11. Casey, London

Sunday afternoon, back in Notting Hill, I walk up the concrete steps of the Victorian terrace that houses our flat. I slip my key in the lock and pause, my hand on the brass doorknob, as a flutter of nerves burst in my stomach. It's just a conversation. Open your mouth and say what's on your mind. I give myself an encouraging nod, head into the foyer of the building and open the door of the flat.

‘Hello?' I call out, pulling off my trainers and socks. I throw my keys on the sideboard, duck my head into the sitting room to find it empty, then head along the short hallway to the kitchen. Eva's at the dining table staring at her laptop, leg bent and heel up on the chair, resting her arm on her knee.

‘You didn't hear me come in?'

‘I heard,' she sniffs.

‘You couldn't say hello back?'

She purses her lips.

I pour myself a glass of water. ‘Don't, Eva. I'm allowed to spend the night with my family.'

Her jaw tightens. ‘I didn't say you weren't.'

‘Then why so frosty?'

She gives a snarky one-shoulder shrug.

‘Fine. Be like that.'

I move to the sitting room and flick on the telly to drown out the uncomfortable silence. This conversation won't go well if she's in a mood. I drop onto the sofa, sinking into its velvety softness, and glance at my precious artwork above the mantel. It's a painting that was part of my first exhibition at the gallery. Eva wanted to hang it in the bedroom, but the neutral tones with splashes of plum and fuchsia blended better with this room. It's of two women in bed, legs tangled, one with her head on the other's chest, gazing up at her partner. I imagine the gentle thud of a heartbeat in her ear, and it triggers that old memory of me telling Holly our hearts beat to the same rhythm. The other reason I didn't want the painting in our bedroom.

I shake my head, disappointed in myself. What am I doing, thinking about Holly – someone who would've forgotten me long ago. My focus needs to be on my current relationship and whether or not I want to be in it. But now I'm home, I'm reminded that I'm in a flat I'd never be able to afford on my own, or even with a partner who earned the same as me, and I do all right. Suddenly the ‘I'm not sure about this' conversation sticks in my throat. I lie back on the sofa, thinking about what Chandice said last night before we drifted off to sleep.

She'd rolled onto her side and faced me. ‘Do you think that maybe – and don't have a go, right – but do you think part of you is staying with Eva because of what she gives you?'

‘How do you mean?' I said, deluding myself that I didn't know what she was talking about.

Her dark eyes were gentle and probing in the low lamplight. ‘Your lifestyle, the flat. Money to do things.'

Her voice was loving, unaccusing, but it prodded at something underlying – that knowledge I carry around but never want to admit, that I've become used to how Eva and I live, and how her privilege extends to me – but I was still quick to defend. ‘That's not why I fell for her. I still love her. It just feels different now.'

‘I know you love her, but sometimes people get used to things, don't they? Especially in relationships. They put up with stuff because it's easier than the alternative, and you love that flat.'

‘I do love the flat,' I said. ‘I like having sex regularly, too.'

She gave me a playful kick under the duvet. ‘I don't need to hear about your sex life, thanks. Besides, I know what you and Jaz are like when you're out. It's not like you can't pick up whenever you want.'

I frowned. ‘I don't want to be out picking up. I want to be with someone I love and who loves me.'

‘And that's not Eva?'

‘I don't think it is,' I said sadly. ‘When did you become such an expert at relationships anyway?'

‘Doing lots of research for my steamy romances.' Chandice rolled over and switched off the lamp. ‘Night, big sis. Just think about what I said, yeah?'

I'm still turning over the conversation with Chandice when Eva walks into the lounge room and sits on the end of the sofa.

‘Talking to me now?' I ask.

‘Mmm,' she says. ‘I'm angry at you for leaving like that yesterday.'

‘I'm sorry. I know it was sudden. But it was freaking me out, Eva. It's just a lot sometimes.'

‘But it's a wedding, and I want a nice one. I only plan on getting married once.' She runs her hand up my shin.

I jerk my leg away. ‘It's all a bit stressful. Maybe, we could, like, you know, postpone the wedding for a bit?'

Her eyes instantly water. ‘Oh, God. You're not serious?' Her chest heaves up and down.

‘Um … maybe … yes?'

She jumps up and begins pacing. ‘You're finishing with me? Why?' She buries her head in her hands, her shoulders jerking.

‘Eva, please don't cry.'

‘But … everything,' she says though a sob, ‘is … planned. My dress … the guest list … the chef!'

‘It's just … I'm not sure about this,' I try again.

She drops her hands and glowers at me, her cheeks stained with mascara. ‘You're seriously cancelling the wedding? After all the effort I've put into it? After what my parents have spent? After I've promised my followers the best lesbian wedding they've ever fucking seen?'

‘Erm…' I swallow.

She stamps her foot, actually stamps her foot. ‘No, Casey. You will not fucking treat me like this. We're not postponing. Either marry me or don't marry me. But do not fuck me around.'

I put my hands up. ‘Okay. I'm sorry. Work is stressful and I'm a bit overwhelmed, is all.'

She rushes back to the sofa and grabs my hand. ‘I know you get overwhelmed sometimes. That's why I'm doing as much as I can. And wedding nerves are normal. But we love each other, don't we? Once it's over, we can go back to being us again, but married.' She leans forward to kiss me.

I give her a quick peck, but when she clutches my face and tries to deepen the kiss, I pull away. ‘I'm not in the mood right now. I might go for a bath.' I stand. ‘You know what Mum's like with the hot water – I was in and out there.'

Her mouth drops open and I race to the bathroom.

I turn on the taps, squeeze in some bath gel and sit on the toilet while the tub fills. That was a fucking car crash. It'd be just like Eva to burst in here any minute, so I jump up and snib the lock. That'll give me space for a bit. Space. That helped me last night. I dig my phone out of my pocket and check my flight to Berlin – Wednesday morning. That's still three days away. Eva will try to bring me round with sex before then, and she'll succeed, which will mess with my head even more. I tap the ‘change flight' link and rebook to leave in the morning.