him suddenly from oblivious, loyal boyfriend to single man, blinkers finally off, seeing things clearly at last. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to realise he had feelings for Miranda beyond just casual physical attraction, and now he did he had no idea how to proceed. Did she feel the same for him? He needed to know. Then he could figure out what to do. Even if it seemed like she was interested, it still probably wasn’t a good idea to try anything while they were living together though - what if it went wrong? No, he could wait. They had time on their side.