Page 40 of We Live Here Now

“I’ve got loads of painkillers downstairs,” I say. “A smorgasbord of them, in fact.”

“Ah, great.” She smiles, that vague expression fading. “And sorry. Maybe it’s a hangover from the last one. They can be like that.”

I nod at her to take the stairs first, and as I’m going to follow, I see her glance backward. An odd look. Wary. A look she doesn’t want me to see. I glance to where she was looking. The landing floor. As I follow her down, I know exactly the spot.

It’s where the nail had been sticking out.

50

Emily

“Sally.”

Merrily Watkins comes in to refill her wineglass—her flushed face, red jumper, and burgundy wine clashing and yet making her a portrait of earthy joy—as I’m getting Sally some painkillers and a glass of water. “You’re looking well.”

“I wish I felt it. Awful headache.”

Laughter comes from the hallway, followed by Joe and Iso tumbling into the kitchen, Iso leaning her head against his arm, before they high-five each other.

“We beat Freddie and the vicar three times. Shots for shots,” she says, breathless. “They have had to drink a lot.”

“We didn’t beat them, we annihilated them.” Joe grins at Iso. “You don’t look like a pool shark, but you have the moves.”

“All that wasted time at university had to pay off somehow, right, Em?”

“I guess so.”

Iso’s glowing, her eyes sparkling, in a much better mood than when she arrived, and I’m sure her flush is as much about Joe as it is from wine, and when he winks at her I have a sudden tiny twinge of surprising envy.

“I’m not feeling so great.” Sally puts the glass on the side. “I think I’m going to head home. Do you mind? Sure you can get a lift back from someone.”

“Hey.” Joe’s immediately all concern as he comes closer and studies her face. “You do look pale. Come on, I’ll get our coats.”

“You stay and have some fun.”

“No arguments.” He kisses her forehead. “I’m taking you home.” He looks at me. “It’s been great, Emily. Thanks for having us.”

I help them with their coats and see them to the front door, wondering if Sally will glance upward as we go past the stairs, but she doesn’t, instead leaning into her husband, as if she’s suddenly exhausted. There’s something so touching about it. They may have an unusual relationship, but the love between them is clear.

I stay in the doorway to wave them off, and I’m sure I hear her mutter something about how strange she feels, or how strange it was to be in the house, or maybe something akin to both.

They’re getting in the car when Merrily joins me, holding out a mug. “I saw you weren’t drinking,” she says. “Thought you might like a cuppa.”

“That’s so kind. Thank you.”

She lights a cigarette and I hug the warm mug and we watch as Sally and Joe drive away.

“Me and her were best friends when we were young. For a bit. Hard to believe, looking at us now. And it’s hard to believe that those two are still together, with the way she was at the start. I’ve heard of mellowing with age,” Merrily says, exhaling smoke and misty breath, “but she’d have had your pretty friend’s eyes out just for looking at Joe back then.”

“Sally?” I’m surprised. “But she’s so chill about the girls he paints.”

“She might be now. She pretended to be, sure. Shewantedto be. And maybe at first, when he was adoring her, she was cool. But she was too naturally insecure. And it’s not like he was promising monogamy. Love, maybe. I think he did—and does—emotionally faithfully love her. But sex? You’ve seen him. That’s like breathing to men like Joe. Sally couldn’t deal with it. God, she would lose her shit. Get jealous of every woman he spoke to.”

“That bad?” I ask. After finding her upstairs, I want to know everything there is to know about Sally.

“She even got jealous of me once.” She snorts a laugh. “Mad as a hatter. I could never talk her down. Got fed up of trying. It got to the point where women stopped talking to him and he stoppedtalking to them, around her at any rate. And then there was that lovely Georgina Usher.” She leans against the wall of the house and sniffs in the cold. “Sally drove her out of town completely. She just up and vanished one night. She was an artist. Taught in the school part-time. Very different from Sally. Sally back then anyway. Very sixties. Wild. Free. Dark eyes, dark hair.”

It’s freezing outside, but I don’t care, absorbed in this glimpse into the past. “Was she close with Joe, this Georgina?”

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