‘Well. It’s work, really. You have to make the effort in the City.’ She turned away as she said this so I didn’t believe her.
‘I think I need to meet this Eddie,’ I said. ‘I certainly never had this much of an effect on what you wore.’
She filled the kettle and switched it on. ‘That’s because you only ever dress like someone gave you a two-pound voucher for a jumble sale and you decided to blow the lot.’
It was growing dark outside. My jetlagged brain suddenly registered what this meant. ‘Oh, wow. What time is it?’
‘Time you gave me my presents?’ Thom’s gappy smile swam in front of me, both hands raised in prayer.
‘You’re fine,’ said Treena. ‘You’ve got another hour before Sam finishes, plenty of time. Thom – Lou will give you whatever she’s got once she’s had a cup of tea and found her deodorant. Also, what the bloody hell is that stripy coat thing you dropped in the hall? It smells like old fish.’
Now I was home.
‘Okay, Thom,’ I said. ‘There may be some pre-Christmas bits for you in that blue bag. Bring it over here.’
It took a shower and fresh make-up before I felt human again. I put on a silver mini-skirt, a black polo-neck and suede wedge-heeled shoes I had bought at the clothes emporium, Mrs De Witt’s Biba scarf and a spritz of La Chasse aux Papillons, the perfume Will had convinced me to buy, which always gave me confidence. Thom and Treena were eating when I was ready to leave. She had offered me some pasta with cheese and tomato but my stomach had started to work its way into knots and my body clock was screwed up.
‘I like that thing you’ve done with your eyes. Very seductive.’ I said to her.
She pulled a face. ‘Are you going to be okay to drive? You plainly can’t see properly.’
‘It’s not far. I’ve had a power nap.’
‘And when will we expect you home? This new sofa-bed is bloody amazing, in case you’re wondering. Proper sprung mattress. None of your two inches of foam rubbish.’
‘I’m hoping I won’t need to use the sofa-bed for a day or two.’ I gave her a cheesy smile.
‘What’s that?’ Thom swallowed his mouthful and pointed at the parcel under my arm.
‘Ah. That’s a Christmas stocking. Sam’s working on Christmas Day and I won’t see him till the evening so I thought I’d give him something to wake up with.’
‘Hmm. Don’t ask to see what’s in there, Thom.’
‘There’s nothing in it that I couldn’t give to Granddad. It’s just a bit of fun.’
She actually winked at me. I offered silent thanks to Eddie and his miracle-working ways.
‘Text me later, yeah? Just so I know whether to put the chain on.’
I kissed them both and headed for the front door.
‘Don’t put him off with your terrible half-arsed American accent!’ I held up a middle finger as I exited the flat. ‘And don’t forget to drive on the left! And don’t wear the coat that smells like a mackerel!’
I heard her laughing as I shut the door.
For the past three months I had either walked, hailed a taxi or been chauffeured by Garry in the huge black limousine. Getting used to being behind the wheel of my little hatchback with its dodgy clutch and biscuit crumbs in the passenger seat took a surprising amount of concentration. I set out into the last of the evening rush-hour traffic, put the radio on and tried to ignore the hammering in my chest, not sure whether it was the fear of driving or the prospect of seeing Sam again.
The sky was dark, the streets thick with shoppers and strung with Christmas lights, and my shoulders dropped slowly from somewhere around my ears as I braked and lurched my way to the suburbs. The pavements became verges and the crowds thinned and disappeared, just the odd person glimpsed instead through brightly lit windows as I passed. And then, shortly after eight, I slowed to a crawl, peering forward over the wheel to make sure I had the right place in the unlit lane.
The railway carriage sat glowing in the middle of the dark field, casting a golden light out through its windows onto the mud and grass. I could just make out his motorbike on the far side of the gate, tucked into its little shed behind the hedge. He had even put a little spray of Christmas lights in the hawthorn at the front. He really was home.
I pulled the car into the passing place, cut the lights, and looked at it. Then, almost as an afterthought, I picked up my phone. Really looking forward to seeing you I typed. Not long now! XXX
There was a short pause. And then the response pinged back. Me too. Safe flight. xx
I grinned. Then I climbed out, realizing too late I had parked over a puddle so the cold, muddy water washed straight over my shoes. ‘Oh, thanks, Universe,’ I whispered. ‘Nice touch.’
I placed my carefully purchased Santa hat on my head and pulled his stocking from the passenger seat, then shut the door softly, locking it manually so that it didn’t beep and alert him to the fact that I was there.
My feet squelched as I tiptoed forward, and I recalled the first time I had come here, how I had been soaked by a sudden shower and ended up in his clothes, my own steaming in the fuggy little bathroom as they dried. That had been an extraordinary night, as if he had peeled off all the layers that Will’s death had built up around me. I had a sudden flashback to our first kiss, to the feel of his huge socks soft on my chilled feet, and a hot shiver ran through me.
I opened the gate, noting with relief that he had made a rudimentary path of paving slabs over to the railway carriage since I had last been there. A car drove past, and in the brief illumination of its headlights I glimpsed Sam’s partially built house ahead of me, its roof now on and windows already fitted. Where one was still missing, blue tarpaulin flapped gently over the gap so that it seemed suddenly, startlingly, a real thing, a place we might one day live.
I tiptoed a few more paces, then paused just outside the door. The smell of something wafted out of an open window – a casserole of some sort? – rich and tomatoey, with a hint of garlic. I felt unexpectedly hungry. Sam never ate packet noodles or beans out of a tin: everything was made from scratch, as if he drew pleasure from doing things methodically. Then I saw him – his uniform still on – a tea-towel slung over his shoulder as he stooped to see to a pan and just for a moment I stood, unseen, in the dark and felt utterly calm. I heard the distant breeze in the trees, the soft cluck of the hens locked nearby in their coop, the distant hum of traffic headed towards the city. I felt the cool air against my skin and the tang of Christmassy anticipation in the air I breathed.
Everything was possible. That was what I had learnt, these last few months. Life might have been complicated, but ultimately there was just me and the man I loved and his railway carriage and the prospect of a joyous evening ahead. I took a breath, letting myself savour that thought, stepped forward and put my hand on the door handle.
And then I saw her.
She walked across the carriage saying something unclear, her voice muffled by the glass, her hair clipped up and tumbling in soft curls around her face. She was wearing a man’s T-shirt – his? – and holding a wine bottle, and I saw him shake his head. And then, as he bent over the stove, she walked up behind him and placed her hands on his neck, leaning towards him and rubbing the muscles around it with small circular motions of her thumbs, a movement that seemed born of familiarity. Her thumbnails were painted deep pink. As I stood there, my breath stalled in my chest, he leant his head back, his eyes closed, as if surrendering himself to her fierce little hands.