‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Anyway, see you.’
‘See ya.’
And that, she thought, is why I rarely call him.
Still, it had been nice to hear his voice.
She tried Ben one last time, but it clicked to voicemail and she didn’t leave a message.
To distract herself, she began to put away the party items she’d picked up with Sam. Then, once they were all stuffed in the dresser cupboards or stacked neatly on the table, she decided to sit in the garden for a while.
She’d slept badly the night before – although the new bed had been delivered, the mattress was hard to get used to after an airbed that had gradually deflated but somehow moulded to her body in the night. In the new bed, she was aware of the space around her more – aware that she was alone in a space for two.
And she’d felt uneasy, a kind of free-floating anxiety that she couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She poured herself a glass of lemonade, added ice, and stepped into the garden. As usual it buzzed with life – each grassy area clearly filled to the brim with insects. She brushed a few leaves from the cast iron chairs and rested her drink on the table, then settled back, closing her eyes.
She breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air with its hint of pine from the distant trees. She could hear the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead, but other than that, the insects and the odd rumble of a car, the afternoon was peaceful.
And despite resolving that she would just sit for half an hour, she drifted off to sleep.
34
Saturday morning, she woke with a start, exiting a dream that she couldn’t remember but knew had been unpleasant. Sitting up, she steadied her breathing, swung her legs out of the bed and opened the window, before releasing the catch of the wooden shutters and throwing them wide.
Dim light flooded in.
To her relief, the sky outside her bedroom looked clear and there was no hint of the rain she’d worried might arrive despite the clement forecast. It’s today, she thought, feeling her heart thump with a mixture of nerves and excitement. It was 6 a.m., but there was no chance of getting back to sleep.
It was the first event she’d ever really put on all by herself – she and Ben had had dinner parties back in the day, and had even been known to throw the odd barbecue. But she’d always had backup, someone else to send out for emergency burgers or bottles of wine. Someone to tell her that everything looked OK just before the guests arrived.
Sam had offered to pop over this morning to help her set some of it up, but she’d refused. She hadn’t wanted to become a burden to her new friend, who had already gone above and beyond and would also have Derek and Claudine to deal with. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Lily had said. ‘You’ve done so much already.’
Instead, they’d agreed that Sam would come over at 1 p.m. before the party started to ensure there weren’t any last-minute disasters. ‘We can have a pre-party glass of fizz,’ Lily had said, ‘and you can keep me from having a nervous breakdown.’
She knew she’d be quite happy once the party was in full swing; the anticipation of it, though, felt a little overwhelming.
She sat back on her bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin, letting the warmth flood back through her body and resting her head on a propped-up pillow. Instead of rushing to get up, she watched the beginning of the sunrise: glimmers of light at the horizon, just below the treeline, flooding up and exposing a hint of blue in the early morning sky.
It was seven by the time she dragged herself out of bed and down the stairs; still seven hours before anyone would arrive – too soon to really start getting anything ready, and she didn’t have much to occupy herself with in the meantime. She made a coffee and opened her laptop, firing off a quick email to Tyler with a list she’d put together of things he might need to buy before he moved into halls. ‘I’m more than happy to fly over and help,’ she offered. ‘I’m only an hour or so away.’
She wanted him to know that wherever she lived, she would support him just as much. He didn’t have to think of Ben as his ‘main parent’ and her as someone on the periphery.
Then she switched on her phone which gratifyingly flashed with four messages immediately – nice to be in demand, she thought. The first was from Emily.
Flight arrives at 1, taxi to yours by 3. Mine’s a large red. X
She laughed and replied with:
As if I didn’t know! Looking forward to seeing you.
The second and third were from Frédérique.
I am sorry I cannot help this morning but I will be there at 2 for your party.
And – sent an hour later.
I can’t wait to see you – je suis excité ? mon coeur.
She replied:
Merci! ? tout à l'heure.
See you later.
Then she spent a minute or so debating whether to send a kiss or two, or an emoticon with heart eyes, and what kind of impression each might give. In the end she opted for a single ‘x’.
The fourth was from Ben. She almost didn’t open it – today she needed to stay upbeat and strong, and hearing from him right now might make her wobble. Curiosity though got the better of her, especially when she realised he’d sent it at 1 a.m. – a time of night when text messages are more likely to reveal emotion or truth, due to either exhaustion or alcohol.
She opened it. It said:
Lily, I’m sorry. I can’t
Can’t what? He’d obviously started to write and pressed send before finishing. Or started to write then decided against it, but accidentally sent it anyway. She was about to send a message in response, then something about the way he’d written it, the time it had been written struck her. Perhaps he was struggling.
She looked at her watch: 7.30 a.m., so 6.30 a.m. in England. She couldn’t ring him yet. He’d probably be trying to get a lie in after a busy week – he wouldn’t thank her for an early morning call.
It was probably just him telling her he was sorry he couldn’t take her call the other day, or that he couldn’t remember the password for their online banking. Or couldn’t remember someone’s birthday and needed to ask. Or something.
But something about the message, in tandem with the strange, unspecific feeling of dread left over from her dream, made it hard to settle.
She made another coffee and wandered into the garden, in the strange half-light that now lingered until almost 8 a.m., marking the fact that time was moving on and the seasons were changing. The morning air was cool, but pleasantly so and her cotton pyjamas gave more than enough protection from the chill. She blew the heat from the top of her mug and took a sip, looking out over the horizon to the glimmer of morning behind the trees. The heat of the hot liquid entering her throat sent a shiver through her body.
She imagined Ben coming out of the house behind her, wrapping an arm around her back. Standing with her to appreciate the beauty of it all; the fact that they’d stepped out of the structure imposed on them in their old life and chosen to create their own. She couldn’t shake the feeling that, if he’d only come, he would love it here. His job seemed to consume him at times – but here he’d have the freedom to rediscover who he was, what he really wanted to be. Some financial space – made possible by the lack of mortgage and equity freed up from the Basildon house. Headspace. Natural surroundings. And air that seemed to cleanse with every breath.
The sob came without her realising she was crying; embarrassingly loud in the empty garden. She checked herself and took a breath. It was no use. Because he wasn’t here. And it was clear that he never would be.
But the fact they were no longer together didn’t stop her loving him, caring for him. And now, worrying about him. Back in their house in that different life she’d walked away from, he was probably sleeping calmly, the text message half sent in the early hours a million miles from his mind.
Yet something within her that she couldn’t quite name wouldn’t let her forget about it. Because she knew he would never be up at that time unless something was wrong. And contacting her in the night wasn’t something he’d ordinarily do.
Had his anxiety overwhelmed him again? Was he finding it hard on his own? Had that little message half written to her phone been some sort of cry for help?