She nods. “Is that... a good thing?”
I swallow and take a sip of coffee, instantly skinning the roof of my mouth. “Yeah, it’s got to be. I couldn’t go back now. Not even if I wanted to.”
—
Because I’d be ashamed to admit that, in my darkest moments, Idowant to. I find myself imagining that maybe I’ll just go and knock on Max’s front door, and we won’t talk, or say anything at all, because speaking’s too painful. Instead we’ll just let chemistry do its thing, which is easy, because that—to my mortification—has never really gone away, for me. And I won’t worry about whether he’s my soulmate, or just a guy I can’t forget. I won’t allow my brain to get involved at all—I’ll just leave it up to my heart. And maybe we’ll do that once aweek after work, and sometimes at the weekends, and conversation—the thing that feels so impossible—will never actually factor into it.
I indulge in this fantasy so often that sometimes I actually find myself reaching for my keys, my wallet, my bag, and tapping through to the Uber app on my phone, before remembering that’s all it can possibly be, now—a fantasy, one that can’t ever be realized.
—
On the tube en route to Supernova, I reread Max’s last run of messages to me.
I won’t contact you anymore after this. I promise. I just need to say... that I know how good things could be between us. And yes, I messed up what we had in the worst way possible. But I’ll do whatever it takes to put it right.
If there’s even a chance I can save this, just tell me how.
Okay. Won’t message you anymore, I swear.
Just please know that this has been the best few weeks of my life, and I’d give anything to have you back in it. M xx
Eleven
Stay
On the morning of Dylan’s birthday, I wake to find he has climbed onto my bed and started tapping my face gently with a magic wand. “Auntie Lucy,” he whispers, “I’m six.”
“Happy birthday, darling,” I whisper back, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Fancy being six.”
“I’m going to turn you into a rabbit,” he whispers with a grin, waving the wand around my face.
After I’ve obliged by making bunny ears with my fingers and chewing an imaginary carrot, I pull him into a hug. He curls up in the crook of my arm and rests against my shoulder. I put my nose to the crown of his head and draw in the comforting scent of him, of vanilla and sleep and innocence.
“Is Uncle Caleb coming today?”
It’s the first time he’s called him that. I wonder if I should gently point out that, technically, Caleb isn’t his uncle, before rememberingthat (a) it’s his birthday; (b) he’s six; and (c) who the hell cares? It just means Dylan enjoys spending time with him, and surely that’s all that matters.
“Of course,” I say, kissing the top of his head. “He can’t wait to see you.”
Dylan shuffles his little body even more tightly to mine. And I cross both my fingers, pray I haven’t just told him a lie, given I’ve hardly seen my boyfriend at all since our weekend in London with Jools.
—
Dylan’s YouTube obsession has recently graduated from young toy recipients to teenage magicians, so after he’d gone to bed last night, we festooned the whole house with magic-themed decorations in black and red and silver: top hats, wands, and huge alphabet balloons spellingABRACADABRA, courtesy of the Pebbles & Paper stockroom. There’s a vast pile of gifts from Tash and Simon waiting on the coffee table downstairs, and she’s ordered in a cake with more constituent parts than you would for your average wedding.
I messaged Caleb last night to remind him of the party’s theme, but when I woke up this morning, he still hadn’t replied.
—
He finds me in the kitchen later, where I’m taking refuge from all the parental politics and school-gates gossip by mixing up more color-changing cocktails for the kids.
“Hello,” Caleb says, from the doorway. It’s hard to tell how long he’s been standing there. I try to read his expression, but it remains coolly neutral, detached in a way that instantly unsettles me.
“Hi.” I feel shy suddenly, like I’m trying to impress a longtime crush at a house party. “You made it.”
“You look nice.”
“Oh, thanks.” I adjust my party hat faux-flirtatiously. On Tash’s request, I’m wearing silver to complement the magic theme, though the only thing I could find was a revealing strappy top more suited to a nightclub than a kids’ party. “So do you.”
