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She waves her hand in dismissal. ‘I know what you mean, don’t worry. We’re grand. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t know anything, do we? Let’s not go waltzing off into what might be.’
‘I’m not. I promise I’m not. But at the same time, I feel like I know, do you know what I mean? I kind of felt it.’
She smiles kindly, furrows carved deep at the edges of her eyes. ‘All right, but as I say, let’s not rush in. Only fools do that, don’t they? And you’re no fool.’
CHAPTER 7
Dear Sam,
In case you were wondering, Pete left Jo about a month after you walked out. That’s how come we bubbled up together. You won’t know that, I don’t suppose, no reason why you would. Not like anyone’s seen anyone, is it? It seems like a big coincidence seeing you this morning, but it was on the cards, I’m sure you’d agree. And a lot of relationships failed during lockdown. I saw it on This Morning. Divorces went up. Domestic violence was off the scale too apparently. I really feel for those women.
But violence isn’t always physical, is it, Sam?
You wouldn’t recognise Jo now, by the way; she’s had a serious makeover. I think that’s common when you split with someone – new hair, new me sort of thing. Britney Spears did it, didn’t she? Shaved her hair off.
I’m batch-cooking some chicken right now, just FYI. Chicken with rice and veg for little Toms. I call him Toms, sometimes Tom-Tom, sometimes Tom-Toms. Picture it: wholesome grub simmering away on the stove, me on my laptop at the kitchen table, multitasking like some sort of domestic goddess. Honestly, you’d barely recognise me these days. I’m wondering now if you cook for Joyce like you used to cook for me. Do you do all the odd jobs around the house? I bet you two were self-sufficient during lockdown – bet you had more vegetables than you could eat!
Just had to change Toms’s nappy. Where was I? Can’t remember. Have I told you about Dawn yet? My therapist. She helped me after you left. I had PTSD apparently. Dawn said just because it’s not, like, war or anything, it’s still trauma, what I went through. I didn’t realise that. I told her about how we met and how I recognised you from school. I told her we had a deep connection, literally straight away, and how you just threw it away when things got a bit difficult. She said maybe I chose the silent type because my dad spent time away from the family home. But she also suggested you might be afraid of connection because of your mum. Like, deep down you feared that if you allowed yourself to love me like you loved her, something would take me away? Might be something in that, I think. What do you reckon? If you were here, I wonder if you’d tell me or just clam up. You never did like talking about that stuff, which is a shame, because it would have brought us closer.
I think all I’m trying to say is: people evolve. That’s what I learnt from Dawn. I’ve evolved. It’s hard, I can tell you that much, and there’s been quite a few changes to my circumstances. It’s so sad, when you think about it. We could have evolved together. We could have had so much.
I don’t know what I’m saying really. I’m not saying I wasn’t difficult sometimes, but I was unhappy, that’s all. Unhappy people aren’t easy, and I know I said mean things, expected you to read my mind and stuff, but you’re not so easy yourself, you know? Any little issue we had, it was like trying to talk to a stone, and then I felt like I was hysterical or mad or something. Like when you left: I was getting more and more upset, and you just carried on packing like you couldn’t wait to get out of there. You didn’t stop or try and comfort me at all. That’s gaslighting, did you know that? Dawn explained that to me as well. Denying my feelings. I think a good counsellor could have helped us, but you didn’t want to even try. You just put your head in the sand as usual and went to live with your gran.
I can feel myself getting angry again, and that’s not what I want to be, Sam. Anger won’t help. I’m learning to deal with my feelings in a more useful way. I follow loads of therapists on Insta, and they post great stuff, really insightful, about boundaries and stuff.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth today. I almost did, but the moment passed and then it was too late somehow. Now I’m thinking if you didn’t delete my number, you might even ring me. If you do, I might tell you. See how I feel. As I said, I don’t owe you anything anymore. I really noticed Tommy’s little blue eyes today, his blonde eyelashes, how similar he is to you in his colouring. Are you thinking about that now you’re back at Joyce’s? Or are you thinking about that time I dared you to make love to me at Chimney Rock? You were so worried it would collapse under us or that some hikers would appear on the path and see us, but that’s what made it so intense. I bet you remember that, don’t you?
I think about you, Sam. Maybe that’s all I want to say. I know I felt something today. I was trembling when I got into the car. Literally. I could barely clip Tommy into his seat belt. I thought about you all the way back to Bridport. I’m thinking about you now. I wonder actually if I went to Lyme just so I’d bump into you – you know, like a subconscious thing. But even so, what are the chances? I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.
Joyce will tell you not to contact me, I’m sure, but I wonder if you will. I hope you do. It would be good to see you again. See you properly, I mean, and to feel like you want to see me.
OMG. You just messaged me!
Talk of the devil.
CHAPTER 8
He has just climbed into the van the following morning when Naomi finally replies.
I can meet you this Saturday. The Bull. 1pm?
Great, he replies immediately.See you then. Xx
He exhales. Has the sense of rope running through his hands, his own foot tied to the end. But no, he has tight hold. He has no idea how he will broach the subject, only that he must. He wonders how or if she will explain it away. Perhaps she genuinely believes he didn’t spot the likeness or work out the dates, or that she can pass it off as a coincidence. She always believed herself to be more intelligent than him, than everyone for that matter.
‘What’re you reading now?’ she would ask in the evenings, when he was trying to relax with a book.
‘Moby Dick,’ he remembers answering once, already dreading her response.
‘MobyDick? Oh my God.’ Sure enough, she laughed, then asked if it was pornography.
‘It’s about a whale.’
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘A book about a whale. How exciting.’
She used to complain that they never spent any time together, by which he understood he was at fault for not wanting to watch the programmes she chose. But he found her documentary-style soap operas about the wives of billionaires as boring as she found his books – boring and a bit upsetting. Naomi, however, used to point at the television and laugh out loud. At first, when he was high on the drug of her, he found this cute: the way she could giggle at people treating each other so badly and apparently enjoying it. There was an innocence to it, he’d thought back then. Until it began to grate on his nerves.
He folds Joyce’s shopping list into his jeans pocket before starting the van. It’s early. Half past seven. He’s got a new project on Higher Mill this morning and has texted Miranda that he’s on his way.
