A lump forms in my throat. ‘Well, you were little. You weren’t expected to realise. Plus, it was all part of my job. A job I loved, by the way.Stilllove.’
‘I know, Mum. But I can handle stuff on my own these days. So you’re allowed to put yourself first now. You’ve earned that right. Forget about what Uncle Jeff or Grandma or anyone else might think for that matter. There is only one person who counts in this decision and that’s you.’
I am suddenly struggling to form an answer.
‘You’re not getting weepy, are you?’
‘Me? Never,’ I croak, which makes her laugh.
When I finish the call, all I can do is gaze into space and take in what she’s said. She’s right, of course. Totally. But knowing the decision must come down to what I and I alone want is only part of the equation. Because I’m still not certain exactly what that is.
I open my laptop and I click on a file marked ‘2006’.
The first photo I open was taken back in our old kitchen in Balham, in the days before Frankie was even born. Ed is cooking, standing at the stove with a huge smile on his face. In the next one, he and I are together at a restaurant for my old friend Gemma’s thirtieth birthday. Ed has his arm around me and is kissing me on the cheek.
For the rest of the night, I wrap myself up in a blanket of nostalgia, remembering what it was like when I last livedin London with Ed. All those lovely cafés we’d while away hours in. The Saturday mornings we spent browsing in the market and the lazy days strolling round Brockwell Park. I play videos of us over and over again, until eventually my eyes are sore, from unspent tears or staring at a screen, I’m not entirely sure which. Either way, eventually, just before it’s time to go to bed, I click on an email and start to write.
‘Dear Niles and Jacinta. Thank you for your time last week. I’m grateful for your job offer and I’ve put a lot of thought into it. I’ve now been able to come to a decision.’
Chapter 49
The sheer volume of admin involved in a relocation at my time of life is eye-watering. My new job will start almost immediately but they want me to be present in the London office in two months’ time, in the first week of September. When I write a list of all the things I need to do to move there, from getting the house valued and finding a cheap apartment if I haven’t sold it by then, to persuading someone else to take Bill’s bins out, it covers enough pages to amount to a short novella.
Oddly though, this isn’t the most difficult thing about the move. Much harder is telling people what I’m doing once I’ve officially accepted the Barisian job. Explaining the reasons over and over again, reiterating that I have no choice, but stressing all the positives too: it’s a promotion! And the money’s good! Plus, Ilovethe capital, which after all is not the other side of the world!
Nobody seems inclined to make it easy for me. But I hold steady when Jeff’s mouth stiffens and a little wrinkle appears above Bella’s nose. I don’t flinch when Dad places a supportive hand on Mum’s shoulder and her lip begins to tremble. And by the time I tell Sam, I am well-rehearsed in all the arguments. Still, I can hardly meet his eye as he sits at my breakfast bar with a cup of coffee on Saturday afternoon. I still feel a little odd with him being here if I’m honest, in rooms with my wedding photos on the wall. But today didn’t feel like the day to not show willing.
‘Absolutely none of this needs to change anything between us,’ I say emphatically. ‘It really doesn’t.’
He looks doubtful. ‘You . . . don’t think so?’
‘Absolutely not!’ I say brightly.
‘But how can it not alter things, Jules? Let’s be real.’
‘All right, maybe it does alittle,’ I concede. ‘Obviously. On a surface level. But it’s just not a catastrophe. It is the twenty-first century after all. We can video-call. Plus, I’ve been looking at the cost of railcards. If you book in advance and buy split tickets there are some bargains to be had. You can visit me. I can visit you. People keep relationships going long distance when there are whole continents between them.’ I’m about to give the example of Emily Blunt and John Krasinski but decide against it.
Because I realise that he’s suddenly unable to meet my eyes.
‘I don’t have any choice, Sam,’ I say quietly. He lowers his cup and nods.
‘Yeah. I get it.’
But I am left with a lingering feeling that he doesn’t quite believe me. That he thinks if I really wanted to stay, I would. And there are times over the next few days when I find myself wondering if maybe that’s true.
Either way, every time I tell someone my news, the words feel odd as they emerge from my mouth. When I give the spiel to friends and neighbours, then actually put the house on the market, it still hardly feels real. I cannot shake the sensation that I’m having an out-of-body experience. And the only time I stop stressing about any of it, as ever these days, is on a tennis court.
While I start planning my departure, nothing short of a miracle has started to happen with the Roebury Women’s B team. There have been four clubs at the bottom of the table for most of the season, all of us vyingnotto end up last. Whoever does won’t be able to play in the league next year
at all. But after two fixtures ended in an overall draw for us, we stand third from the bottom – or fifth from the top, if you’re more of a glass-half-full person.
The table is still ridiculously tight and this season could go any way for several clubs. But, given that it was widely assumed Roebury would be booted out at the end of the summer, the significance of this cannot be overstated. Especially because so many of us are brand new, not just to the club but to the sport itself. As Barbara keeps pointing out: who knows what this group of women could achieve if they were allowed to carry on next year?
The sentence makes my heart twist every time.
Because, whatever happens to the team, I won’t be here.
Still, until I leave for London, I intend to do everything in my power to make sure Roebury Women’s B team wins enough points to still be standing at the end of the season.
