Page 59 of The Good Part
‘Right,’ I say slowly, unsure about the turn this conversation has taken.
Michael sighs. ‘It was terrible for her, such an extreme case. All I could do was be supportive.’
‘Is she okay now?’ I ask warily.
‘Oh yes. She got patches from the doctor, took up swimming. Her aqua aerobics instructor Marcus has been a great help. He has his own line of supplements. I could ask Jane for his number if you like?’
‘Thank you, but I think I’m okay. Look, I know whatever it is that’s going on with me is terrible timing, what with everyone’s jobs being on the line. I’ll understand if you want to roll back on the pitch off. We could tell Gary we changed our mind.’
Michael watches me for a moment. He seems disconcertingly calm. ‘No,’ he says.
‘No?’
‘Lucy, do you remember why we set up Badger TV?’ Michael continues.
‘Not that clearly just now, no.’
‘We were working together on that documentary about hamster enthusiasts. At the wrap party you said, “I’ll tell you a hundred show ideas better thanHamsterama.” And you did. Even though you were three sheets to the wind, most of them were pitchable, several of them brilliant. You can’t teach that kind of creativity.’ He pauses. ‘You can’t forget it either.’ Michael gesticulates towards the office outside. ‘We’ve been a great team all these years, with your ideas and my business brain. I know we’ve had to make compromises along the way, but I’m so proud of what we’ve built, of the programmes we’ve made. I know I was nervous about a pitch off, but you were right – the Cardinals would never accept a merger with the Red Sox. We play together, our way, or we forfeit the whole game.’
‘I said that?’ I ask.
He nods, his fingers fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat. ‘You did.’
I’m starting to dislike Future Me. She’s too persuasive for her own good, manipulating everyone into doing what she wants, selfishly gambling everyone else’s jobs on an idea she didn’t even write down in a place other people might feasibly be able to find it. She hasn’t labelled her files in any logical order or made it clear which shows have already been made and which ones haven’t. Crucially, Sam is in love with her, misses her, and I can’t possibly compete. I’ve been trying to make the best of the situation I’ve found myself in, but now I feel a dawning realisation that my best is not going to be good enough.
‘We’ll think of something,’ I tell Michael, with all the conviction of a lobster being thrown into a pot to boil.
Chapter 23
On the train home I see I have several messages and missed calls from Sam. He says, ‘We need to talk,’ and then apologises for upsetting me. At Farnham station, I can’t bring myself to drive home right away. I feel desperately lost, as though I don’t belong anywhere – not at work, not at home with Sam, not even in this body. So, I sit in the car, and I call my parents.
‘Hello, it’s Lucy,’ I say, when Dad picks up.
‘Hello, darling, I’m afraid your mother is out. How’s it all going?’
‘Not great if I’m honest.’
‘Ah.’ Dad pauses. ‘Tricky business, eh?’
‘Yes, it is; it’s a tricky business,’ I say, smiling at this familiar turn of phrase.
‘Anything I can do, love?’
‘Not really, I just wanted to hear a friendly voice. What’s happening your end?’
‘Your mother’s gone to... um... ’ There’s a heavy pause on the line. ‘Well, I can’t remember what she said now. Was it this weekend you wanted us to babysit?’ He sounds distant on the line.
‘No, you’re all right.’ I pause. ‘What’s happening in your veg patch then?’
‘Oh, the kale’s come through nicely, all my lettuce too, especially since I put that rabbit-proof fence up, best investment I ever made. Now, to an untrained eye the peppers might look like a failure, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve to revive them.’ And there he is, animated as ever, same old Dad.
We chat for a while longer about nothing of consequence, which is everything to me, and when I say goodbye, I feel calm enough to face driving home, to deal with Sam’s disappointment in me.
When I get back, Sam is sitting up waiting for me. He looks tired, his face drawn. As soon as I’m in the house, he jumps up and strides over to me, pulling me into a hug. At first, I tense, but then I let myself relax into him. After the day I’ve had, I want nothing more than to be comforted by him, by his strangely familiar smell.
‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he says into my hair, and now I feel horrible for not being more sympathetic. I’ve been mourning my lost life, was in bed for days, of course Sam must be allowed to mourn for his lost wife too.
‘It’s okay, I understand,’ I whisper back.
