‘Mummy’s upset because I’m going to be a cosmonaut,’ says Felix.
Sam shoots me a confused look.
‘I’m hormonal,’ I explain. ‘Anything will set me off today.’
‘Will it make you cry if I say dinner’s ready?’ he asks, and I shake my head, furiously rubbing away tears with my palms.
As I walk down the stairs, I notice the lighting is different. There are candles lit in the hall, and the curtains are drawn. Turning around, I give Sam a questioning look, but he just gives me an enigmatic smile. Something is going on.
Following the candles, I open the door to the kitchen to find the table set for two, with a bunch of red roses in the middle.
‘What’s all this for?’
‘It’s a restaurant; I’m the waiter,’ says Felix, pulling out a chair, and I notice he’s put an apron on and has a pencil tucked behind his ear.
‘I wanted to take you out, but I couldn’t get a sitter,’ says Sam.
As I sit down, I notice a folded piece of paper in front of me with ‘Menu’ written on the front in Felix’s wobbly handwriting. ‘There’s only one thing on the menu,’ he whispers. ‘So, you have to have that.’
Inside the menu is written, ‘Vegetable lasagne – ￡1000’. ‘Wow, this is an expensive restaurant,’ I say.
‘Well, I thought I’d push the boat out,’ says Sam.
‘What are we celebrating? It’s not an anniversary, is it?’ I ask, feeling myself grinning at Sam.
‘No, I just know how hard the last month has been for you. I want you to know we love you.’ He pauses. ‘Whatever you do or don’t remember.’
Felix makes a face. ‘Are you going to get all soppy, Dad?’
‘I might, and the waiter is not supposed to comment on the diners’ conversation.’
Sam stands up to get wine from the fridge, while Felix picks up a jug and leans across the table to fill up my water glass. He then spills it all over the table.
‘Oops.’
As I jump up to clear up the mess, my phone pings with a message.
‘Mummy, no phones at the table,’ says Felix. ‘This is a smart restaurant.’
‘Sorry, I’m just waiting to hear from work,’ I explain. ‘Ooh, it’s from Gary.’
My eyes eagerly scan his message.
Lucy, I won’t call this late, but thought you’d want to know – just got off the phone with Mel Durham. She loved your pitch, they want to take The House Is Going to Get You to development. Congratulations. Let’s have lunch this week to discuss your new role as Head of Development for Bamph UK. Big year ahead for you.
Gary Snyder
I squeal, then read the message aloud to Sam and Felix. ‘I’ll forward this to the team; they’ll be waiting to hear.’
‘You clever old thing,’ says Sam, reaching for my hand across the table, then flashing me a huge smile as he notices I’m wearing my rings. ‘Now we really are celebrating.’
‘Well done, Mummy. Can I start waitering now?’ Felix asks brightly.
‘Yes, go for it.’
Felix launches into a long speech about how it’s customary to tip your waiter, ideally at least ten per cent of the cost of the meal. He caveats that if we don’t have any cash, he’s happy to take Lego, and if we don’t have any Lego, he’s willing to take an IOU.
‘Okay, I think it might be the waiter’s bedtime,’ says Sam, pushing back his chair. ‘Thank you for your help setting this up, Felix.’
‘No! I haven’t told you the specials!’ Felix cries as Sam picks him up, throws him over his shoulder and carries him out of the room, squealing with laughter.
Once our over-enthusiastic waiter has been dispatched to bed, Sam serves up a delicious-looking vegetable lasagne, then raises his glass to mine.
‘To you and me, Luce, to making new memories,’ he says, holding my gaze.
‘I will drink to that,’ I say.
For dessert Sam pulls out a smooth mocha gateau from the fridge. Something about it looks familiar, and then I realise. ‘It’s just like the one my mum bought me for my tenth birthday.’
‘I got your mum to dig out a photo, then asked the bakery to copy it.’
‘That’s so thoughtful, Sam, thank you,’ I say, leaning across the table to kiss him. This evening feels like the perfect way to say goodbye, but at the same time, it’s making me realise I don’t want this to end.
We stay up far too late, getting drunk on cake, wine and each other’s company. On our way to bed I sneak into Amy’s room, to watch her sleeping in the soft glow of her night light. She looks so cosy and peaceful, her small pink fingers clutching Neckie, her smooth round cheeks glowing rosy pink, the quiet snuffle of her breathing. My heart feels so full of love for this child, I could watch her sleep all night long. Reaching out to tuck a curl of hair behind her ear, I whisper, ‘Goodbye, little one, I’ll see you again. I hope I’ll see you again.’ And then I need to leave, or I’ll start crying.
When Sam and I eventually collapse into bed, I feel sated, physically and emotionally.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ I say to Sam.
‘I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,’ he says firmly, his eyes glinting in amusement. ‘I don’t usually take you for thousand-pound meals on a week night.’
‘I will temper my expectations,’ I say, edging closer to him on the bed.
His eyes grow serious. ‘I don’t want you to feel jealous of some alternate version of yourself. You are her, you know that, right?’
‘I do,’ I tell him, and then he pulls me towards him, cocooning me in his arms.
‘I heard you talking to Felix earlier,’ he says quietly, ‘about leaving.’
‘Ah.’
‘Where are you off to?’
I sit up in bed. If this is goodbye, then Sam deserves the truth, whether he believes it or not. ‘Say, theoretically, I had found the portal, the one Felix thought had transported me here from the past. Say, that I don’t have amnesia, but I time-travelled here and now I have the chance to go back.’ I look into his eyes, waiting for scepticism or laughter, but his face is serious.
‘And will this be a permanent departure? Or are you coming back?’ he asks, and I shrug.
‘If my life works out the same, probably. But nothing is guaranteed.’
We sit in silence for a moment. Then Sam says, ‘Then don’t go. Wherever it is you think you’re going, don’t. I don’t want to risk losing you.’
‘It’s sixteen years of my life, Sam—’
He cuts me off. ‘I love you – you, not who you were, not who you’re going to be, or who you might have been – just you. Please stay with me.’
As far as speeches go, it’s pretty effective. I am putty in his hands and more confused than ever. He flips me onto my back, then dips his head to kiss my shoulder, my neck, planting light, soft kisses along my jaw. We fit together so perfectly; it feels impossible I could end up anywhere but here. As his mouth finds mine, a familiar giddy feeling courses through me. My hands clasp his broad back, and I close my eyes, succumbing to the heady waves of pleasure.
But then he stops, pulls back, and I open my eyes to see what’s wrong. ‘Look at me,’ he says. ‘I want you to look at me.’