‘Hi Jules, did you get the voice message I left yesterday?’ she asks, chirpily.
‘Um . . . sorry. I was watching some tennis,’ I reply, sounding hoarse. ‘I forgot about it entirely until you just called.’
‘Well, not to worry. I just had some good news to pass on. And now it’s even better.’
She tells me I’ve had two offers on the house – the first was yesterday, but the latest, this morning, is from a cash buyer. Which means there’s no danger of the sale dragging on, plus it’s for more than the asking price. I’d be a fool to say no.
‘So what do you think. Is it a yes? Mr and Mrs Simpson are really hoping for an answer today.’
I gaze down the steps to the station as heat gathers behind my eyes. My brain feels foggy. How can I be expected to even think about this on a day like today?
‘Sorry . . . I think I lost you then,’ she continues. ‘What do you say, Jules?’
Acid begins to churn in my gut. ‘I just . . . need a moment to think about it.’
‘Of course. But I must stress this is an amazing deal. They really fell in love with the house. I don’t think you’re going to do better.’
I realise I’m grinding my teeth.
‘Okay,’ I say finally. ‘Tell them my answer is yes.’
‘Fantastic! Oh, they’ll be absolutely over the moon. They’re just about to have a baby. Desperate to move in before Mrs Simpson’s due date in September. Lovely that everyone involved in this is having a new start.’
I hear from Sam the following day, when he sends me a typically nice text.
‘Thank you for a great day at the tennis. I’m only sorry it ended like it did. I had a lovely summer and the fact that it’s come to an end won’t change that. Hope your preparation for the big move goes well and that I’ll see you around at the club at some point before you go. Also – good luck on Thursday. I’m sure you’ll smash it. S x’
‘Thanks Sam,’ I reply. ‘I had a wonderful time at Wimbledon. Yes, hopefully I’ll get to say bye in person. Take care x’
I do not smash it on Thursday. I can’t focus on a thing. For the first time since I joined this team, being on a tennis court does not distract me from worries or focus my thoughts. Rose and I are beaten 6–1, 6–4.
In the weeks that follow Wimbledon, I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience.
Like something dramatic and monumental is unfolding around me and the only option available to me is watching it happen. I can hardly think straight, or catch my breath. All I can do is press ahead.
I am fully aware that this is probably normal in a period of adjustment, especially one this significant. Especially at my age. I remind myself I need to embrace this opportunity, to relish my new start, even if there are times when I wake up in the morning dripping with sweat and feel like the room is spinning.
Although my new role has already started, I’ve been given until the start of September before I need to be in the Londonoffice five days a week. In the meantime, I am commuting twice weekly to head office to work alongside Jacinta on the rollout of The Neutral Company.
On the days when I’m not away, most evenings are dedicated to packing. Even after a huge clear-out, I’ve still got way too much stuff to fit into the apartment I’ve signed a lease for, so most of it will go into storage until I have the headspace to deal with it.
The only time I get to pause during this period is on my wedding anniversary. A date for reminiscing and reflection, yes, but mainly one for watching the video of me walking down the aisle on a loop while downing wine so fast that I crash into bed unconscious. It underlines one truth to me.
Time doesn’t heal grief. It never will.
Whatever Sam wanted from me, the option to ‘move on’ is no more open to me now than it was in the weeks after Ed died.
Sometimes, I feel furious with him for thinking I ever would. Which in turn makes me feel like the worst person in the world becausehow can I possibly be annoyed with Sam?Sam, who has treated me with nothing but kindness, generosity and tenderness. Sam, who took me to Wimbledon. Whenever I think about that day – and him telling me it’s over – it feels like a fist is clasped around my heart, squeezing it tight. I have absolutely no right to feel like this.I’mthe one who can’t give him what he wants, after all. But I can’t help it. That’s just how it is and how it will always be.
After that one text exchange, I hardly see Sam at the club, no matter how often I find myself gazing out of the bedroom window, attempting to manifest him. In fact, he only appears once as I am about to go into a supplier meeting. Shamefully, I end up excusing myself from that to tug on my leggings and dash round there for a ‘practice’ with the lobster machine. By the time I arrive, he’s already gone.
As I trudge back to the house, I wonder if the real reason I’m upset is just that I’m terrible with rejection. Always have been. The intense feelings I had as a junior tennis player were only one example of it; I also hated being the last child to be picked for a netball team, or finding out about a sleepover whose invitation had not been extended to me. Even recently, during one of the first house viewings, I felt affronted by one person’s feedback that said, ‘It would be a lot better if it was a bungalow, plus I didn’t like the curtains.’
I don’t even know what I’d hoped would happen if I bumped into Sam at the courts. So I settle on this: one last opportunity to hear his laugh. To look into his eyes. Maybe even a final hug, so I can breathe in the scent of his skin for a tiny bit longer. My wobble even extends to trawling through job websites again, just to satisfy myself that there really is nothing to be gained by staying in Roebury at all. It threw up precisely zero results.
London isn’t just the right move. It’s literally my only option.
Chapter 54
