Page 77 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
I laugh. ‘It was perfect. You’ve been a wonderful person to have by my side. I’m glad we’ve got to know each other. I really am.’
These are strange declarations to be making at such an hour, and none are singing with romance, but we both know what we’re doing here. It’s a break-up of something that never quite was. But what is lovely is that I’ve acquired myself the loveliest of friends from our strange arrangement. Someone I can call at 3 a.m. to deal with a beached mermaid, but also someone who knows he could show up at my door at any time and I would be there for him. Not even in a sexual way.I’d show up for you, for sure.
‘You were almost like some sort of sex therapist. You could make a lot of money doing that,’ he says.
‘I believe that’s called prostitution.’
‘Forget I said that.’
I chuckle under my breath.
‘Orlagh might always hate you, though. I am sorry about that,’ he says, wincing.
‘Oh, I can deal with her.’
‘And what are you going to do about Ross Cantello and Liz Boucher?’ he says, obviously invested in that drama.
‘I mean, I could go in on Monday and ruin some lives, put that photo on some T-shirts or post it anonymously through Carrie’s letterbox.’
Sam nods, impressed by my level of subterfuge.
‘Or… watch that drama unfold on its own. Carrie’s not my favourite person but, if that happened to me, it’d be crushing. There are kids involved. Perhaps the best thing to do is leave well alone.’
He smiles. ‘And that’s just decent Grace all over. Are all you Callaghans like that?’
‘No. My eldest sister wanted to go shit on the Cantellos’ doorstep. And you met the youngest who fell off the boat.’
He laughs again.
‘Thank you, Sam.’
‘My absolute pleasure.’
I look at my watch. Crap, it’s almost four in the morning. I haven’t been up this early since I was a student. ‘It’s late. You can stop here if you want, take a sofa?’
‘I might just do that. And thank you, what we had was kinda fun.’
‘It was. Is this going to be weird seeing you at the school gate every day even though I’ve seen you naked?’ I ask.
‘I was thinking that. I mean, I’ve seen your lady garden.’
‘Can I appreciate the way you referred to it as something so lovely?’ I say, grinning.
He shrugs. ‘I don’t think it’ll get awkward between us, ever. I like you too much for that.’
And there it is. Except I haven’t lost you at all. I want you to get on that rowing boat or whatever people row – a canoe? And I want to push you off the jetty, wave you off into a clear blue sky, sun streaming down, and see you paddle away, from me, and from that bitch ex-wife of yours into the world again. He stands up and does the very decent thing of getting our mugs and putting them into the sink to rinse. I also stand.
‘Come here,’ I tell him and pull him in for a hug. He’s still a very good hugger until I feel a bulge pressed against my thigh.
‘Is that your…’ I say, confused.
‘That’s my phone,’ he says. ‘You’ve seen my knob, you know it’s not the shape of an iPhone X.’
* * *
Back upstairs, I go into my room and see that we seem to have created enough of a mini incubator situation that Lucy has pinked up nicely. No signs of liver failure or frostbite and, for a moment, I feel what it must be like to be Emma, to have cured someone and delivered successful medical care. Maybe I’m in the wrong profession. Remind me to tell Meg in the morning that my Huggly is a wonder of thermal medicine.
‘Why are you stroking my face?’ mumbles Lucy, her eyes still closed.
