Page 49 of You Were Always the One

‘Have a nice time,’ I say, going to the kitchen to get myself a beer out of the fridge, as I hear the front door open and close again, none too quietly.

Relieved to be alone, I get my laptop and take it through to the sitting room. Sitting on the sofa, I open it and for the first time since being given notice on the house, I start looking for places to move to.

It’s a brutal wake-up call, because rents have gone up in the three years since Emma and I moved in here together – and not just a little, but massively. It means in simple terms, my royalties aren’t enough to live off. Yes, I have my share of what Emma and I were saving for a deposit. But longer term, it’s out of my reach.

My stomach turns over. I’ve never worried about the future before. But then I’ve never really had to plan ahead. I’ve always gone with my philosophy that something will turn up, which invariably it has. But as I look at the prices of the rental properties again, I’m not sure that this time it’s going to go like that.

I gaze at the darkened window, my mother’s words replaying in my head, about taking control of my life. Is it wrong to go through life the way I do? Going with the flow, seizing opportunities as they come along? It’s worked, hasn’t it?

But then I answer my question. In some ways, it has. But I can’t deny that there are many more ways in which it hasn’t.

I open the book I’m working on and start typing. I’ve reached the point where in real life, everything had started to change with me and Holly. Where at last, I can choose to write things differently. But then I stop for a moment. Life isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a journey. Things happen – and when they do, it’s about the choices we make.

NINETEEN YEARS AGO

I thought Skye and I would be together forever. That ours was one of those relationships that would work, effortlessly. That we would sail through whatever life sent our way, because we loved each other and we just got each other.

After nearly three years, I knew Skye was starting to get restless. I put it down to a kind of travel fatigue. But it turned out, it was deeper rooted.

‘Monty? Have you thought we could maybe stay somewhere for a bit? Rent a little house – get jobs.’

‘You trying to tie me down?’ I said in mock horror, trying to be humorous; too late, I realised she was serious.

‘Don’t get me wrong. Travelling has been amazing. And we don’t have to stop. But don’t you want more?’ she asked quietly.

I frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Stability, I suppose. Knowing where we’ll be in six months’ time.’

I actually felt wounded as she said that. ‘But we agreed we didn’t want that.’

‘I know we did.’ She paused. ‘But that was nearly three years ago. We’ve been on the move most of that time. Living on hardly any money…’

I stared at her. ‘Are you thinking you want to go back to England?’

‘I don’t know.’ Her eyes glittered with tears. ‘Maybe. But it doesn’t have to be England. I guess I’d just like to feel I have a base somewhere.’

‘Right.’ I felt defeated.

‘Do you get it?’ she asked.

I hesitated. ‘I think I need some time to think about it.’

Over the next few days, we didn’t talk about it. But since that conversation, there was a change in the atmosphere between us. The carefreeness had gone, in its place a wariness that was unfamiliar to me.

The weekend came and we were invited to a beach party. But at the last minute, Skye pulled out.

‘I have a thumping headache.’ Her eyes were dull, her skin pale under her tan.

I looked at her anxiously. ‘Can I get you anything?’

She shook her head. ‘I think I just need to rest.’

‘What about the party?’ I watched her go over to the bed and lie down.

‘It’s the last thing I feel like doing.’ As soon as she lay down, she got up again and headed to the bathroom where she threw up.

When she came out, she looked terrible. ‘Should I get a doctor?’ I said.