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Why did I say that?
Hathaway questioned himself as soon as he sat behind the wheel. He watched Inspector Lewis walk back to his car, the droop of his shoulders showing his dejection he had so carelessly hidden.
Why tell him to ask Hobson? I don’t want him to go out with her, not now – NOT EVER! But in this last year, since we started whatever it is we have...
Hathaway bit his thumbnail. A year ago Lewis had gone off, supposedly to take Hobson for a drink, on a date, but instead, or afterwards – Hathaway had never been sure – Lewis had turned up at his flat with flowers, chocolates and wine.
“Know what I want now,” he had said, looking up at Hathaway slightly bashful.
“You do? Aren’t those supposed to be for Dr. Hobson?”
“Nope. All for you. I’ve been a blind fool James.”
However, one year on and Hobson still knew nothing of their relationship and sometimes Hathaway thought he saw speculation or hope in her eyes. A lot of older women wanted Lewis though. But they didn’t love him like he did!
But did Lewis love him? Lewis, who had never loved a man before, who treated him with a kind of old fashioned, ever-so-slightly sexist courtly, gentlemanly behaviour as he had most likely treated Val.
And Hathaway let him.
Because he liked it.
Hurriedly he pulled his Iphone from his trouser pocket and quickly tapped,
‘Sorry. I only suggested Hobson as she likes football. You do know that? Don’t you? Sorry. I hate football. I hate crowds. I love you though. Please come round after the match. Please.’
He pressed send before he could think about it. almost immediately his phone bleeped a reply.
‘You daft sod. Course I know. See you later then. I’ll bring beer. x’