Page 44 of The Good Part
Sam bites his lip, but I can see the agitation in his hands as he slowly clenches and unclenches his fists. ‘We’re managing, honestly, Margot.’
Mum is pacing now, wringing her hands like a character in a Jane Austen novel who’s just learnt the regiment is about to leave town.
‘There must be something we can do to help?’ she asks.
Sam looks at me, a glint in his eyes as he says, ‘There might be something.’
Chapter 18
‘Date night. You’re a genius,’ I say as we slide onto two bar stools in a dimly lit pub called Polly’s on Farnham High Street.
‘Your mother’s biggest fear, after illness, is marital discord. She’s a firm advocate of date nights to stave off a relationship’s decline.’
‘She is?’This is news to me.
Sam had a shower and changed into a clean shirt before we came out. The hair at the nape of his neck is still slightly damp and I resist an inexplicable urge to reach up and sweep it away from his collar.
‘Your mum and dad went to couple’s therapy a few years ago,’ Sam says. ‘Now they do date night twice a month and we get regular updates on the family cloud app.’
‘My parents went to a couple’s therapist? I can’t compute them spending money on something like that.’
‘They won vouchers in a raffle,’ Sam explains, while scanning the bar menu with his watch. ‘Do you want a French martini? That’s what you usually have here.’
I don’t even know what a French martini is, but I nod, deferring to my future self’s taste in alcoholic beverages. As Sam orders, I look around the bar, reassured by how familiar this pub seems. Pints are still pints, pub carpets are still inexplicably hideous, and drunk old men are still there, still trying to chat up the disinterested barmaid.
‘Bars haven’t changed much, have they?’ I say.
‘What were you expecting, robot bartenders?’
‘Yes,’ I say, laughing, ‘I want robots and anti-hangover drinks.’
‘Oh, we have anti-hangover drinks,’ Sam says.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. They’re called soft drinks.’
‘Oh, ha ha,’ I say, elbowing him gently while the barmaid passes our drinks over the bar. ‘That’s a real dad joke.’
Sam lifts his pint to my cocktail glass. ‘My speciality. Cheers.’
There’s something about Sam’s posture, his body language, that tells me he’s comfortable in his own skin. I wonder if he has always been this way, or if this stillness is something people grow into.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so out of it this week.’
‘There’s been a lot for you to get your head around. I’m just glad you’re feeling better now. Oh, before I forget, Amy’s got this rash, so you need to put cream on after every nappy change, it’s the blue tube on the changing table. Felix has got an away game at school on Monday, so he needs—’
‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about the children tonight?’ I ask, gently resting my hand on his arm. ‘I want to get to know you, Sam. I hardly know anything about you...’
‘Right.’ Sam lifts his eyebrows, tilting his head to one side. ‘Well, this might be one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had, but okay. What do you want to know?’
‘Everything,’ I say, hearing a flirtatious note in my voice that I didn’t plan on being there.
‘Everythingmight take a while.’
‘The headlines, then.’
‘On our first date you asked me a series of quick-fire questions. You said it was the most efficient way of uncovering any red flags.’
