Without the dance in the evening things wrap up earlier, and it is still bright and sunny as Belle and I pack the last of her stuff into her car. We bounce off the site, and she turns the car towards home. "Well, that has been a thoroughly nice weekend."

"Been a blast." I move the clarinet case from my lap, reaching down to prop it against the side of the footwell with my calf.

Belle glances over, taking in the awkward angle of my legs and my ankle holding the clarinet case in place. "You could probably squeeze that in the back." She nods at the clarinet, then tips her head back to indicate the pile of stuff on the back seats. "Under the display boards, maybe. Behind my seat."

I look round to assess the likelihood, then twist in the seat to make a space. There's a likely small gap. As I'm leaning round to hold a board up with one hand and wedge the case in under it, my breast brushes Belle's arm, sending a tingle of pleasure right through me. I hear her breath catch softly.

"OK?" She eases off the accelerator. "Should I stop?"

"Nope. All good." I grunt with the effort and twist a little further, brushing my breasts against her again, deliberately this time. "There we are." I blow hair out of my eyes and sit back round in the seat, but angled towards her. I keep one arm stretched back behind her seat, lightly holding the clarinet case in place.

She glances over me again, a slight smile on her lips and a slight flush in her cheeks. I'm aware that the angle of my body is pulling my dress tight, emphasising the curve of my breasts; the seatbelt cutting across between them is only making them even more prominent. I see Belle's eyes flick over my body, while I focus on her face. Her smile is very pretty, and for a moment I reflect just how very attractive I've always found her mouth. She was always an excellent kisser.

There's another of those quiet little moments of palpable erotic tension, like last night.

I find myself twirling a strand of hair. "I'm sorry about that slightly awkward conversation with Emma earlier. I'd had to fill her in on a bit of our history."

"I'm sorry if we embarrassed you. I think Liam's still coming to terms with the older, happier Chloë."

I chuckle and risk taking my arm away from the pile of stuff. Everything stays in place, so I relax in my seat, adjusting my dress. "What about you, Belle? How do you find the new Chloë?"

"I'm very pleased for her." She smiles. "I don't know if you know how happy you look up on that stage, when you're playing." She goes to change down gear as we approach a junction, and her fingers brush my knee accidentally. "It's a joy to watch."

"I liked seeing you dance to us. I've always liked watching you dancing, there's real joy there too. Your profile pic in my contacts is still that one of you dancing from years back, I couldn't bring myself to ever change it." I subtly move my clasped knees closer to the gearstick so she's likely to touch me again. "It was nice to be part of providing the music this time."

She stops at the junction, and takes a moment to look at me properly. Her face is a mixture of affection, happiness and nostalgia; in her eyes is a twinkle of desire, tinged with caution. "Oh, Chloë." She puts her hand on my knee, deliberately. Her thumb slides just under the hem of my dress to stroke my bare skin briefly.

It's only a small gesture, but it contains so much: all the many times she's touched me before, all the times her hands have slid under my clothes, stroked my skin, parted my legs; all the weight of our previous intimacy, all the emotional ups and downs of what we had before. But also all the implications of our current situation – of finding we still have something deep and real and comfortable. Such a light gesture, carrying such a weight of significance.

She has to move off, breaking the contact. I stroke a finger lightly over her thigh instead. "Emma assumed we were back together."

"Hmm, right."

"I told her we weren't. She basically told me we should be." I watch Belle carefully not reacting. "Not that it's any of her business."

Eventually, she shrugs. "She struck me as quite a sensible person."

"She is." I look at my nails, then rest my hands in my lap. "Er...have you thought about it? I have to admit, I have."

"Chlo, I've been thinking about it ever since I saw you again for the first time in six years, on Friday night." She sighs. "But, like I said last night..."

"I don't blame you wanting to go slowly for now, though. I caused you a lot of hurt before."

She makes a noise which might be a sniff. "You do still talk a lot of rubbish, I see." She shoots me a smile, and I'm shocked at the level of sadness behind it. "Yes, it was hard at the time. Yes, you did hurt me. But you were hurting too, and I felt I failed you when I said I couldn't cope with it any more."

