Chapter Forty-One
JESS
When I wake up this morning the house is quiet.
There are no smells of cooking pancakes wafting from the kitchen.
Luke is beside me, sleeping so soundly that I have to watch his chest for a hint that he is actually breathing.
I wonder if he is dreaming of something – possibly one of those strange ones where you’re endlessly chasing something or running away from something – because even in his slumber he is frowning.
I decide not to wake him. He looks as if he could do with the rest.
Maybe it’s my turn to return the favour.
I slip out of bed and go downstairs, then stare in the fridge for inspiration of what to make my husband for our anniversary breakfast. Luke is definitely more of a carnivore than I am, so maybe a fry-up?
There’s bacon and eggs, and I find some sausages in the freezer.
A rummage through the cupboard reveals a small tin of beans.
I gather all the ingredients together but hold off starting cooking.
I don’t want it to sit, congealing, while Luke is snoring.
I’ll start when I hear signs of life upstairs.
In the meantime, I hunt for my current bullet journal and leaf through it for clues. I find it under a mass of plans and paperwork on the desk, which means Luke must be in the middle of a renovation project that is requiring a lot of time and energy.
I have one cup of tea, and then another, and then another. Luke finally emerges just before noon, rubbing his face and yawning. He slumps into a chair at the kitchen table while I heat the grill and start assembling our breakfast.
He vows his undying love for me when I plonk his full English in front of him. My stomach is rumbling so I just grin, sit down and tuck in myself. We chat about nonsense, but I like it. It feels normal. It feels like us.
Luke has half an egg and a sausage left when his phone rings. ‘Leave it,’ I say, but he checks the caller ID and picks it up anyway.
‘Hi, Dad. What’s up?’
I can hear muffled talking as I stand to clear my own empty plate away. Luke listens for a minute or two, wearing the same frown he sported whilst fast asleep—
‘Yes, I know … I don’t think Warren realized—’
He begins to pace, nodding.
‘Yes, but I had to nip over to the Shortlands house to … I know. I know. I’m sorry, Dad. I should have been there. I will next time, I promise. Listen … I’ve got to go. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ He listens some more. ‘Yup, okay. Of course I’ll help out. I’ll give Matt a call later. Bye, Dad. Bye … ’
He hangs up, places his phone on the counter and returns to his breakfast, but after another bite of egg he pushes his plate away.
‘What’s up with your dad?’ I say as I pick it up, scrape it off and add it to the dishwasher. ‘It sounded as if he was upset about something.’
Luke stares at the table and shakes his head. ‘It’s nothing much.’
I sit down opposite him. If anyone knows when someone is avoiding an issue, it’s me. ‘Luke?’
He sighs. ‘There was an issue with the self-levelling compound for the kitchen extension we’re doing at the moment.
I left it to Warren because I needed to go and deal with a blip at the Shortlands place I’m doing up with Elena, and somehow he messed it up.
It’s got to be dug up and relaid – at our expense. Dad isn’t pleased.’
‘But Warren’s been with your dad for years. He’s easily experienced enough to handle it. And, anyway, why is it your fault?’
‘It’s not my fault exactly. But Dad prefers it when I’m there and the Shortlands house is really eating into my time at the moment. It’s been causing a bit of … tension, shall we say, about how much time I spend with my own projects and how much I spend with those for Harris & Sons.’
‘But you always make up the hours if you have to dash off to deal with a crisis,’ I say, feeling indignation rise within me. ‘It’s not as if you’re not pulling your weight.’
‘I know that, and you know that, but somehow Dad feels my focus is split. This year was the year he was supposed to ease back and hand over the reins to me and I think it’s just getting him stressed.
To be honest, I think he’d prefer it if I gave up on the house flipping and just settled down with the family business. ’
‘But what do you want?’
He shrugs. ‘You know I love taking an old house, stripping away all the stupid mistakes homeowners have made over the years and returning it to its former glory. I like creating homes, places where families can grow and make memories. Somehow, doing loft conversions and kitchen extensions isn’t quite the same, but then again, I love working with Dad, creating a family legacy. ’
I stand up, walk behind him and link my arms around his neck, pressing my cheek against his. ‘Whatever you want to do – when you decide what it is you want to do – I’m right behind you. You know that, right?’
