‘Which is what?’
‘You don’t like emotions, do you?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Well, the wince for one thing is a bit of a giveaway.’
Leo shrugged. ‘OK, so I’m not a great fan of emotion. Most men aren’t. It’s not a crime.’
‘No. But I am.’
‘So I’ve come to realise,’ he said dryly. ‘And the problem is...?’
‘The problem is, in my experience, that bottling things up, not saying what you think, what you want, what you feel, can be seriously bad for your health, and I don’t want to be with someone like that.’
Leo’s eyes glittered in the dim light of the kitchen. ‘Seems to work OK for me.’
‘It didn’t work so well for my father.’
There was a pause, and then, ‘The heart attack?’
‘Exactly.’
Leo frowned. ‘You said it wasn’t fatal.’
‘It wasn’t. But while he’s sort of fine, he’s never fully recovered.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but heart attacks do happen.’
‘But in this case it needn’t have,’ said Abby shortly, and had to remind herself to remain calm. ‘He’d lost his job, and because of his pride, because of his inability to communicate properly, he couldn’t tell my mother. According to the doctors the chances are that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d shared the burdens he carried. But he wouldn’t. And the really annoying, really ridiculous thing is, he’s still doing it. He’s so emotionally repressed it makes me want to tear my hair out. Especially when my brothers, who’ve inherited his stiff-upper-lip thing, start doing exactly the same.’
‘I see,’ said Leo, with a tilt of his head. ‘And you think I’m emotionally repressed too?’
‘I do, Leo. I do.’ Abby looked back at him and, as his mouth curved into the faintest—slightly mocking?—smile, lost all sense of calm and asked hotly, ‘Don’t you ever, I don’t know, want to throw things?’
He stared at her, bemused. ‘Such as what?’
‘Anything. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Why would I want to throw things?’
‘To release the build-up of emotion.’
‘I never need to. I never have a build-up of emotion.’
‘That’s exactly my point. You should. Otherwise how do you know you’re feeling?’
‘I don’t. And honestly, I don’t see that as a negative.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’
‘So what other evidence do you have for your theory that I’m emotionally repressed? Surely it can’t only be my lack of throwing things.’
Oh, where to start...?
Well, as he was treating what mattered deeply to her with nothing more than mild amusement and it was beginning to seriously piss her off, how about the jugular? ‘Why don’t you tell me about your marriage, Leo?’ she said, fixing her gaze to his and resolving not to let go whatever happened.
There was a second of absolute silence before his eyes narrowed a fraction and he answered. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ he said, his tone a good degree or two chillier than a moment ago. ‘I’m not married.’