Page 105 of One Night With You

I pull a face. What am I supposed to say? He looks as good as he does in my memories. He smells like he always smelled. Existing in his orbit feelsgreat.And what? We agreed we wouldn’t hold each other back.

But it’s the damnedest thing: I can’t remember what we thought we were holding each other back from.

44

Nic

‘You couldn’t bear the thought of having a child anywhere near you,’ I remind her, after accepting her offer of a walk to get some air. It’s one of those still summer nights that really belong to an August evening on the continent, a rare gift from the weather gods where the air is warm but not suffocating, the sun setting pink behind the full trees. The churchyard where JP was buried is across from us, and so we turn right to head around the back of it, seeing if we can make a big loop back to the pub.

‘Oh my God.’ She laughs. ‘Thatis not fair, sir. I was trying to spare you and her from …’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘There were things you needed to do.’

‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Exactly.’

‘And for what it’s worth, I absolutely could not have dated as a new dad. You were totally right there. I think I forgot my name for about three years? I was just … Da-da, and then Daddy. I don’t know what I thought it was allgoing to look like but holy shit, honestly … I don’t know how people have a baby in their house every night of the week. Millie and I have pretty much been fifty-fifty since Lila was a few months old and even then, I was exhausted, I felt like crap … Millie was the same. It was, like, the moment you catch up with yourself it’s your turn again, and then you’re back where you started. Not that I’m complaining,’ I add, hurriedly. ‘I’m illustrating your point. She was my world. Still is, but it’s a different rhythm now. She’s so independent.’

‘You’ll always be Daddy, though,’ she counters.

‘I will,’ I say. ‘But I’m getting myself back a bit, you know? How you knew what would happen and I didn’t is a source of embarrassment. I wasveryblasé.’

‘You’re welcome,’ she says, slowing to admire the last of the blossom on a particularly stunning tree. ‘That feels very vindicating.’

‘Vindicating?’

‘That even if I was a bit grand declaring that I needed to go off and change the world with my art, it was right for you to be alone and figure out parenthood.’

‘I don’t think you were grand for declaring that,’ I say. ‘Especially not because …’

‘It all worked out?’ she supplies.

‘Just like we said, yeah.’

‘Hmm.’ She lingers by a village bench, resting on it lightly and then pushing off in a burst of energy.

‘I just keep thinking,’ she says, ‘that it’s so nice to see you. Easy, you know? And if you’d have asked me this morning why I walked away I would have had very clear answers. The miscarriage is a distant memory now, but it wasn’t back then. Back then it defined me. I was so sure I couldn’t be aroundkids. But now, talking like this, walking with you through this fucking picturesque fucking village, everything with JP ringing in my ears: don’t miss your chance, love with your full chest, the thing he started to say about it’s not over until it’s over …’

She catches herself then, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. She shakes her head, emotional. ‘I’m not my stepmother, am I? I’m me. I just came off a project with the most amazing kids and I thought:Oh. They love me.It was fun. I enjoyed them. Why did I ever think otherwise? Oh my God,’ she adds. ‘I sound crazy, don’t I? It’s this deadline. I don’t think I’ve had a day off in, like, four years. I tell stories for a living and now I’m trying to write the story of us and – are you seeing anybody? You could have a girlfriend for all I know.’

‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ I tell her, amused.

‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ she replies. After a beat she adds: ‘Hey – do you still have the sofa?’

‘I do, actually,’ I tell her. ‘It’s in Lila’s room at the house. We do our bedtime stories on it.’

‘I’d have thought you’d have got rid of it.’

‘Why?’ I say. ‘It’s …’

‘Go on,’ she prompts. ‘What?’

‘I was going to say it’s a memory. Everything that happened sort of spurred me on, didn’t it, and London came and went so fast it was something I could bring with me. Something tangible.’

She nods. ‘That’s nice,’ she says. ‘That you read stories on it.’

‘Every night she’s with me,’ I say. ‘She likes the velvet of it. She likes to stroke it to self-soothe when we sit together.’

We start walking again.

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