Page 21 of You Were Always the One

‘Why does he have to work from home?’ Max says.

‘It’s hardly a problem,’ I say. ‘Is it?’ Then, ‘Grace? Don’t you have swimming tonight?’

She looks startled. ‘I’d forgotten. I’ll go and change.’ She hurries upstairs and I hear her clattering around in her bedroom.

‘Can you take me to Ben’s?’ Max asks. ‘We’ve got some homework to do together.’

I’ve no idea how much truth there is in that. But anything is better than this hideous status quo. After dropping Grace at swimming, I drive Max to Ben’s house. Then with an hour to kill before picking Grace up, rather than go home, I head away into the countryside.

Parking in a layby at the side of the lane, I sit there, gazing out across the fields. It feels as though the perfect storm is building, of life, death and everything in between. A jarring intersection of decisions and deflection; of the most painful realisations. But I recognise, too, that sometimes that’s what has to happen for the smallest shift to start.

Is that what this is? The start of something changing? As I sit there, I’m glad there’s no one around to see me as my frustrations seem to explode. A tear rolls down my cheek. And as I think of seeing Riggs again, then of Miles, what follows is what I can only describe as a release of everything I’ve held inside as more tears stream down my face. Everything will be OK, I remind myself, as I wipe my face with a crumpled up tissue. Somehow, even though you can’t see how, you will get through this.

And whatever comes next, I will – I know that. I think about calling Riggs. After all, why shouldn’t I? I pick up my phone, staring at the screen for a moment. Then put it down again.

8

RIGGS

It’s a measure of the disconnect between us that adjusting to life without Emma is so much easier than I thought it would be. Of course, I miss her. We were together for four years. I miss the sound of her in the house, the scent of her perfume. The sense of our lives ticking along. Her clothes piled in the bedroom. But there is no emotional turmoil. I have no regrets.

Maybe we were lucky, that the end of us was as effortless as the start of us. And maybe the end had more dignity; it wasn’t the most salubrious of starts.

When I met Emma, I’d had a few beers, as I’ve already said; on my way back from a lads’ skiing trip. Buoyed up by booze and blokey chat, as she served us drinks, I caught her eye and asked her for her number.

With her long fair hair, she was sexy as hell. I also loved how sassy she was. The way she gave me a look that would have killed a more sober mortal. But after landing, as we taxied in, she walked up the aisle, then as she passed, slipped a small piece of paper into my hand.

I had been fairly drunk. But she must have seen something in me. Later, she told me she liked my eyes. She must have liked them a hell of a lot, I remember thinking. I had some ground to make up, on our first date. Wanting her to see what I was really like, I’d decided to try to impress her with good food and fine wine. That first evening, after dinner, she came back to mine and we stayed up into the early hours of the morning, drinking wine and telling each other our life stories. As she got a taxi home, I already had a feeling about us.

After my break-up with Holly, I’d spent a long time alone, followed by an equally long time between disastrous relationships. It wasn’t until Emma came along that, for the first time, I’d listened to my head rather than my heart. Lust was one thing. Being friends, actually working together, that was entirely another. I was convinced that, this time, I’d got it right.

Didn’t exactly work out, though, did it, Riggs?

Meaning here I am now, somewhere I didn’t expect to be. But there is no greater certainty in life than change, I tell myself.

After examining my finances, I decide to give myself six more months in the house while I try to finish my novel. Then after that, it’ll be time for something else. Somewhere else, too, wherever that turns out to be. But I’m a great believer in going with life’s flow. That when there are times like this, you have to roll with it.

Since Emma moved out, I’ve stuck to my resolve not to call Holly. But as I drive to the top of the Downs and gaze across the hills, I think of what’s going on in her life, then take out my phone and start typing a message.

Hey, I wondered how you are. Hope things are OK. R x

I walk until the daylight fades. I’ve always liked twilight and the way it blurs the world, painting out the hustle of life so that you’re left with the bigger picture: the outline of the hills, the shades of the sky as daylight fades; a blackbird’s evening song.

As a consequence, it’s almost dark by the time I get back to my car. As I’m getting in, my mobile buzzes.

My heart skips a beat when I see Holly’s name. ‘Hi,’ I say breezily. ‘How are you?’

‘Good,’ she says. ‘And bad.’

‘That’s my line,’ I quip. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, now.’ Implying she hadn’t been. But there’s no denying she sounds fired up. ‘It’s like something’s shifted in my head – thank goodness. For a while, I thought I was going mad.’

‘It sounds intense,’ I say cautiously. ‘Can I ask what’s responsible for this new sense of enthusiasm?’

‘I’m beginning to realise I’ve lost myself.’ She suddenly sounds tearful. ‘Sorry. Not sure why, but my emotions are all over the place. I think a lot of things are catching up with me. And all I want is to feel like me again.’

She already sounds more like she used to – startlingly so. In fact, I hadn’t realised how unlike her old self she’d become, simply putting it down to all of us getting older. ‘We should celebrate,’ I say. To hell with my resolve. ‘Can I buy you lunch sometime? You can tell me all about it.’