"Belle, I..." I take a breath. "I said to Em that if it wasn't for you and Phil pushing me in a good direction and basically forcing me to take chances I was too blind and stupid to take myself..." I shake my head. "Well, who knows. But this..." I gesture down myself, and at the clarinet, and vaguely behind us to indicate the band. "All this...and the job and the flat and the fact I'm not in a gutter somewhere. It's thanks to you."

"And I love it, Chlo." She negotiates another junction, then reaches over to squeeze my knee again. Again, her thumb strays under my dress hem. "Happiness is an attractive look on you, and I'm not sure I can resist it."

The arousal which has been ebbing and flowing pretty much all weekend flares up suddenly and powerfully. My body tingles with desire and anticipation. "Don't then." I put a hand over hers on my knee. "Come up when we get to mine. We can talk about it properly."

She drives in silence for a while, taking her hand back – making an effort to avoid touching me, in fact. Eventually, she sighs. "I can't. Sorry. I haven't been entirely honest with you."

Something about the tone of her voice strikes me with a hard little blow in the chest. I recall not ever quite finding the moment to ask about her recent love life, and kick myself for being so caught up in the pleasure of reconnecting with her that I forgot it might be an issue. "You're seeing someone."

She sniffs. "It's not...I mean, it's nice, but...well. She's not here this weekend, is she?"

"I can't imagine you doing casual, Belle." I bite back a question about how she could let things feel so nice between us – about the dance and the kiss – because in a rare moment of emotional lucidity, I realise that I'm as much to blame there.

She changes gear, a bit too savagely. "I gave up trying to find someone who might enjoy these things, after you." I move my knees out of her way, and she glances at me sadly. "I'm sorry not to say anything."

I shrug, then also sigh. "To be honest, Belle, I should've asked and not just assumed. I wanted to, but the time never seemed quite right. And then we were just enjoying ourselves too much."

*

Parked up outside my flat, she turns in her seat. "I'm so sorry, Chloë. I've been feeling so guilty about not saying anything. But it's still quite new, and I was completely unprepared for...for how things have been..."

I study her face again, as I've been doing a lot this weekend. She is genuinely distressed, and cross. The Belle I knew was almost never cross, and in another moment of emotional clarity, I realise she is cross with herself. I risk reaching out for her hand. "I'm surprised how easy it's felt between us. After all this time and...everything."

She turns her hand in mine and we link fingers. She starts to say something once or twice, then relapses into a frustrated sigh. Eventually, she swallows and gets her words out. "She's quite like you, in some ways. Re-enactment stuff is not her bag. We were planning a day trip to the coast tomorrow, with it being the Bank Holiday. I'm not sure it'll be quite the same now."

In a rush of emotion, I realise that Belle has almost just admitted that our two days together have spoiled any anticipation of what she and her new date may ever have – because we've managed to negotiate our shared history so successfully; I am also, unlike the younger me, now big enough to recognise when I am the problem. "Belle, this weekend has been lovely. Really good fun, for all sorts of reasons. That you've been part of it is a bonus." That's not quite true, I realise. "A very large bonus. A large part of it." I stroke her fingers gently, then withdraw my hand. "But we have both moved on. You of all people have the right to look for a bit of happiness without me breathing down your neck. And if we bump into each other at one of these things in the future..."

"Which is likely." She smiles sadly.

"Which is likely. But it'll be OK. We'll rub along just fine." We release each other's hands, and I reach back and carefully remove my clarinet from the precarious pile of stuff on her back seat. "If you're in company...I'm not interested in making your life any more difficult than I did back when we were together. You've put up with quite enough of that for anyone's lifetime."

She sniffs, and pinches her nose for a moment. The only other time I saw Belle cry was when we split up, and she doesn't quite abandon herself now. "Keep in touch, please, Chlo? At least let me know which events you're not playing."

"You'll know that from the listings."

"True." She smiles softly. "I think I mean, let me know if there's one where the Stompers are on the bill but you're not going to be there. So I can manage my expectations and not be too disappointed."

I reach out and stroke her arm. "Please don't ever change, Belle. Whoever it is you've started seeing, she's a lucky girl." I squeeze her shoulder quickly, then reach for the door handle. "Thanks for a nice couple of days. It's genuinely done me good to see you again."