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‘Not me,’ I say, nodding my head towards the painting as he starts pulling off his tie. ‘That.’
He turns to stand at the end of the bed and his eyes settle on the vivid scene in pride of place. It’s like looking through a window to the other side of the world, and for a few seconds we stand together, hand in hand, and gaze at it. He squeezes my fingers, and then he climbs on to the bed so he can study it closer.
‘Who did this?’ he asks.
‘A friend.’ I kneel alongside him. ‘Do you like it?’
He doesn’t answer me straight away, just stares at the painting, then runs his fingertip over the raised oils.
‘Let’s go back,’ he whispers.
‘Okay.’ I smile, wistful. ‘We could be there by this time tomorrow.’
I slide my hand inside his unbuttoned shirt and lay it flat over his heart. ‘You make me so happy, Oscar,’ I tell him, and he puts his arm round my shoulders and kisses my hair.
‘I mean to,’ he says. ‘This is the second-best gift you could ever have given me.’
I look up at him. ‘What’s the first?’ Maybe I should have gone for racy underwear instead.
He puffs a breath out, and out of nowhere I feel nervous, because his eyes are intense and he’s moved from kneeling beside me to facing me.
‘I know I’ve asked you this a hundred times before, Laurie, but this time I’m not joking or laughing or messing around.’ His dark eyes are damp as he holds my hands. ‘I want to take you back there. But this time I want it to be with you as my wife. I don’t want to wait any longer. I love you and I want you with me for ever. Will you marry me?’
‘Oscar …’ I’m reeling. He kisses the backs of my hands and then looks at me fearfully.
‘Say yes, Laurie. Please say yes.’
I look at him, and there in front of me, on his knees, I see my next stepping stone. Oscar Ogilvy-Black, my husband-to-be.
‘Yes. I say yes.’
Jack
‘Why did he think Luke was your “boyf”?’ I make twatty air quotes round the last word, my back against the fridge.
Sarah shrugs it off. ‘I don’t know. It was just a mistake, Jack. Forget it.’
I look away from her, nodding. ‘Maybe it was. But let’s face it, Sarah, you and my Aussie hero have become pretty pally of late, haven’t you?’
She sighs and looks at the floor. ‘Not now, okay?’
‘Not now?’ I half laugh as I parrot her words, turning them over out loud for consideration. ‘What not now, Sarah? Let’s not argue at Oscar’s party or let’s not talk about the fact that you’re spending so much time with some random bloke who picked my phone up while I was unconscious?’
I’m not proud of how ungrateful that made me sound or how seedy it probably made Sarah feel.
‘I’m not.’ Her chin comes up, but her eyes tell me she’s not being completely honest, with me or with herself. ‘Get down off your high horse, will you?’ she says. ‘I haven’t done anything with Luke or with anyone else and you damn well know it. I wouldn’t do that to you. But, Jack …’ Her eyes fill suddenly, unexpectedly, with tears. ‘This isn’t the time or place for this conversation. It’s too important.’
‘Sure,’ I say, but I’m not ready to let it go, because that text did not sound innocent. ‘Would you like me to leave the room so you can reply?’
I know I should leave it, but we’ve been tip-toeing around the truth for a long time now and, for whatever reason, tonight seems to be the moment it’s finally going to trip us up. It’s not just about the text, it’s everything.
‘You know something, Jack? I will reply to him. I’ll reply because, unlike you, he actually takes the time to message me.’
‘I message you,’ I say, although I know I’m on shaky ground.
‘Once in a blue moon if you want a shag or you’ve forgotten something at work,’ she says.
‘What do you expect, love notes?’
I know I sound like a cock, but surely she realizes I don’t have time at the moment? She’s hardly much better.
‘You know what? Fine. You want me to be honest, I’ll be honest. I’ve thought about it, about Luke, in that way. He makes me laugh and he listens to me. He notices me, Jack. You don’t, and you haven’t for a long time now. All you notice is yourself.’
Luke’s a fucking hyena, I want to say, waiting to pick over the bones of our relationship.
‘I notice you.’ I’m suddenly breathless, because one careless comment from a stranger at a party has turned out to be the lit flame to the last thread tethering us together. Slow, threatening slicks of realization that this is it slide through the soles of my boots, up my legs, into my body, freezing me to the spot when I know I should reach out and hold her. This has been coming for a long time, hovering on the seat beside us when we watch a movie, at an empty chair at the next table when we go out for dinner, standing in the corner of the bedroom as we sleep.
‘You need to actually be there, to listen,’ she says. ‘You haven’t been there for a long time, Jack. Not before the accident, and certainly not after.’
We stare at each other across Oscar’s fancy kitchen, afraid of what happens next, and then Oscar’s brother rolls in waving his empty punch cup in Sarah’s direction.
Ever the trained professional, she switches her smile on and says something chirpy to him as she reaches for the ladle. I press pause, watch her in action, and then let myself out into the garden for some air.
‘You shouldn’t be out here without a coat.’
Sarah sits down beside me on the garden bench ten minutes later and hands me a beer. She’s right. It’s bitter tonight and I’ll know about it in my shoulder tomorrow, but right now it’s preferable to the heat and forced bonhomie inside the flat.
‘We could just forget all about our conversation back there,’ she says, her knee touching mine on the bench as she sips her red wine. That’s my girl. She might be plying everyone else with punch, but she’s sticking to the good stuff. She’s one of the most stylish women I’ve ever known, and one of the very, very best.
‘But do you want to, Sar?’ I ask her. Something in me can’t help it. I don’t want to ask her – and yet I have to. ‘Do you want to pretend?’
She stays silent for a while, looking into her wine glass. Then she closes her eyes and I study her profile; so dear to me, so familiar. Tears glitter on her lashes.
‘Sarah, it’s okay to say it,’ I say, gentle now because this is going to hurt us both. You don’t throw yourself over a cliff and walk away uninjured.
‘How will it ever be okay?’ she says. She sounds about twelve years old. I put my beer down on the floor and turn to face her.
‘Because you’re you.’ Her hair falls over her face and I smooth it back behind her ear. ‘You’re marvellous, beautiful you.’
Tears run down her face. ‘And you’re you. Stubborn, gorgeous you.’
For a long time now I haven’t felt like a good man; this might be the most decent thing I’ve done for Sarah in months. I just wish it didn’t hurt so damn much.
‘We were good though, weren’t we?’ She reaches out for my hand, her cold fingers wrapped round mine.
I can see her now, leaning on that stop button in the lift until I’d agreed to ask her out to lunch.
‘Really good, Sar. Close to perfect, for a while.’
‘Close is enough for some people,’ she says, ‘for a lot of people. The world is full of close-to-perfect couples.’ She’s wavering, searching my face. I get that. I’m wavering too. I can’t imagine what my life will be like without her in it. Who I will be.
‘Is it enough for you?’ I ask, and I swear if she says yes then I’m going to take her home, take her to bed and let it be enough for me too.
She can’t answer me. Not because she doesn’t know what to say, but because she knows that once the words are out there they can’t be unsaid.
She leans against me and rests her head on my shoulder. ‘I always thought we’d love each other for ever, Jack.’
