Page 28 of The First Time I Saw You
I fill in the blanks and then sigh. ‘It’s no use, I need to do something.’ I call Helen on the same phone that I called my first boyfriend on . . . My initial nostalgia of watching the dial turn lazily after my index finger slides into the hole, is replaced with impatience.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ she asks.
‘Nothing, I’m bored.’
She laughs at this. ‘When have you ever been bored? I thought you were enjoying the peace and quiet of the Welsh countryside?’
‘I am. I’m readingGreat Expectationsand doing a crossword.’
‘Simultaneously? You always were an over-achiever.’
‘Funny.’
‘How’s the old place looking?’
I smile at this and look around. The old patterned carpet was replaced with a thick, deep grey yesterday and the new pale-blue sofa looks much softer and more welcoming than the tattered brown one that sat there previously. I’ve kept Mum’s chair but have made an appointment to get it re-upholstered to match the heavy latte-coloured curtains.
‘Nice, different. I think you’ll like it.’ Helen hasn’t been back here since the day Mum died.
‘Soph . . . I still don’t think I could—’
‘Give it time, Hel. Once I’ve had the new kitchen put in – did I tell you about the oven? Remember how we hated this one? The way the grill was on top of the hob and we nearly burnt our eyelashes every time we made fish-finger sandwiches? I’ve chosen a cream Aga to replace it, do you remember how Mum always wanted one? And proper oak cupboards, not like that sticky stuff she tried to cover them with that time. It’ll look completely different, not dark and dingy like it is now. Oh, and once the furniture for the lounge comes, it won’t look anything like it did before.’
‘Sophie, how are you planning on paying for all of this stuff?’
‘Rent from the London house, my “if you leave quietly” severance pay and . . .’
‘And?’
‘I’ll worry about that in a couple of months. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘What, like seven across and Estella?’
‘Point taken. I’ll have a think about my finances.’
‘You know, if you talked to Samuel, he’d have to help.’
‘I don’t need his help. Bean and I have decided we’re fine on our own. Haven’t we, Bean?’ I ask.
I picture Bean’s legs kicking a few times to agree with this point, but I can’t feel them yet.
‘I have a neighbour,’ I add, changing the subject. ‘Do you remember Charlie Evans?’
‘Charlie Evans? Kind of. Didn’t you have a thing for him?’
‘No. I. Didn’t. He was a friend, that’s all . . . He was kind to me when, well, you know, when I was having that horrible time at school. The year Ian lost his job. Anyway, he’s turned into a complete wanker.’
‘Ouch, do I detect a touch of sour grapes?’
‘There are no grapes, he was just a friend.’
‘Yeah, well. I think Charlie should be the last thing on your mind.’
‘He is.’
‘Good.’
‘I’ve not given him another thought.’