I feel and hear him exhale. ‘Yeah, I know that.’ He sounds pleased, but weary.
‘Jess?’
I loosen my arms and step back, and he twists around to look at me. ‘Yes?’
‘Do you mind if we don’t go up to London tonight? I’m knackered. Do you think we can just do a takeaway and a film like we did when we were first married?’
I’ll gladly swap the noise and bustle of the city centre for a quiet night alone with my husband.
It’s not lost on me that I’ve only got two more anniversaries after this one before we hit number ten.
Things are going well, I think, but I can’t get complacent.
‘Of course. And instead of getting takeaway, why don’t I pop out and buy us some steaks?
I could throw together a salad and do some of those rosemary and sea salt potatoes you like … ’
‘You’re an angel,’ he says, pulling me into his lap and kissing me. ‘And while you’re at the supermarket, I can nip out and help Matt with his bathroom.’
I probably should know why Luke’s younger brother needs help with his bathroom, but I don’t want to give myself away, so I just nod. ‘Sounds like a plan.’
‘We can always watch Mrs Wonderful if you like?’ he says, brightening slightly.
Ugh. I don’t think so. I’m beginning to hate that bitch.
‘How about something different this year? Something with guns and explosions. I’m sure that’s much more up your street.’
It’s good to see him laugh. ‘I love you,’ he says and warmth creeps into his expression for the first time this morning.
‘You’d better,’ I say, smiling back.
I usually shop at Sainsbury’s but for some reason I drive straight past it and head to the big Tesco in Orpington.
And then I drive straight past that, make a few turns down side roads, and eventually pull the car to a stop on the other side of the street from a row of 1930s semi-detached houses.
The one on the right, the one with the gardenia-painted render and rickety porch is my mother’s.
I pull the handbrake and kill the ignition. It takes me a while before I turn my head to look at the house. I have no idea if someone is inside or not.
I’ve been thinking about the letter Mum wrote to me.
It’s still tucked into the pouch at the back of my bullet journal.
I checked. I must’ve moved it from last year’s book and put it into this year’s but, even so, I could find no hint in the pages of either that I had contacted my mother. Other Jess has remained steadfast.
Is she right? Has she made the right choice? I feel my resolve slipping and that scares me. It hurt to shut the door on her, but it was way more painful while it was still open.
What if this is the time she pulls it all together, that she finally sticks to it? What then? I’d never know. I’d miss out. And I don’t even know if I’m happy or sad about that. It’s all so confusing.
My fingers are on the plastic of the key fob, ready to turn it, when the front door opens. I freeze, too shocked even to hunker down. I have no idea what I’m going to do if she sees me sitting here. All I know is, in this moment, I’m in no way prepared to talk to her.
But it seems I don’t have to worry. The person who emerges is a grey-haired man in his fifties, not that tall, a little round around the middle.
He’s yelling back over his shoulder at someone inside the house.
Has Mum sold it? Am I sitting outside some stranger’s house, stalking them instead?
I begin to think I’m right when a teenage boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, follows him, laughing, then a third person joins them.
It’s my mother. She’s smiling. She’s talking to the boy, and then to the man. They seem comfortable with each other. And she seems … normal. Not drunk. I mean, it’s hard to tell from a distance but I’m pretty good at spotting the signs. It gives me hope. It also terrifies me.
They don’t see me, so I watch them having a conversation about whatever they’re having a conversation about, the man standing with one hand on the half-open gate.
And then suddenly they’re moving, walking down the road with purpose, as if they have somewhere to go, something fun to do. They look like a family.
It feels as if an icy javelin shoots through the top of the car, through the space between my shoulder and my collarbone, and right down through my torso. I suppose, if this is the man Luke told me about in the future, the man she ends up marrying, they are a family.
Another one that I am not part of.
I turn my gaze straight ahead, twist the key in the ignition, and take myself off to Tesco to buy some steak.