‘Well, that would be . . . terrible.’ I register a look of quiet devastation on his face. Which I feel weirdly uncomfortable about, for reasons it’s hard to unpick.
I’ve never quite been brave enough to have the ‘friends with benefits’ conversation, but where does Sam think this is going between the two of us exactly? What future is he imagining? Certainly not one I’ve ever promised. And whileI neverplannedto move away, if I need to do so, then the decision is nothing to do with him.
‘It would be a huge upheaval, but it’s not like I don’t know London really well,’ I say, with a note of defiance. ‘And I love the place. I spent the happiest years of my life there.’
At this, he looks positively winded.
I look down at my feet, feeling a knot begin to form in my gut. Because I refuse to believe I’ve said something wrong, when all I’ve spoken is the truth. Being in love with my late husband and considering the years I spent with him to be the best in my life is not something I am willing to feel guilty about. Not ever.
‘Session’s about to start, Jules!’ Nora calls. I glance over and give her a wave before turning back to Sam.
‘Look,’ I sigh, in a conciliatory tone. ‘I haven’t decided anything yet. I’m just saying... I need to keep my options open. Mylimitedoptions.’
He presses his lips together and nods, before looking back up at me. The sight of those melting green eyes thaws me a little. He picks up my hand and squeezes it. Then he leans in to kiss me softly on the cheek. I feel my heart compress.
‘I just wish I could do something to help,’ he whispers, as my head begins to throb with the mess of it all.
I tell my parents and Jeff about my dilemma on the phone, but after the experience with Sam, I play it down – possibly a little too much. By the end of our conversation both seem under the impression that, while a move to London is theoretically possible,somethingwill come up and it’ll never actually happen.
I see Sam again on Tuesday night and, when he raises the subject, I tell him I haven’t made my decision yet and leave it at that. It’s pretty easy to move on. I often find I have temporary amnesia around him and on this occasion we end up inhis bed, obliterating my woes with pleasures of the flesh, until I drive home at 2am, entirely without regret about how tired I’ll be the following day.
But while I’m brushing over the issue of a potential move with everyone else, there is one person I really need to have an honest and open conversation with. Frankie might be going to college in September but this is still her home and always will be.
Chapter 48
When I phone my daughter the day before I have to let Barisian know my decision, she answers in hushed tones.
‘I’m going to have to call you back.’
‘Where are you?’ I ask.
‘I’m in . . . a waiting room. Give me a minute.’
She takes a lot longer than that. It strikes me that although she said she and Milly were heading to Amsterdam, I don’t actually know if that’s where they ended up. I bite my lip and pick up my phone to check her location for the first time in weeks.
When I zoom in, she’s at a building on the edge of the city marked ‘Clinic 24’ with the cheery tagline, ‘Better safe than sorry!’ I click on the link and gasp so hard it’s like a vacuum cleaner sucking air from my lungs.
‘STD test results after 1–3 business days.’
It lists a cornucopia of conditions that make my head spin. Still, I can’t knock how comprehensive their services are and there’s currently an excellent two-for-one offer – if you buy tests for ‘chlamydia + gonorrhoea’, or ‘HIV + syphilis’, they’ll throw in ‘genital warts’ for no extra charge. By the time Frankie finally phones back, I feel light-headed and imagine her lying on her back, feet in stirrups, while a stranger in a white coat has a good rummage around.
‘Sorry about that. Signal was terrible.’
‘Frankie.Where are you?’I demand to know. I sound like Darth Maul.
I don’t know what lie I’m expecting her to try on me. I only know that, if I’d ever bumped into my mother outside the Brook Advisory Centre I’d have probably tried to convince her that I’d just had my chastity belt tightened while en route to a Bible reading.
But Frankie, it seems, isn’t like me.
‘I’m at an STD clinic,’ she says matter-of-factly.
‘I see,’ I say, steadying my voice to that of theunderstanding parent, rather than the secretly horrified one. ‘Well . . . you’d better tell me what happened.’
‘Urgh. Long story. But we’re getting poor Milly sorted now.’
‘Milly?’
‘Yes. You didn’t think . . . oh.’ She laughs lightly. ‘You did. No, Mum. It’s not me. But listen. You can’t slut-shame her, okay? She just got a bit carried away, that’s all.’
