Chapter 10
The sound of banging jolts Phoebe awake. For a second, everything looks red and then she realises it’s because her hair is tangled in front of her face. She tucks it behind her ears and pushes herself up from the sofa, groaning.
‘Oh God!’ Her mouth feels painfully dry and her head throbs. She takes in the empty wine bottle and the discarded piece of toast she must have made herself at some point last night but forgotten to eat.
The banging intensifies, coming from the floor below. There’s a whirring noise and then the radio kicks in too.
‘It is too fucking early for this,’ she says to herself as she struggles to standing.
She scans the room, taking in how much it has changed just since yesterday.
Max’s rucksack usually sits on one of the dining chairs, ready for him to take into work, but today it’s not there. Neither are his running shoes, which are always piled by the flat door. But his books are still there on the bookshelves, his biographies and historical novels leant against her medical textbooks and the odd escapist romance bought with the intention of being read on a weekend to unwind, but pretty much all have never been opened.
She isn’t sure which is worse – the empty spaces that Max has left behind, or seeing his other things still there, a reminder of the shared life that was shattered by his announcement yesterday. Part of her wants to throw all his things out the window. Another part wants to use them to build a fortress around herself. But … there’s a third part that feels quietly resigned to what has happened. When he told her that he was leaving, it had been painful, but deep down she hadn’t been completely surprised. It reinforced something she has always feared about herself – that she is terrible at relationships and is ultimately destined to end up alone.
Her longest relationship before Max was with a dietician called Luke who she dated for six months, meeting him in the hospital where she used to work. But he broke up with her after yet another evening when she’d returned home late after an emergency at work.
‘I feel like you care more about your patients than you care about me,’ Luke had said to her.
Phoebe ended things with him that evening. It hurt that she had hurt him, but she realised he was right. She did care about her patients more than him.
For a long time, Phoebe stopped dating altogether. It was too complicated and she knew she made a terrible girlfriend. She’d been told it enough times over the years.
But she met Max on a very rare night out with her colleagues. He was sweet and funny and managed to break down her barriers, making her imagine that maybe she didn’t have to live life on her own. Maybe she could be part of a relationship and have a life outside her work.
Phoebe reaches decisively for a handful of Max’s books on the shelf, scooping them into her arms and then fetching a bin bag. She’s not making that mistake again.
What time are you coming to get your things?she types quickly to Max, adding a few kisses on autopilot before rapidly deleting them. No. Absolutely not.
His reply comes in just seconds later.
I was thinking of coming by this morning before work for a few things – I left my laptop charger behind. Is that OK? Will you be in?
Phoebe shudders.
No, I’ll be out. You’ve still got a key, I take it, but put it through the door when you’re done.
It’s still an hour until her first appointment, but she quickly pulls on her leathers and grabs her helmet and bag.
Out on the street, the sound of work going on in the empty shop is even louder. The same van as before is parked outside but the shop door is still firmly closed, the sheets of newspaper obscuring the view inside. Who are these neighbours and is early-morning building work going to become a regular thing? Jesus, she hopes not. At least it might be a bit more bearable if the business turns out to be a wine shop.
She packs her panniers with the things she needs for the day and climbs onto her motorbike, revving the engine louder than normal as she sets off, the fresh morning air rushing against her face and tugging on her hair. On the bike, she doesn’t feel like a hungover mess who has just been dumped and is at high risk of becoming destitute or, at the very least, having to live off porridge and tinned goods for the foreseeable future. She feels powerful.
As she has time to kill, she heads for one of her favourite thinking spots at the top of the hill looking down over the valley, parking and stepping off the bike. Up here, there’s a bit of a breeze and with the wide-open view, she feels that she can breathe properly again. Her gaze follows the valley down to the river and it strikes her that she hasn’t been down there in ages. When they first moved, she and Max talked about trying paddleboarding or kayaking down there some weekend. But some weekend became never.
Another message comes in from Max.
OK. I’m sorry again how things ended. But I hope one day you’ll be able to be happy for me that I found someone who actually wants to be with me and have a life outside of work.
‘Fuck!’ she shouts to the countryside, startling a cluster of crows, who leap suddenly off the telephone line above her head.
There are many things she wants to type back in reply. But instead she stuffs her phone into her pocket and grabs her helmet and bag, leaving the motorbike tucked behind a tree out of sight of the road. She strides off through the field with purpose, in the direction of the river.