‘So was I.’
She laughed. ‘We’ll figure it out. For now, hang on in there, OK? Which reminds me – how’re you feeling about tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Your meeting with Reuben and Kaia. At some film place by the River Thames, right?’
‘Reuben’s in London?With his new girlfriend?’
‘Uh . . . yes? He said he’d emailed to set up coffee tomorrow. Introduce you to Kaia, so you don’t meet for the first time back home in Cali.’
‘But why is she in London? Why are either of them in London? I’m meant to be going back to Gloucestershire tomorrow! I—What?’
‘Kaia wanted to come,’ Jenni said helplessly. ‘She’s hasn’t been to London in years. And Reuben already had a flight to London for your vacation together . . .’
I sank back in bed. Of course. Reuben and I had booked tickets to the UK back in January, when we were still playing that lonely game of husband and wife. I came home every year for the anniversary of the accident, and he had often come with me – although it had been a few years since he’d made it. ‘This year, I will,’ he’d promised. ‘I know how much you miss your sister. I’ll be there for you this year, Sarah.’ And so the tickets had been booked.
Then, later, he had asked me for a divorce. ‘I’ve changed my London flight to a different date,’ he’d said, a few days later. He was watching me, face smudged with guilt and sadness. ‘I didn’t think you’d want me to come with you.’
And I’d said, ‘Sure, that’s a good idea; thanks for thinking of it.’ I didn’t really consider when he might have decided to go instead. In all honesty, I had thought about very little around that time; I had mostly been stretching cautious limbs, flexing tiny new muscles. Experimenting curiously at Life Without Reuben. The ease, the fluidity, the sense of future and space in this brave new world had felt oddly shameful. Where was the mourning?
‘He booked a ticket for Kaia,’ Jenni said. She wasn’t enjoying this exchange. ‘I’m sorry. He said he’d emailed you.’
‘He probably did. I just haven’t got to it yet.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Well, that’ll be cosy. Me, Reuben, Reuben’s new girlfriend.’
Jenni laughed bleakly.
‘Sorry,’ I said, after a pause. ‘I wasn’t snapping at you; I’m just shocked. And it’s my own fault anyway. I should have stayed on top of my emails.’
I heard her smile. Little offended Jenni. ‘You’re doing great, honey. Apart from the being-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night thing. That could do with some work.’
I closed my eyes. ‘Oh God, and I haven’t even asked you how the IVF cycle’s going. Where are you at? How long until they harvest your eggs?’
Jenni paused. ‘Oh, they did that. I went in last week and they harvested the hell out of me. I sent you a message? On WhatsApp? They implanted three embryos, because it’s my last chance. I’ll find out next week.’
She took a breath as if to say something else, but then stopped. In the silence swung a thousand-ton weight of desperation.
‘Jenni,’ I said softly. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you were still on the ovary stimulation bit. I . . . God, I’m sorry. It excuses nothing, but I am not myself at the moment.’
‘I know,’ she said brightly. ‘Don’t feel bad. You’ve been there for me, every cycle. You’re allowed to make one mistake!’
But her voice was too cheerful, and I knew I’d let her down. In the sooty darkness of Zoe’s spare room, I felt my face flush livid with self-loathing.
Jenni replied to something Javier shouted, then said she would have to go soon. ‘Listen, Sarah, here’s my suggestion,’she said. ‘I think you should start over with Eddie. Like you’ve just met. Why don’t you send him a letter? Tell him all about yourself, as if you were on a first date? All the things you never had a chance to tell him. Like . . . does he know about the accident? Your sister?’
‘Jenni, let’s talk about you. There’s been far too much chat about me and my pathetic life.’
‘Oh, honey! I’m taking good care of myself. I’m visualizing and chanting and doing fertility dances and eating all sorts of gross, healthy stuff. That’s all I can do. But there’s plenty you can do.’ She paused. ‘Sarah, I will never forget the day you told me about the accident. It was the most awful thing I ever heard, and it made me love you, Sarah. Really, really love you. I think you should tell Eddie.’
‘I can’t send him a sob story to make him change his mind!’
‘That’s not what I’m saying. I just think . . .’ She sighed. ‘I just think you should let him get to know youproperly. All the parts of you, even the ones you don’t like people seeing. Let him know what an extraordinary woman you are.’
I paused, the phone hot against my cheek. ‘But, Jenni, I was lucky you reacted the way you did. Not everyone would.’
‘I don’t agree.’
I pulled myself up on my pillows. ‘So . . . he cuts me out for nearly a month and suddenly I start writing to him about my childhood? He’d think I was crazy! Certifiable!’
