Twenty
‘Are you okay?’ Sam asked through the closed door, tapping gently on the wood just a few minutes later. ‘I … I don’t want to leave things like this, Lucy. I don’t want to hurt you. I … I just wish you could see things from my point of view.’
Like the fool that I was, I ran to the door, flung it open, and threw myself into his arms. I was more than a little relieved when he held me tightly and I heard a small sigh of something akin to relief, escape him.
‘I’m so sorry, Sam. Please forgive me. I don’t know why I keep doing this. You’ve made your position clear. And you’re right. Of course you are. We should simply agree to disagree. I won’t mention love, or finding the one, or anything like that again. I want to spend this week with you as much as you want to spend it with me. Let’s just do that, can we? Let’s forget this stupid conversation happened and pretend we’ve just walked in.’
He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head.
‘I can do that, Lucy. If you can.’
I looked up into his eyes. ‘I can, Sam. I can.’
And it seemed, I could. Or at least I could pretend I could.
We made love – sorry, we had sex that night as if nothing had happened. And the following day we sat and talked and cooked and laughed and joked about anything and everything. Except relationships and love and happy ever after.
We spent time with our neighbours who didn’t notice anything was different between Sam and me.
But I knew something was. And it hurt like hell.
Obviously, when I told Erin, she was cross with me.
‘You need to walk away,’ she said, ‘before your heart gets broken beyond repair. Sam is not the man for you. I know you think he is, but he clearly isn’t.’
‘He is, Erin. I know he is. If I can’t have Sam, I don’t want anyone.’
‘You need help,’ she said. ‘Seriously. Stop being such a bloody drama queen. This isn’t like you, Lucy. I don’t know what’s happened to you.’
‘I know you’re right. I think … I think it’s the fact that things didn’t work out with me and Ted that’s sort of tipped me over the edge, somehow. It’s not about Ted. It’s about me. I think I’ve been drifting. When I was at uni, I had such dreams of being a brilliant, wedding dress designer. And then Mum and Dad split up and I joined Mum in the shop as soon as she took over the lease. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I love the shop. I love the online business. But I think I put my own dreams on hold. I did the same with Ted, in a way. I knew things weren’t going well, but what did I do? Book a romantic break to try to save the relationship. Every time a bride comes into the shop, I feel more desperate, as if my dream of finding my own true love, of having kids, and a happy ever after, is slipping further and further away. Just like my dream of being a wedding dress designer has.’
‘So do something about it. Design more wedding dresses. Start your own bridal shop and design business, separate from your mum’s but in tandem. Open a branch somewhere. Even in Fairlight Bay if you really must. But do something! Don’t let your dreams slip away. And as for finding the one, as I said, once you’re back we’ll concentrate on that. Sam is not the only man in the world you will ever love. I can’t believe that. Life sucks sometimes, I know, but it wouldn’t be that cruel. But why do you feel you need a man so badly, anyway? You can be a single mum if you want kids. You can have a family consisting of friends, and your mum and Chris, and me of course. You don’t need to find just one man to make your life complete. To make your dreams come true.’
‘I know. You’re right of course. I realise that. And yet, I always saw myself with a husband and a family.’
‘You always saw yourself with Sam Worth, is what you really mean, isn’t it? But that might be a nightmare, rather than a dream. How are things on that front?’
‘They’re … great. The sex is brilliant. We’re having a good time. And we’re enjoying ourselves. There’s just that constant tiny niggle and it simply won’t stop.’
‘Be careful, Lucy. Sometimes it’s better if we don’t get what we wish for.’
‘And sometimes, what we wish for, we can’t have. Tell me about you. I’m sick of talking about me.’