Smashed Pianos ~ Liam Gallagher

TOO LITTLE TOO LATE

I make up Liam's bed on the sofa - there's no way he's sleeping in my newly decorated spare room - and smirk, hearing the sounds of him attempting to cook tea coming from the kitchen.

He's only ever cooked for me once and that was a whole eight years ago. It wasn't anything special, just eggs on toast and he made the yolks too runny for my liking but the thought was there, and now I have that same old feeling in my chest, my heart sinking all the way down to my toes. He's humming to himself, a track off Definitely Maybe, and when I tilt my head to spy on him I see him dancing whilst stirring the brown mince round the pan, his bum wiggling and arms swaying in a chicken like movement. Gingerly, I pick up my Polaroid (curtesy of Isabella of course) and snap a picture of him, allowing the result to come sliding out of the base and into my hand.

Fluffing up the pillows, I yawn and tell Liam I'm off to change into some pyjamas, only getting a muffled grunt in response.

Whilst changing the glorious fumes coming from the bolognese fill my nostrils and I smile, no one has ever cooked me bolognese before, I'm honestly surprised Liam even knows what it is.

My grey silky two piece cools my skin, the fabric soft against my tired legs and arms. It's nothing revealing (I've never really been into revealing outfits, too uncomfortable) the long sleeves and cuffs sit well on my wrists and ankles, the dollar leaving my bare neck very visible, especially since I've just pulled my hair up messily on top of my head.

"Something smells good." I try not to cringe at my awful cliché comment and pull out a chair from underneath the table, which Liam has laid himself.

"It better taste good, it's only taken me a fuckin' hour." I watch as he rolls up the sleeves of his moss green shirt and starts to dish up the spaghetti (which I can tell just by looking at it is too crispy but oh well) and piles the sauce on top. Mind you, it looks amazing.

He puts the plate down in front of me and sits opposite, eyes burning into mine.

"Thank you for this Liam, you couldn't cook when we were together." I chuckle, spooning a load of pasta into my mouth in one go; I've never been a graceful eater.

"When we were together I couldn't do a lot of things." He looks sad for a moment before adding, "And you don't need to thank me or anythin'. After all, you've just given me a bed to sleep on."

I don't really know how to respond, instead just fork more pasta into my mouth, but all the while his eyes don't leave me.

"What? Have I got sauce on my face?" Isabella always told me never to eat pasta on a date, but this isn't a date, I don't know why I said that.

"Nah, you're a very graceful eater." He mocks, getting stuck into his own portion after pouring us both a glass of white wine.

I almost spit out the contents of my mouth at that, but manage to hold back. "Then what?"

Liam shrugs, "Just thinkin' how lovely you look."

I feel my cheeks blush and I immediately turn all coy and shy, "I'm in my pyjamas."

"Even so, you haven't a changed one bit." The number of times Liam has said that to me since we were reunited is shocking. Ruth always tells me how much I've changed, and here is my one real boyfriend from eight years ago telling me I haven't changed since sixth form.

"You haven't either." I manage to whisper, sipping some wine which doesn't really compliment the meal but who cares. I need the alcohol.

"I haven't?"

I shake my head. "You sound the same, look the same, act the same, you even dance the same." I laugh, wiping the corners of my mouth with the napkin Liam laid out for me.