Page 32 of The Love of Our Lives
I did get a text from an unknown number the other day though, and my heart started to pound oddly as I opened up the message.
But it just said three words:
I miss you xx
I couldn’t say for certain who it was, of course, but if I had to guess then I’d say it was probably Simon. And I immediately felt nervous because from everything I saw in those photos of Emily and him, he definitely meant a lot to her, no matter what happened with that receipt. But I just had no idea what to say or what to do; he wasn’t asking for any sort of response after all, and I knew Emily had made the decision to walk away from him, so, quite guiltily, I left it.
I’m still not sure if it’s such a great idea though, hanging out with Adam like I am. I can’t deny I’m attracted to him, those amazing eyes, those strong shoulders, oh god, he sets my heart racing when I see him. But it’s not just about how he looks, it’s the rest of him too – how he’s always up for trying new things, how he got me a second helping of that cannelloni I went crazy about in the Italian along the road, how we always fall about laughing on what has quickly become our regular hill walks (he’stried to get me up an actual Munro, though I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet).
But just the idea of it going further gives me absolute panic too. How could I deceive him like that? It’s one thing living Emily’s life while I have no choice, but starting something up with someone? What if I suddenly go back to my old life and Emily comes back to this one and everyone is left utterly confused? No, it’s not fair to anyone. Anyway, I get the impression he’s not one to stick around for very long. And I’m just not willing to put myself through that sort of pain again.
I’m taking more photos though, and I’m quietly surprised by how much I’m enjoying something else – like a simple creative switch has got me looking at everything from a slightly different angle.
I’m coming back from a little afternoon photography session on the seafront about a week later, checking back on the photos I took – of the blue of the water under still-clear skies, of a solo paddleboarder floating out on the gentle waves – when I find myself going past the charity shop where Mum works sometimes. And thinking about it now, Tuesday is one of those days. My heart quickens and I pause outside the shop for a moment, uncertain what I’m doing exactly. Then I see her in the window, dressing one of the mannequins. I can’t help smiling at the top she’s put on it, in a burnt orange – her favourite colour – plus a cream scarf, which she’s tying neatly in a bow. As though sensing something, she looks out at me and I freeze. But after a moment’s hesitation, I head inside.
I’ve been here before, of course; helped Mum sort some of the stock out once or twice. There’s something lovely and familiar about the slightly musty scent of second-hand books and clothes, bric-a-brac and random lampshades, and most importantly, my mother’s light floral perfume. I’m stillwindswept from all that time on the beach and I’m aware I must look a little dishevelled, but Mum just smiles at me in that slightly stressed way she does, as she unpacks a box at the counter.
‘Can I help you with anything?’ she says distractedly. ‘Or are you just here for a browse?’
‘Oh, the latter,’ I say and pretend to look around. My heart is pounding even as I’m sifting through clothes rails, and I can feel her glancing at me from time to time as my mind whirs with questions. Should I talk to her? What should I talk about? Can she sense I’m here at all? The real me.
Eventually my eyes light on a sea-blue colour, and I pluck a pretty blouse off the rail. I can’t help wondering if this is what Emily started doing sometimes, away from London and her usual designer shops. Did she sell most of it? All the stuff in her wardrobe is a bit random, the labels slightly dated or unknown, and I’ve already found makeshift tags on a few items. So maybe this is something I could start doing too.
‘That would look very pretty on you,’ Mum says behind me and I snap around to see her standing there, all formal and business-like now. ‘Would you like to try it on?’
I pause, uncertain. ‘All right,’ I say, and she takes it from me in that efficient way she has, hangs it up in the little cubicle at the back. Walking inside, I smile at her briefly, before pulling the curtain shut. Standing in front of the mirror, I let myself breathe out.
What the hell am I doing?
After a moment, I realise I have to actually try it on and finally change into the blue blouse. I have to admit I really like the colour. I turn to the side to admire it.
‘Everything OK in there?’ Mum says, and I look up. Walking out on to the shop floor a second later, Mum assesses me.
‘Well,’ she says, ‘isn’t that pretty on you? It really brings out your eyes.’
I realise Mum has more sales skills than I knew, though I know she’s being genuine too – she may be blunt, but with that bluntness comes real truth.
‘Do you like it?’ she says.
‘Yes, I do actually; I love the colour.’
‘Me too,’ she says a little more softly. ‘Will you be taking it then?’
‘Yes.’ I nod. ‘I think I will.’
‘Great.’ Mum smiles, walking smartly back around to the till. ‘Feel free to wear it out of here. I always say that’s the best sign, if you want to wear something immediately.’
‘All right,’ I say, happy to hear the familiar words. Picking up my sweater from the changing room floor, I put Emily’s red coat straight back on over my new top and head over to the till – I’ve never owned a red coat before and I felt genuine excitement when it got cold enough to finally put it on.
‘Any nice plans for the evening?’ she says after I’ve paid.
‘Not sure yet. I might grab an early dinner somewhere then just see what happens, I guess.’
She smiles, though it’s sadder than before for some reason, and I wonder what I’ve said.
‘Are you OK?’ I find myself asking, and her eyes immediately brighten again. ‘Oh yes, of course,’ she waves me off quickly, ‘nothing for you to worry about, go out there and enjoy yourself in your new top.’
‘I will.’ I still feel mildly confused by this whole exchange but say nothing as I head back over to the door.
