Tiny explosions of some unknown emotion sweep over my skin and, embarrassingly, I feel slightly tearful.
‘On the basis of your performance I think they’ll miss you, Jules,’ he says.
I take another mouthful of lemonade and lower the cup. ‘Actually . . . I’m sort of hoping they’ll have me next year too.’
He freezes and narrows his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m staying here in Roebury.’
His mouth parts. ‘Since when?’
‘Since this afternoon. I talked to my bosses after the presentation. Told them I could no longer make the move to London work and that I was tied to Roebury “for personal reasons”.’
I kept the last part vague and I don’t know what they imagined – elderly parents who need round-the-clock care, or young children of school age.
I don’t have any such ties, but the statement is still completely true.
The reason I can’t leave is not down to anyone else. It’s me.
Because I have found something here that’s too good to let go of. I’ll always love London for more reasons than I can count, not least the memories. But Roebury has something that London doesn’t anymore. The people I love. Here, I feel like a part of something, and have a sense of belonging that is more precious to me than any of the alternatives.
‘I thought they might offer to let me stay with some kind of working-from-home arrangement, but both parties agreed that voluntary redundancy would be the best option.’
‘But . . . haven’t you been panicking about that very thing?’
‘Oh yes,’ I laugh, because in truth I’m still sort of panicking. I am officially going to be unemployed for the first time in my life, not to mention homeless. ‘But that was before I had an idea.’
He raises his eyebrows. ‘Which is?’
I hesitate. ‘How about . . . I tell you about it over a drink sometime?’
As his expression wavers, I feel like a schoolgirl about to have her heart crushed by a boy she adores. Before he gets a chance to answer, I add: ‘I’m really sorry.’
He brushes away the apology. ‘What for?’
‘For making you feel like second best.’
His expression softens. He shakes his head. ‘You don’t need to say sorry, Jules.’
‘Sam. I am making this apology and I would very much like you to accept it.’
A smile filters on to his face. ‘Okay.’
‘I want you to know that you have made me happier than I have been for a long time. Since Ed died, actually. And that weighed heavily on me. I felt like I was betraying him, even though Ed himself wouldn’t have thought that.’
‘No?’
I feel the spring of tears and shake my head. ‘He’d have liked you. In fact, I think you’d have got on like a house on fire. I think he’d say that if I was going to fall in love with another man, I’d better make it a good one.’
There’s a flicker of something in Sam’s eyes. ‘What?’ he says softly.
I look up, feeling something hot in my throat.
‘What did you say?’ he repeats.
I swallow. ‘That he’d have liked you. And that I felt like I was betraying him, but I wasn’t. And—’
‘No, no. The other bit.’
