It’s 4 a.m. and Kate is wide awake again. Why does her body do this to her? Jay is snoring and Rosie is asleep in her Moses basket after a feed, but Kate’s mind doesn’t want to switch off, no matter how much her body craves sleep.
She reaches for her phone. There are new messages from Emma and Leonie sent last night, individual ones, as well as the messages they put in the group chat apologising for not inviting her to Emma’s wedding dress shopping trip.
Sorry again for messing up, Kate, wrote Leonie. If you change your mind, here are the details for the dress shop. We’ll be meeting there at 11.30 on Saturday. Would be lovely to see you xx
She doesn’t feel ready to reply yet, hurt still sitting like a stone in her stomach at the feeling of having been left out by her closest friends. It reminds her of all the times she felt out of place as a child for being too quiet, too bookish or notsomethingenough, the something being too hard to put her finger on. Over recent years, she’d finally found her tribe and come to feel happy in her own skin, so being excluded again like that stings. She reminds herself that she’s a grown-up – somebody’s actualmother– but it doesn’t take away the pain.
Kate clicks on the link, though, bringing up the website of an incredibly chic bridal boutique in Angel. The dresses all look to be designer, nothing like the second-hand dress Kate bought for £50 from a vintage shop to wear to her own wedding at Lambeth Town Hall.
Sleep still evading her, she scrolls back through the photos on her phone until she finds her wedding pictures. The morning of her wedding, Kate went for a swim in the lido. As she walked into the town hall to be married, she smelt like chlorine and the rosemary nestled amongst her bouquet of daisies and cornflowers, a nod to the one person who couldn’t be there in person. She’d been there, too, in the second-hand wedding rings that Kate and Jay slipped onto each other’s fingers, left to Kate by a woman whose marriage lasted more than fifty years.
After the ceremony, they headed to Brockwell Park for a picnic. It had rained, but they didn’t care, all huddling under rainbow umbrellas beneath the trees. There’s one photo that’s a particular favourite, which shows her and Jay standing at the top of the hill in the park under an umbrella. You can just make out the guests in the background, but Kate and Jay are focused only on one another, kissing as the summer rain falls down above them.
We looked so happy, Kate thinks as she turns to take in the sight of her husband sleeping beside her now, his body curledup and facing away from her. It feels as though a distance has grown between them recently and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Will she ever be able to get back to that feeling she had as they sheltered under the umbrella together, so in love and so hopeful about their future?
She keeps on scrolling, images of their life together flashing by. Pictures of the lido on sunny days and rainy ones, meals with friends, snaps of the fruit and veg stand on Electric Avenue when the colours just looked too delicious not to capture. Eventually, she comes all the way back to the last photo she took – the sign for the Farleigh-on-Avon River Swimming, Bathing and Recreational Water-Based Activities Club.
Looking at it again, she remembers her conversation with the woman in the supermarket whose words had felt like a hand reaching out to her, pulling her out of a swirling current.Don’t forget to look after yourself.
For the past five years, looking after herself has meant swimming. Shehasto get back to it. Even if that means having to brave the intimidatingly official-sounding swimming group. Kate thinks for a moment about what Rosemary would say, a smile appearing on her face at the thought. Rosemary would tell her to dig out her swimming costume and get in the water. ‘Because you never regret a swim.’
CHAPTER 19
The first thing Phoebe thinks when she wakes up is,Coffee. Normally, she makes herself one as soon as she is up and drinks it in the armchair by the window, enjoying watching the village begin to stir below. But there’ll be none of that this morning because her armchair, like the rest of her furniture, save for the single dining chair and the mattress she slept on last night, is gone. The second thing she thinks is,Bloody Max.
Once she’s dressed and about to start up the coffee machine her eyes land on the Giuglia’s paper bag on the counter, its contents mostly consumed last night on the floor, with the parcels spread in front of her and the bottle of gin in one hand. Even though she’d been hungry, part of her had wanted not to like any of it because she was still angry at the shop owner for his arrogance on the river and again when she’d tried to get an apology out of him. But everything wasdelicious. The prosciutto had melted on her tongue and the Parmesan made her entire mouth tingle.
She decisively grabs her things for the day and heads downstairs.
It might still be early, but the ‘Open’ sign is flipped round in the deli window and the bell tinkles as she pushes the door. The curly-haired owner looks up from behind the counter where he had been setting out a batch of tarts and pastries, his dark eyebrows raising questioningly and a half-smile appearing on his lips. Today, he is in slim-fit black jeans and a green T-shirt that matches his apron. The apron itself is just as flour-dusted as before. His face is shadowed by stubble and his hair looks especially wild. Phoebe wonders whether perhaps he has noisy neighbours too. It would serve him right.
‘Hello, neighbour,’ he says. ‘Did the sound of me dropping a teaspoon just now wake you up?’ He smiles wryly, revealing a little gap between his top teeth.
Phoebe considers walking straight back out again, but then gets a hit of the scent of espresso and just thesmellof it makes her feel more awake. She sits down defiantly at the table right opposite the counter, even though she is the only customer and there are plenty of other free tables. She crosses her legs in front of her, her chunky motorbike boots scuffing slightly against the freshly mopped floor. She fights the urge to reach down and wipe the mark away with a paper napkin.
‘Cause total chaos on any local waterways recently?’ comes her retort.
He makes a sound that could be a cough or a laugh. But then his expression settles and he rolls his neck, wincing slightly as something clicks. ‘No, I didn’t manage to get down there this morning. There’s still a lot to do here …’
She notices the dark shadows under his eyes again and as she does, her own tiredness gives her a little nudge.
‘Can I get a long black, please? With three shots.’
‘Three shots? Are you sure? My coffee’s pretty strong.’
‘Are you saying I can’t handle it?’
She’s expecting another sharp reply to bounce back at her, but to her surprise, his expression shifts and he shakes his head.
‘More thatIcan’t handle it. It’s delicious stuff, but it makes me bounce off the walls. I stick to decaf now, otherwise I’m a total mess. Give me a hazelnut decaf latté any day. I know – I’m an embarrassment to my homeland!’
He says it with total ease, laughter in his voice. Phoebe thinks of Max and how he’d rather drink a coffee he hated than admit he preferred his sweet and milky. She’d always found it kind of endearing, but now she wonders whether it was actually kind of ridiculous.
‘Three shots is good.’
The shop owner nods and turns towards the coffee machine. ‘One cup of rocket fuel coming up.’ The muscles on his broad shoulders tense as he reaches for the levers and Phoebe forces herself to look away, focusing on the shelves of pasta instead while he prepares her drink.
‘I wanted to say thank you for the food, by the way. I’m assuming that was you.’
