‘It feels longer. And you’re so busy at work. I’m spending a lot of time on my own.’
‘Can’t your mum come round a bit more? I mean, back when you first moved home, I’d find her here every evening. It’s as if she didn’t trust me to look after you.’ He says this in a jokey way, but I don’t respond to his comment, knowing there’s probably more truth in it than he realizes.
‘I’ve called her a few times, but she’s only been able to come round once this week.This new charity is keeping her quite busy.’ And I can’t begrudge her that. For years, all I wanted was to be on an equal footing with Alex. Not given more attention, just not less. And now she’s finally showing her love in the best way she knows how, I can hardly complain, can I?
‘What about Anjali?’
‘She’s at work during the day, and she finally said yes to a date with Lars. It now seems they’re the hot new … thing.’
Simon grins. ‘I had no idea. Why didn’t he tell me?’
I shrug. ‘They only had their first date the Saturday before last.’
‘Oh, cool …’ He eases himself out of my grasp. ‘I’m hungry. What are we doing for dinner?’
‘Pasta.’ I’d like to cook something more complicated, but one step at a time. It’s good to feel as if I can do something useful again. However, after a couple of minor mishaps where I walked away from the pan and forgot about it or tried to cook rice with no water, I am not currently allowed to operate the hob unsupervised.
On the whole, though, the doctors say I’m making pretty good progress. Yes, my short-term memory is still patchy. I have problems finding the right word more often than not, but I am learning to adapt. It seems that my love of lists, calendars, colour-coding and colourful sticky notes has been my salvation.
I make a simple supper of pasta and arrabbiata sauce while Simon throws together a salad from a bag and then we sit down to eat at the table.
‘Okay,’ I say, spearing a piece of pasta, then waving my fork in Simon’s direction. ‘I promise I won’t take any more calls from Rob. He’ll just have to work things out on his own. He’s got access to my household binder with all my notes and lists.’
‘Good,’ Simon replies, giving me a stern look.
‘But I’ve got to havesomethingto fill my time, and I … Oh! I stay frozen for a couple of seconds while the thought forms fully in my head and then I shout, ‘Binders!’ surprising Simon so much that he drops his fork and it clatters onto the plate.
‘Um … Sorry? What?’
‘I think I’ve got it … The perfect solution! I can start planning our wedding. Again.’
Simon stops eating and frowns. I suddenly get a really weird vibe.
‘What? What is it?’ I’m aware my tone is shrill and I’m sounding quite confrontational. For the millionth time, I curse the fact that knock on the head has changed me – maybe forever – and that I can’t seem to keep a lid on my emotions as easily. I also don’t have the ability to rein them back in once they’ve been let loose. I stare at Simon. ‘Don’t youwantto marry me?’ Before he can answer, I push away from the table and walk away.
Simon comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘Erin … OfcourseI want to marry you.’ When I turn round, he loops his arms around my waist and looks into my eyes. ‘I’m just not sure it’s the right time to be planning another wedding. You got so stressed last time. And you’re not great with large groups still. Even dinner with my family last week wiped you out, and that was only ten people.’
I know he’s got a point, but that doesn’t stop me feeling completely stir-crazy. I’ve got to dosomething.
‘What if we don’t do the whole hoopla a second time over? What if we keep it small, intimate? We can do the ceremony in Lower Hadwell again, and then the wedding breakfast – but only close friends and family. And then we can have a big party back here in London at a later date when I’m feeling much better.Think of it as just postponing the evening reception until I’m ready for it?’
‘But that’stwothings to organize! That doesn’t sound much like resting to me.’
I smooth my hands across his shoulders in a soothing sweep. ‘But not both at the same time. And I promise I’ll take it slowly. I won’t get all manic about it this time.’
Simon gives me a look that says he thinks I’m talking out of my backside. I probably am, but I’m going to do my best to stick to my word. ‘Please?’
He sighs. ‘Let me think about it.’ He spots the clock on the wall behind me. ‘Is that the time?’ His grip loosens on me. ‘I told Gil I’d go out with him for a quick pint.’
‘You didn’t mention that to me.’ I frown. ‘Did you?’
He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t get the chance. It’s a bit of a last-minute thing – he’s leaving London for a while, something to do with a change in his job. He explained it to me, but all that cyber threat stuff isn’t really my thing.’
I can believe that. If Simon can’t get his phone or his laptop to do something, he usually just swears at it until I come and sort it out for him. Or I used to. I have no idea if I can do that kind of stuff now. Concentrating too hard either makes me sleepy or gives me a headache.
‘Listen,’ he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and then letting me go completely. ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back—’
‘A “quick” pint? That means I’ll probably be in bed by the time you get back.’
