As he turns to go up the stairs, I realise he hasn’t even kissed me since he came in. How have we gone from our amazing Saturday night to this? Maybe if I make the first move, I can get back to where we were, to the flirting and the teasing and the getting naked. I follow him up the stairs. The shower is already running, so I pull off my clothes in the bedroom. My body aches with tiredness, but as soon as I see Sam’s naked body in the shower, a new energy takes hold.
When I wrap a hand around his chest, he flinches, surprised, but then he holds my hand against his, and turns around to face me. Water streams down over our bodies, my skin bristles with the coldness of the shower and the anticipation of his touch. Those first few days, lusting after Sam felt like lusting after someone else’s husband, but since date night, I’ve made my peace with the moral ambiguity. Future Me would want me to have sex with her husband. I would, if I was her, which I am. Besides, it would be wrong to let this kind of insane chemistry go to waste. Tilting my head up to kiss him, I feel so small. Every man I’ve been with before feels like a fumbling boy compared to Sam. As he kisses me back, I let out a moan, and then his hands push me back against the wall of the shower.
‘You know, I’ve never had sex in a shower before,’ I whisper in his ear. As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel him freeze, his hands still on my body. I look up at him, eyes wide in surprise, his face full of some undefinable pain. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
He looks down at my left hand, then gets out of the shower and wraps a towel around his waist, ignoring me as he walks back out to the bedroom.
‘What? What did I do?’ I try again, taking a towel from the rack.
‘Why aren’t you wearing your wedding ring?’ he asks.
‘Is that all you’re upset about? I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was such a big deal.’
He turns away from me, and I realise he’s shaking. ‘Who are you? You don’t sound like my wife, you don’t act like her.’ He lets out a groan, sits down on the bed and hangs his head in his hands. He rubs the heels of his palms into his eye sockets and takes a breath. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault. It’s not that I don’t want this, or that I didn’t enjoy Saturday. I loved seeing you laugh and let go like you used to. I can’t think when you last fell into bed without taking your make-up off, putting your creams on, when you last kissed me in the street, not caring who saw.’ He looks up at me now, and I see the pain in his eyes. ‘But I feel bad for liking it. It feels weirdly disloyal, and you acting like this is the first time we’ve had sex in the shower has just thrown me, because we’ve had sex in there a hundred times. And you never take off your rings, except to sleep. It makes me feel like I’m with someone else, and if you’re not my wife, I . . . I don’t know where she went.’
His words feel like a punch to the sternum.
‘I’m not “acting” anything, Sam,’ I say slowly, pulling the towel tighter around me, feeling suddenly cold. ‘This isn’t some role play. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t fucking remember.’
He covers his eyes now. ‘I know, I know, I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I mean. I just feel terrible that I left you alone with the children when you’re not yourself. Anything could have happened.’ The torment on his face breaks my heart.
Not yourself. Something in those two words skewers me more than anything else he has said.
‘I am myself. I know who I am. You just don’t know me,’ I say, coldly.
Then I pick up my clothes and leave the room.
Chapter 22
What am I doing here? Trying to play happy families with people I don’t know, falling all over Sam, embarrassing myself. I need to get out of here. I need to get back to London, back to what I know. I need to put on proper clothes, brush my hair, buy eye-wateringly expensive coffee and be the competent TV producer I know I’m capable of being.
The next morning, Maria is still off sick, but Sam has said he’ll stay home with Amy. All I need to do is drive Felix to school on my way to the train station.
‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ Felix asks me in the car, noticing my puffy eyes. It makes me want to cry because it’s so sweet of him to ask.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you though.’
‘What’s the opposite of house?’ Felix asks, and it’s exactly the level of conversation I feel capable of.
‘No house,’ I suggest and his face takes on a contemplative look in the rear-view mirror.
‘Not field?’ he asks.
‘Why do you need everything to have an opposite, Felix?’
He gives a slow, exaggerated shrug. ‘Have you checked for messages on the arcade forum?’ he asks. I haven’t, so once I’ve pulled into the school car park, I log in.
‘Oh, I have a message,’ I say in surprise, then read the subject heading. ‘I have what you’re looking for . . .’
Felix jumps out of his car seat and cranes across my shoulders to look. Luckily, I click on the link before showing him because it’s a full-frontal picture of shrivelled male genitalia. ‘Eugh.’
‘What? Let me see,’ Felix says, reaching for my phone, as I quickly delete the message.
‘I’m afraid that was nothing to do with the wishing machine, just a horrible man sending me nasty photos.’
‘Nasty photos?’ Felix looks confused. ‘What, like of a dog with no eyes?’
‘A bit like that, yes.’
‘Oh,’ he says, disappointed. I clear my throat, keen to move the conversation on. ‘Quick question before you go. I’m pitching ideas for kids’ TV at work today. What would you want to watch if you could invent your own show?’
‘Anything with helicopters,’ Felix says, ‘and conger eels, and a chase through a jungle where you get to go on one of those boats with the big fan at the back.’
Something tells me Helicopter Conger Eels isn’t going to be my winning pitch, but I add it to my list anyway.
Dressed in a fitted trouser suit and my brand-new ankle boots, I walk into the office feeling confident. London. TV. Work. These are the things I know. I’ve decided I won’t tell my colleagues about my memory issues, not if I can avoid it. I don’t want to risk losing the only part of my life that feels vaguely normal, that I might have some control over.
‘Lucy, how are you?’ Michael greets me at the top of the stairs, and Trey and Dominique wave to me from across the office. Callum offers to make me a cup of tea and we exchange a look – pity? Camaraderie? Nope, worse – I think Callum’s developed a crush on me. What was I thinking? He is practically a child. I blame Future Me’s low tolerance for alcohol.
‘I’m so pleased you’re finally back,’ Michael says, beckoning me into his office. ‘I’ll sleep a lot better once we’ve settled on this idea for Kydz Network.’ He does look tired. ‘The team have been brainstorming while you were away, and I know they always appreciate your feedback. Shall we hear a few of their ideas before you hit us with yours?’ Michael gives me a nervous smile as Callum arrives with my tea and a delicious-looking tray of pastries.
‘Pastry day,’ he says, blushing slightly as he places one on my desk with a napkin.