He stops the music with a tap to his watch. ‘I don’t write that kind of music any more.’ He stands up, reaching to take my empty bowl. I was enjoying our conversation, but I sense I’ve said something wrong, because then he says, ‘It’s been a long day. Shall we go to bed?’
Go to bed? Does he mean together? Talking to Sam this evening has felt like a perfect first date, and I haven’t had one of those in a long time. I like Sam, I know I’m attracted to him, but now the thought of sleeping with him, even beside him, feels more complicated than I’m ready for.
‘Um, do you have a spare room?’ I ask tentatively.
‘Sure,’ he says. His voice is kind, but I see the injury of rejection in his eyes. ‘I can sleep in the spare room.’
‘I’m happy to. I just, I need to get my bearings, a good night’s sleep. This is all so . . . different.’
‘Of course. The doctors said you need to rest, avoid stress.’ He shoots me a smile, but now there’s an awkwardness between us, the playful, flirty energy gone. Until now he was treating me like his wife, a wife who’s lost her memory. Now, it’s as though he’s finally understood the possibility that I am not her.
We go upstairs, and Sam follows me into our shared bedroom to collect his toothbrush and book. Then he gives me a tentative kiss on the cheek. As he leans in, I inhale the oaky warm smell of him and my hands lift, almost in reflex, as though they’re used to wrapping themselves around his back. But I catch them just in time, pulling my hands tight behind me.
‘Goodnight then, Sam,’ I say, my voice catching in my throat.
‘Goodnight,’ he says, heading out onto the landing and closing the door softly behind him.
Finally, I’m alone. Falling back on the bed, I stare up at the clean, white, dry ceiling and remember what the old lady from the newsagent’s said, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’ Nothing in this life feels like mine – the nice clothes, the clean house, the attractive husband, and sweet children, they all belong to someone else. I know, metaphorically, that walking in someone else’s shoes is meant to be a good thing, but in reality it feels a bit icky, like chewing someone else’s gum. Isn’t this what I asked for? But I can’t shake the feeling that I have been tricked somehow, that this is poetic justice for all my complaining. Despite the many comforts of this life, right now, all I want is to wake up back in my old bed, with my old, manageable problems. Lying alone in the dark I find myself whispering a prayer to whoever might be listening.
‘I get it, I’ve learnt my lesson. If I could go back now, please, that would be great.’
Chapter 14
Whoever is up there doesn’t listen, because I wake to the sound of Amy crying. Stumbling out of bed, I go to her room to comfort her. She needs her mother, and for now, I guess that’s going to have to be me. However clueless I am about children I need to learn how to do this because the look on Felix’s face yesterday when he said he wanted his mummy back cracked something inside me. Opening the door to Amy’s room, I find Sam already there. He’s wearing nothing but boxers, cuddling Amy over one shoulder and singing to her quietly.
‘Oh hi, I . . .’
‘I’ve got this. You go back to bed,’ he whispers.
Turning to go, I pause in the doorway to watch them for a moment. Sam is whispering a song, his Scottish lilt more pronounced when he sings. His strong, tanned arms so gentle around her tiny body, the rhythmic dip of his chest as he bobs her up and down. He instinctively knows how to soothe her in a way that I wouldn’t. ‘Go back to bed, it’s fine, she’s almost asleep,’ he says again.
Lying in bed, listening to the sound of Sam in the next room, I feel disturbed that I found that whole scene slightly arousing. ‘Man holding baby’ is not something I would have put on my list of things that do it for me. Man in uniform, sure. Man jumping out of his car to stop traffic so an old lady can cross the road. Definitely. Man running from burning rescue shelter with a dog under each arm, yes, yes, a hundred times yes. But man holding baby. No. Never. Not once has this come up in my internal image library of ‘things I find hot’.
Trying to distract myself from these confusing thoughts, I turn to my bedside table. Two rings sit in a silver, leaf-shaped dish. They are both gold, one with a band of tiny diamonds all the way around, and the other a simple diamond solitaire. Picking them up, I admire how tasteful they are. I slip them onto my ring finger – they fit. But then an old superstition niggles – you should never wear someone else’s wedding ring. Besides, it feels wrong, these weren’t given to me. I quickly take them off and banish them to the bedside drawer, picking up my phone instead.
There’s a new message from Michael Green.
Hope the team bonding went well, sorry I had to slip away early. I’ve put a meeting in your diary for Monday to discuss the Gary/Kydz Network email. I know you’re confident we’re doing the right thing, but if I’m honest, I’ve been feeling a bit sick about it all week. M
Whatever this email from Gary is about, it sounds important. I’m going to have to come clean with my colleagues. But the thought of telling them deflates me. I loved being at work on Friday, seeing what Future Me had built. Unlike the role of wife and mother, being a TV producer is not such a stretch for me to imagine. I want to be Queen Badger, producer extraordinaire. As soon as my colleagues know the truth, they will know I don’t belong.
Despondently, I scroll through various WhatsApp chats until I come across one that I recognise: Fairview Forever. After seeing Emily’s transformation, I’m nervous about discovering how much my school friends might have changed. Cautiously, I scan through recent messages. Faye sent something a few days ago, recommending a long-sleeved swimsuit for wild swimming. Before that, there was a conversation I was involved in, about whether it was acceptable for Roisin to be invited to her ex, Paul’s, wedding. Paul and Roisin broke up? Though it’s currently five in the morning I tap out a message to the group. I know Sam said to wait, that he would catch me up on everyone in the morning, but the lure of being less alone is too strong.
Lucy
Is anyone awake? Having a strange couple of days. Could do with seeing you all.
Faye
Of course. Barney DOES NOT SLEEP.
Who’s Barney? Her child? The idea of Faye doing all this nappy-changing, banana goo, parenting stuff makes me smile. With her relaxed, earth mother vibe, she’d be so great at it.
Roisin is typing.
Roisin
I’m awake. In LA. Work trip. Drunk. Gawwllaladshifuhf.
The message is so reassuringly Roisin, it feels like a hug through the phone from my old life.
Faye
Why strange few days? How did your pitch go for the bear show? Barney smashed my phone screen again so I’m catching up on messages.
I don’t plan on telling them what’s happened by text at five in the morning, it’s just nice to feel their voices through the phone.
Lucy
Pitch went well thanks. Nothing major, just need to see you all. Any chance you could come to my place one night this week?