Page 59 of The Late Bloomer’s Playlist

‘Yes.’ I made a cheers gesture. ‘Would you like some?’

‘No, I have…’ He stared at his drink. ‘I have whatever this is. And once we stop worrying that things are a bad idea, we can plot out what we’re going to do to win Sheila back without anything holding us back.’ He snapped his fingers and sipped. ‘I think that might be the plan to unlocking the whole situation, don’t you?’

I reached into my front pocket for my mobile. ‘But you can’t think properly on an empty stomach, can you?’ Which I thought was probably what David had been drinking on for most of the day. ‘What’s your poison? You’ve taken care of the drinks, sort of.’ I coughed again to clear my throat. ‘So I’ll take care of food.’

David schlumped next to me, his full weight landing against the kitchen work surface. He slung an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me to him. ‘I could bloody murder fish and chips, Patti.’

That one simple statement shoved me by the shoulders, hard enough that I fell on my arse in the middle of a memory: the first time I’d had sex with Sheila; the craving for fish and chips, dipped in curry sauce, dunked in ketchup; the fact that that was the last time I’d had fish and chips with anyone. I forced out a slow and unsteady breath that I knew to be the prelude to another emotional outburst – and I knew as well that David was not equipped to deal with such a thing without his full wits about him. Plus, he’s dealt with enough from you already… A spiteful and unkind voice told me, despite my trying to shake it away. It wasn’t until I literally shook my head that I realised I was already crying – as though it were as natural as breathing now, and I could do it without even knowing I was doing so – so I kept my head down, and mumbled my agreement with my drunk husband while I typed in our order. I wiped my iPhone screen clean of diluted mascara when he wasn’t looking. I couldn’t avoid fish and chips forever. After all, it was one of David’s favourite things, too.

* * *

It took one large battered cod, a large curry sauce, half a portion of chips and another two cocktails for my husband to finally pass out on the sofa. I struggled to remember another time when we’d felt like such a married couple – and even now, it didn’t ring quite right. David was sprawled across the three-seater with his arm thrown over the cushions behind him, one leg up and the other down, smiling in such a way that I dreaded to think what he might be dreaming of. Lucy was curled up in a ball at the far end of the same sofa, staring at him with utter contempt. Meanwhile, Fred had taken up residence in the armchair opposite my own. The rain had started again, at some point between us leaning out the window for a cigarette and now. It only felt right to change the never-ending stream of Bill Withers that David had had me listening to while I watched the rain tumble, too, ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ now humming through the speakers. Somehow, I’d drifted back to taking occasional sips from The David while I held this pose, feeling every bit the tortured heroine from a cheap romance feature.

Not that heroines are ever quite this guilty…

‘Perhaps because we’re meant to know better, Fred,’ I said quietly, to avoid rousing the sleeping spouse.

I set my drink on the side table and leaned back with my phone in hand. After my fourth sip of The David, I tried to call Sheila another two times but to no avail. The drink had nearly given me courage enough to leave her a voicemail, but I chickened out before the beep – which was probably for the best. Now, I clicked into my web browser to see the last site that David had pulled up before falling into a completely drunken stupor: ‘How to get your girlfriend to forgive you (with pictures)’. It had been the closest to a bright idea that David had been capable of having for much of the evening, but at least he had the booze as an excuse. The fact that I was infinitely much more sober than he was but still I was looking at the website, without David’s encouragement either, spoke volumes as to the level of hopelessness I’d sunk to. I scrolled through the list of tips – have a talk, take responsibility, be honest – and I belched out a curt ‘HA!’ at the last of those, before clasping my hand over my mouth and checking David was still asleep. Of course you’re still sleeping… Then I carried on scrolling through the points, each of which was accompanied by a jaunty illustration that showed open-palmed begging, whispered sweet nothings, and accomplished fist bumps in the air when things had finally worked out.

‘Which they would, provided all of these tips were to help a person win back a woman who would actually speak to them still…’ I said, mostly to myself but also a little bit to Fred who tilted his head to one side as I spoke. ‘You don’t have this nonsense to contend with and look at you, you’re perfectly fine.’ He tilted his head again, a questioning wobble.

I thought back to the time before Sheila – the dinners for one because David was out; the fleeting romances that I never really pursued; the many, many times I told myself I enjoyed doing things on my own – and despite myself, I started to wonder how fine I’d really been.

There was only one route of communication that I hadn’t yet tried for reaching Sheila and this suddenly felt like the right time. I leaned forward and took two thirsty mouthfuls of The David, then sat back, feeling every bit like I’d been kicked in the throat, and clicked into The App: the godforsaken thing that had started this mess. Mine and Sheila’s conversation history should still be there, I thought. I wasn’t especially well-versed with technology, but I knew enough to know things didn’t magically disapp–

This user’s profile has been deleted.

‘Well, shit.’

Fred whined, a pained and confused sound. I decided to give up on bright ideas for the time being. Instead, I dropped my phone on the table and went back to watching the rain pound against the window, listened to the wind thrash against the outer of the building, and soon I found I was making a similarly disapproving sound to the dog.