1
SARAH
‘You’ll look fine!’ Steph says, trying as always to put a positive spin on things.
‘Steph, I have the leg of an elephant.’ Steph’s one of the senior partners at my firm and one of the reasons I love working with her is her sunny disposition. But surely she can see that this is nothing short of a disaster? I’m beginning to wish I’d taken a taxi rather than accept her offer of a lift home.
‘It doesn’t look…’ Her face creases with the effort of trying to find something diplomatic to say, ‘…thatbad.’
‘Seriously? In what universe am I going to look fine in a summer dress, with one foot in a strappy sandal and the other in thisthing?’
I stare down at my leg, encased in a grey hospital boot; the toes I’d painstakingly painted at the weekend mocking me at the end.Such a delicate pink! It really sets off the grey lump of plastic you’re wearing!
‘Well,’ she says, doubtfully, ‘it could be worse.’ She stops to let a car turn out of the junction and the driver gives her a cheery wave.
‘How exactly could it be worse?’ I turn to her, watching her forehead wrinkle as she struggles to come up with something suitably awful.
Before you interject, I do realise that thereareworse things going on in the world. That I live in a country that is not at war, that I have a home and a job and some semblance of a life. It’s just that breaking my leg, three days before I’m due to jet off to the south of France for a wedding at my mother’s house, wasn’t exactly in the plan.
‘You could have broken both your legs!’ she says at last.
‘What?’
‘Well, that would be worse, right? If you had to wear two of them,’ she explains triumphantly, flicking on the indicator and turning into my street. She stops and we both watch a woman dragging a toddler across the pedestrian crossing, her face set and determined. The boy is wearing a Pokémon T-shirt which reminds me of something Louis used to wear and my heart cracks a little.
The kid is clearly determined not to cross. He holds his legs in stiff, straight lines and almost topples forward as his – clearly frustrated – mum tries to mobilise him. In the end, she picks him up and he starts to wail. As they clear the pavement, she turns to us and makes an apologetic face. I give her a little wave. We’ve all been there. And I know it sucks, but I’d still swap with her, get those toddler years back. I want to tell her some of those clichés people spout at you when you’ve got a little one –It passes so fast! Make the most of it!– but sensibly hold my tongue. I know when the kids are grown up you forget the complete exhaustion that comes with that stage of motherhood. But what I wouldn’t do to be the centre of my boy’s world again, to feel his tight little arms wrap around my legs, fierce and territorial.
I turn to Steph again.
‘Actually, it might bebetter.’ I know I’m being unreasonable, and that Steph’s taken the morning off work to pick me up from the hospital and doesn’t deserve my prickly mood. But don’t you ever feel as if the whole universe is just getting at you? That somewhere up there someone is pulling the strings of your life and seeing exactly how much you can take before you go insane?
She laughs. ‘Sarah, two broken legs would not be better than one. Seriously!’
‘Yes, but at least they’d match.’
‘What?’ It’s half-bark, half-laugh.
‘Well, I’d have two boots, wouldn’t I? It would look less like an accident and more like a deliberate fashion choice. They’d give a certainje ne sais quoi?’ My mouth slips into a daft grin almost against my will. I am being ridiculous.
She glances at me, catching my eye, sensing the change in mood. ‘If you want me to drive back there and demand another boot, then I’m happy to do it. Maybe you’ll start a trend.’
‘Good idea! Grey is the new black, apparently. And boots aresothis season.’
‘Exactly.’
We laugh and I reach out a hand and briefly touch hers where it rests on the gearstick. Her hand, I notice, feels soft against my slightly rougher skin. I have a dressing table drawer filled with moisturisers but never seem to get around to using them. Maybe I’ll pack a tube for France and try to turn back time a little?
Five minutes later, she turns into my driveway and I climb out of the car with difficulty. The boot weighs about two kilos, and the sensation of trying to heft along my leg with thethingattached reminds me a little of the period when Louis, aged one, used to hang himself from my ankle about 70per cent of the time. It was hilarious and exhausting in equal measure. But at least I got a break once in a while. This contraption is one I’ll have to wear constantly for six weeks and, as the doctor told meominously,possibly longer.‘Even in bed?’ I asked. ‘Even in bed,’ she confirmed, her eyes fixed on me as if she knew I might try to bend the rules.
I’m a lawyer! I wanted to say.My whole life is about adhering to rules!But I didn’t. She was busy, and besides, I just wanted to get out of there.
The hydrangeas that finally started to bloom in the front garden last week send out their sweet, sugary scent as I hobble towards the front door; I almost chopped them down when I first moved in five years ago, assuming they were dead, but Dad stopped me just in time, telling me that the dried-up sticks would eventually bud and bloom. I didn’t believe him and had every intention of hitting them with the shears as soon as I’d finished unpacking boxes.
But before I got around to it, they started to form new buds and delicious pink flowers. They’re short-lived, but I’ve come to look forward to them bursting into life again. They remind me of him. I swallow the lump that always forms in my throat when I think of my father.
‘You’ll be OK?’ Steph calls uncertainly from her car as I reach the doorway, leaning heavily on a single crutch, and turn the front door key.
‘Yes, fine,’ I reply. ‘Thanks for the lift.’ I hobble just over the hearth to show her that yes! I am coping! Perfectly!
