‘No, because my life’s so much better and I have bigger things to write about now,’ she explains.
‘Okay, so what’s the last thing you wrote?’
Esther pauses for effect. ‘Bethani have asked me to speak at their big spring launch!’
‘Really? Wow!’ Miles is beaming now, seeming genuinely impressed. Esther realises she has never seen him looking that way before. ‘Well done,’ he adds. ‘I’m so proud of you. What will you have to do?’
‘Talk about the brand, what it means to me, how we work together …’
‘They’ll pay you for that?’
She stares at him across the table. ‘Of course they will. They’re paying me a lot, Miles. Ahugeamount to be their ambassador—’
‘I’m so happy for you, sweetie.’
‘But money’s not the main thing,’ she adds quickly. ‘I mean, it’s not what makes me happy, Miles. Not at all. This does – being away together …’ She sips the delicious white wine. ‘We’re getting along and I can see a real future for us—’
‘Oh, honey,’ he says, welling up again. ‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too. And that’s what I mean about the journal – that there are much bigger things to be thankful for now. Like being here and having these amazing experiences together. Just being with you.’
As Miles leans over and kisses her, Esther’s heart seems to fly. ‘Well, I reckon I’m the luckiest man in the world,’ he says, smiling broadly, ‘so maybe I should start a gratitude journal too.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ESTHER
Only, it turns out Miles wasn’t quite telling the truth that night in Bath. Because a few days later, on Christmas Eve, Esther is getting ready to meet her mum, dad and Luc for dinner at a restaurant. It’s a last-minute thing. Her mum insisted on them all getting together seeing as Esther won’t be joining them for Christmas Day after all. Miles begged her to stay home with him, ‘So it’s just the two of us. What could be better than that?’ Finally, she had agreed.
It would just be too awkward, she realised, for her boyfriend and dad to spend Christmas Day together. It’s like they can’t be in the same room without there being a weird atmosphere. And she can kind of understand it, from Miles’s point of view. Yes, he’d been drunk that day at Lauren’s house – but now she and Miles are madly in love again, she can see that her dad was out of order too.
Imagine ridiculing him about his mullet in front of everyone. She’s seen photos of her dad in the Eighties with his silly bleached quiff and red mohair sweater and pixie boots! What did he thinkhelooked like? Anyway,her mum has booked a table at this amazing new place that everyone’s desperate to go to. She knows the owners. That’s how she managed to get a table. Esther can’t understand how a table can be miraculously ‘found’ at a restaurant that’s fully booked, but never mind. Apparently the place is all about ‘nose to tail’ eating, ‘meaning none of the animal goes to waste,’ her mum enthused, which isn’tquiteEsther’s thing. It’s not that she’s vegetarian. But surely certain animal parts, like ears and bum holes, weren’t designed to be eaten? Still, Esther is going along to keep everyone happy. She wouldn’t dare to upset her mum’s plans.
She’s all ready, about to head out, when she checks the weather on her phone and realises it’s raining. So her sandals won’t do. At least, not in the presence of her dad, enforcer of ‘appropriate footwear’ and obsessive over things being one hundred per cent waterproof. Is this something that happens with age, this fixation with dressing according to the climate? When Esther turns, say, forty, will she be constantly on at Miles for not wearing a rainproof coat? She glances at her phone again – so much easier than checking the weather out of the window – and decides, okay, boots then. Which means a whole rethink of her outfit.
Having changed, she’s now cutting it fine time-wise as she burrows under Miles’s antique king-sized bed, knocking aside socks, headphones, various chargers and a matted hairbrush in search of her flat tan boots. Shethinksthey’re here somewhere. She pulls out a pair of Miles’s jeans, tugged off with the pants still left in them. It’s a habit of his, the peeling off of clothes in one layer because separating them out would be far too much effort. For some bizarre reason, Esther has become the one who does all the laundry around here, as if operating the washing machine is beneath him. For a splitsecond her brain shoots her back to being sixteen years old, before the reality show was filmed at her school. Back then, she used to enjoy picturing herself at the age she is now. At twenty, she’d imagined, her life would be filled with history lectures and fabulous flat-shares and friendships she’d have forever.
Nope, Esther. You WON’T be floating around a beautiful university town with your history books. You’ll be peeling the festering pants out of your boyfriend’s jeans!
Lying flat on her stomach now, in order to search even further under the bed, she pushes aside her zebra-print suitcase and notices a shoebox sitting there. Maybe it’s some shoes she’s forgotten about? Would they do instead of boots? She’s sent loads of free stuff from PRs and fashion brands in the hope that she’ll do posts about them. It’s a perk, and Esther realises how lucky she is; she’s written about that in her gratitude journal too. But sometimes, to her shame, these freebies end up being kicked under the bed and lie there, forgotten.
She pulls out the box, straightens up and picks the bits of under-bed fluff off herself. When she takes off the lid she discovers it’s not shoes in there after all. It’s a book – a hard-backed notebook – and on the front, in gold type, it says,My Gratitude Journal.
She places it on the bed and stares at it. It’s not her gratitude journal. Hers has a pale grey cover with tiny white clouds over it, and this one has blue diagonal stripes. It must belong to Miles. Or maybe, she’s thinking now, he’s bought her a new one for when her current one’s all filled up?
It seems weird, though, and something shifts uneasily, deep inside her stomach. She has a feeling she should put it back in its box, shove it under the bed and think nothing more about it. It’s wrong to pry, but she can’t help herself.
Esther is havingintrusive thoughts.They’re saying,Just a little peek won’t hurt. Just a tiny look, then you can put it back and never look at it again.
Perched on the edge of the bed, Esther holds the journal on her lap and flips it open. Similar to hers, each page is divided into halves horizontally, and at the top of each section there’s a space to write the date. Her gaze lands upon Miles’s spidery writing. She can see now that he was definitely lying when they were in Bath, pretending he thought gratitude journals were a bit lame – because the first date she spots is 29 July of this year. All this time, he’s been keeping one too. Why didn’t he say?
Esther thinks back to the end of July and what was going on then. She’s pretty sure that’s when she was supposed to have been in Corsica with her dad. It seems that on that date – the first entry in the journal – Miles had plenty to be grateful for because he wrote:
Beautiful sunny day.
Esther home with me and not in Corsica.
So grateful for my love.
