Four
Friday 4th September
I flipped the pillow onto the cold side and snuggled down into the duvet, glad to be back in my own bed. Another half an hour wouldn’t hurt. Another hour wouldn’t hurt, either. I could stay in here all day for all anyone cared – I had nothing to get up for. I shut my eyes and tried to force more sleep, but it wouldn’t come, so I got up and made myself a coffee. The familiar grind was comforting as I checked through my emails, filing the FYIs and red-flagging anything I needed to follow up on.
Twenty minutes later and I was still scrolling. Right. Stop that. I’d take my vitamins, have a wee andthentry and relax. The carpet was soft on my feet as I wandered into the bathroom and threw the windows open. Mum must have turned the heating up when she left, and the flat was sweltering. I tippedFridayout of my pill box and plinked a Berocca in a glass of water. Extra strength C, double D, magnesium and zinc, knocking them back one by one with the fluorescent fizz. My standard morning ritual.
And then I got back into bed. There was no point getting too pumped up when Antony had insisted there be no work contact until I got back. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that easy. My body was pre-programmed to get going the second I opened my eyes and it was already nearly seven. I wasrestingas agreed with Dr Fielding, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t read.
My phone pinged.
Mark: Hey. How’s the patient?
Finally.Ever the early riser. Another thing we had in common. My heart flip-flopped at his name on the screen. So, hedidcare. Well – he didn’tnotcare, which was almost the same thing. He’d changed his profile picture to the one he was using on Tinder. The whole time we were married he’d used our wedding photo and now it seemed to be a different photo every week.
Me: Feeling much better – thanks for speaking to Cheryl and the hospital.
Mark: Least I could do. Sorry I couldn’t swing by. Hope it wasn’t too serious.
Me: Me too. Doc said it could be heart-related, so I’ve been signed off work.
A slight play on the truth, but a little guilt trip wouldn’t hurt.
Mark: Shit, sorry to hear that. Want me to keep the dogs?
Me: No, no, I miss them! Dad will pick them up tomorrow as normal.
We’d been doing a week on week off trial with Twiggy and Dots, our two daxies, ever since we’d split, and Dad was officially obsessed. Having never been a ‘dog person’ he now much preferred them to Mum and me.
Mark: Great. Take care of yourself, OK?
Ugh. So polite and banal. All the best, Mark. Even a suggested heart condition didn’t get much of a response these days. My phone lit up again with his name. Hopefully something more caring and concerned.
Mark: Might also be worth updating your next of kin info when you get chance.
Charming. I puffed up the pillows and lay back with my coffee, looking around the bedroom. It was not a pretty sight. The paint had been sparkling white when the tenants had moved in and was now a grubby, chewing-gum grey, with scuff marks where their furniture had been. With marks on the carpet and a couple of cracked tiles, the flat was dog-eared and tired and needed a good tinkling. I messaged Jimbo to get him over asap and immersed myself in the Farrow and Ball colour chart, trying to remember if it was Mole’s Breath or Pigeon we’d had in the kitchen. No time like the present to kick off the refurb. I could even pop down to B&Q this afternoon and order the paint.
I’d moved back in with two suitcases and just enough home comforts to get me to work and back each day. Most of my stuff – and a lot ofour stuff– was in boxes at Mum and Dad’s, so it was good timing for some redecoration. Maybe it would shake me out of my going-through-a-divorce limbo. Waiting for Mark to swing by with one of his bashful smiles and say he’d changed his mind wasn’t getting me anywhere. But I missed our beautiful home in Chelsea. We’d spent ages doing it up when I moved in. Debating different colour combinations and choosing all the fabrics to get the look exactly right. And I wanted it all back, even if it was just a mini version for now. Icy blues and greys on the walls with indigo velvet cushions.
I watched half an hour of HIIT with Millionaire Hoy before my shower. He was one of the only constants left in my life and his YouTube videos kept me company all over the world. I wasn’t doing the HIIT so much anymore, but I couldn’t start the day without him. I turned the shower up as hot as I could bear it for ten seconds, then blasted myself with cold. Abi said it was the best way to get the circulation going in the morning and sheknew all the Hollywood tricks. It always left me breathless, and I hated doing it – but I forced myself to. Mark used to saythere’s no change without challenge. And I wanted my life to change. Back to the way it was before, that is.
I threw on a tracksuit, Deliveroo-ed a bacon and egg baguette, then started a rigorous vacuuming session. The decorating planning would continue after the cleaning. And there was a lot of cleaning to do. I’d been desperate to give the flat a thorough going-over, ever since I’d moved back in, I just hadn’t had the time. The cleaners had done an OK job with the end-of-tenancy clean, but there was nothing like doing it yourself. Remnants of limescale under the taps, yellowing grout in the shower, spatters of fat on the extractor fan. Nothing like a bit of surprise cardio to get the heart racing. I cleaned the windows, then mopped the bathroom and kitchen floors and had moved on to scrubbing bleach between the tiles with a toothbrush when I started to feel light-headed.
I stopped for a second and took a deep breath, waiting for it to settle. But it didn’t. And the air started to flicker like it had in Antony’s office.Shit. Maybe I’d taken it an espresso too far. What if I collapsed on the floor right now? How long would it take for someone to find me? Would anyone even miss me? I clicked onto FaceTime as a precaution and could just about make Mum’s face out as it connected.
‘Hello?’ she mumbled, pushing back herDON’T YOU DAREsleep mask and blinking into the light. She didn’t get up much before ten these days. ‘Sara? Love? Are you OK?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, taking another shaky breath. Which was the closest I’d got to asking for help in ten years.
‘You’re not sure? Jeffrey! Wake up, you lazy lump! Sara isn’t sure!’
‘I’m OK… I think…’ I swallowed, as the sparkles came back. ‘I think I’m OK…’
‘Open a window, Sara, quick! Take a big breath of fresh air. Have a drink! Splash some water on your face!’
‘I can’t, Mum, I can’t. I’m…’
And with that, my phone fell towards my face, and everything went blank.
