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‘I was FaceTiming Harriet. The choirmaster, you know? She’s wondering about getting us back practising again. Socially distanced sea shanties, she says. She sings socially distanced sea shanties on the seashore.’ She chuckles, then raises her eyebrows, searching his face. ‘You look a bit… troubled.’
‘No, I’m good.’ His heart is beating faster. It feels for some reason like what he has to tell her is bad news. ‘I’ve… I’ve asked Naomi to marry me. And she said yes.’
In the magnifying lenses of her glasses, Joyce’s eyes round, fishlike and strange. ‘You’ve asked her tomarryyou?’
He nods, powerless to stop the grin that is spreading across his face despite the look of shock on his gran’s. ‘And she said yes! At least, I think she did.’
‘What do you mean, you think she did?’ Her tone is incredulous. And a little hard. ‘Either she did or she didn’t, love.’
‘She did,’ he says, flustered. ‘I’d had quite a bit to drink, but she definitely said yes. I mean, I wasn’t drunk, just… No, it was clear. She was surprised, I think, but she seemed pleased. I just had this horrible thought on the way home that I’d ring her tomorrow and she’d have no memory of it.’
‘Why on earth would you think that?’
‘No idea.’ He shrugs. Sometimes Naomi didn’t remember things, things he was pretty sure he’d said. But that’s not why. Is it?
Under the bay window, the old cast-iron radiator bangs. Joyce always switches the heating off half an hour before she goes to bed. She says she likes to listen to the sighs and grunts of the house falling asleep, but they both know it is because she is frugal.
‘Are you… are you pleased?’ he asks.
She is blinking as if she has something in her eye, and when she speaks, it is to the fire. ‘It’s not for me to say, love. If you’re happy, I’m happy, but isn’t it a bitsoon?’
‘Probably. But it’s like we’ve never been apart in some ways. Except that, having been apart, we’ve both had the chance to reflect. So in a way it’s better than the first time.’ He reaches for her hand, squeezes it. ‘We don’t need a party. I’m not going to wait until all the restrictions have lifted. I mean, who knows? They’re talking about another lockdown come winter and I’ve… I think I’ve realised what I want the rest of my life to look like. I’m going to book the register office tomorrow.’
Joyce puts her free hand over his, smiles when he places his own on top. But says nothing. From the speakers, Marvin Gaye asks them what’s going on, over and over.
‘I’ll still come and see you all the time.’ The words feel sad and somehow final, and he rushes to temper them. ‘Naomi was saying over dinner that she’s sick of Bridport. Maybe I can persuade her to move here. We can try for another baby, a sister or brother for Tommy! Another great-grandchild for you!’
‘Oh, love! Slow down.’
He laughs. ‘Sorry. You’re right. I do need to chill out. She said yes, but she’s still… she’s like a cat that won’t come out from under a chair or something.’ He glances at Joyce, longing for her to speak again, but she seems lost in contemplation, staring at their hands on his leg. ‘I’ll miss you. I’ll miss us living together. This last year…’
She withdraws her hands from his and reaches for her nightcap. ‘Oh, you’ve been held back far too long by this damn bug. It’s time you started living again. Living your life! And if you’re sure…’
‘I’m sure. One hundred per cent. It’s going to be so different this time, totally different. I have a good feeling about this.’
But does he? As he climbs the stairs to bed, his gut clenches with something old, something he can’t name. Insecurity, he thinks. Naomi is being so careful, as if afraid. Fear too. Is he picking up on his own fears or her fears about him? The other night, she reminded him of the time he put his fist through a window during an argument. There was another time when she wouldn’t stop shouting, going on and on about something he’d done or, more likely, hadn’t done. He slammed his hand against the kitchen cupboard door and just… roared at her. And she stopped dead. She stopped shouting and seemed to shrink, backing away from him, making him feel instantly guilty. She hid herself in their room. He had to talk to her through the door, apologise over and over, persuade her to come back out.
Is ithimself, this familiar uneasy feeling? His fear of her ability to make him behave in ways he has never behaved with anyone else? Perhaps. Was he… in those moments was heabusive? He would never have hit her, never. But she didn’t know that. And she didn’tmakehim shatter the glass pane with his fist. No one can make us do anything. We are responsible for our own actions, that’s what Joyce always says. He needs to calm down. He needs to hear her better, learn to talk rationally about the kinds of problems all couples have instead of feeling persecuted, going into himself and finding only the inarticulate rage of victimhood. When Naomi is cross, he needs to listen. And now that she has agreed to marry him, he must do everything in his power to take her fears about him away. He has to get her to look at him and see only safety, her future, her home: Sam, Naomi and Tommy. And if it all works out, the children yet to come. Her family. His family.
He opens WhatsApp and writes:
Am so happy you said yes. I’ll organise everything. We can have a party once the world returns to normal, if that’s what you want. But in the meantime, I’m going to start paying my share for Tommy. Let’s agree a figure. I want you to know I’m a safe bet. I’m here for ever. I love you. Always did, always will. S xx
CHAPTER 32
Joyce stares into the fire, now no more than one glowing, blackened log. The air cools at the back of her neck. There is no way she can sleep now, not after what he has told her, no way, José. She pulls the throw from the arm of the sofa and wraps it around herself. It is an effort, her shoulders stiff; she can’t reach back like she used to. Can’t touch her toes either, though she can’t remember when she stopped being able to. Ageing: there’s no stopping it, no controlling it.
There are so many things she can’t stop. So much she can’t control.
CHAPTER 33
Wednesday comes. Naomi messages to say she’s taking the day off, to celebrate their engagement, so Sam is even more excited than usual. He has spent Monday and Tuesday keeping the news under wraps from the boys. He can’t risk telling anyone. Naomi is as fragile as a blown eggshell. He doesn’t want people she hasn’t seen for over a year coming up and congratulating her before it’s even official; she’d run a mile.
She arrives a little later than usual and dressed in casual clothes. He greets her at the door, kissing her deeply on the mouth and holding her tight.
‘Hey,’ she says, and pokes him playfully in the chest. She does not mention their engagement.
‘Hey, you.’ Nor does he.
