‘Thank you. For everything.’ Lovely smells waft up from the plate sitting on my lap. I feel the need to lighten the atmosphere, because I don’t know how to do ‘mushy’. It starts off okay, but after a while I just end up feeling … naked. And not in a good way. ‘But most of all for the pancakes.’
Luke waggles his eyebrows. ‘I’m sure we can find a way for you to thank me properly later.’
I just smile back at him. I’m sure we can. And when he turns to leave, I can’t help noticing how good his backside looks in his low-slung tracksuit bottoms and I reach out and cop a feel before he gets too far away.
‘Hey!’ he says, turning to look at me with mock outrage. ‘Don’t touch what you can’t afford!’
I burst out laughing, and he gives me a backwards wave as he heads back to the kitchen. Shaking my head, I pick up my knife and fork and dig into my pancakes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JESS
I’m rummaging through the kitchen drawers looking for serving spoons and chopsticks. I honestly can’t remember where we used to keep them in this kitchen, which is so strange. However, when I think hard, I realize there are a lot of details I don’t remember about this day. I recall the highlights with fondness, but the in-between bits are fuzzy. Maybe that’s not surprising. The previous days I’ve lived through were possibly the most significant ones in our whole relationship. To be honest, I’m quite enjoying not remembering everything that happened before, because it means I don’t have a script to follow.
I open the narrow drawer next to the hob and spot the chopsticks nestled under a few pairs of tongs. I’m just reaching for them when my phone, which is charging on the counter, rings. I change direction and pick it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, gorgeous!’ Hannah says. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Good,’ I say, reaching over and retrieving the chopsticks, then bumping the drawer closed with my hip. ‘Luke’s just out grabbing a Chinese takeaway.’
‘A takeaway?’ Hannah makes a soft snort. ‘That doesn’t sound very romantic!’
I bristle. I don’t like the feeling that Hannah is judging us. ‘Well, we’re saving hard, as you know, both so we can put a deposit down on a house and so we’ve got a buffer when I start training as a physiotherapist. I like to think of it as if we’re investing in our future together, which I think isveryromantic.’
‘Oh, God … You two make me sick,’ Hannah says, but I can tell she’s giving me an indulgent smile on the other end of the line. ‘I can hardly believe it’s been a whole year!’
Seriously, Hannah has no idea. ‘Neither can I.’
‘Is it everything you thought it would be?’
I take a moment to ponder my answer. ‘It’s … good. Amazing, actually.’ The last day or so of my reality has blown me away, and with it, blown all the anger I felt towards Luke away, too. Of course I remember how happy we were in the early years of our marriage, but living parts of them again has brought those feelings back to life in all-singing, all-dancing Technicolor.
Hannah makes a soft gagging noise then laughs. ‘No, seriously. I’m actually a bit jealous. I wish I could find someone like Luke.’
‘You will, Han. You’re amazing.’
He just might not be the first one she says ‘I do’ to, but I’m not going to tell her that now. I’m still holding out hope for that in the future, and back in our real lives, I’ve been getting a vibe that there’s someone on the horizon, but she just hasn’t been ready to spill the tea on him yet. ‘How about I set you up with one of his brothers?’
‘Isn’t he the oldest? I don’t want to go cradle-snatching!’
My phone beeps in my ear. ‘Listen, Han … Can I call you back tomorrow? I’ve got another call coming in and I think itmight be Luke asking if I want salt and chilli chicken or salt and chilli prawns. He always forgets which one I said.’
‘Yes. Go. Go!’
‘Salt and chilliprawns,’ I say as I answer the call.
‘Salt and chilli what?’
‘Oh, sorry … Never mind. I thought you were Luke. Hi, Mum.’
There are a few seconds of silence before she responds, probably because, even to my own ears, I sounded less than enthusiastic. But that’s hardly surprising. Her alcoholism goes in waves. She never truly dries out but sometimes it’s definitely worse than others, and the past year has been choppy, despite her promises after our wedding to give up altogether.
‘You don’t have to say it like that!’
I rest my case. Mum sits at home, stewing over hurts, both real and imagined, and when she can no longer deal with a tornado she’s whipped up inside herself, she dials my number. ‘I didn’t say it like anything,’ I tell her. I’m lying, of course.
‘I bet you don’t talk that way when your father calls!’
