Page 45 of The First Time I Saw You
‘That’s no excuse.’
I wipe my eyes and stick my tongue out at my sister as Mam turns away.
‘Mam! Mule’s sticking his tongue out at me!’ she grins.
‘Will the two of you just behave?’ she answers, her voice fading as she disappears back to the kitchen.
‘Can you get me the laptop, please?’ I ask, making a truce.
Sarah goes home and I spend the next few hours letting Google lead me to dead ends. The robotic voice reading out the entire internet address is irritating, but I suppose I’ll get used to it. It reads out hairdressers, elderly ladies, surfing instructors; it feels like the whole of Wales is populated by Sophie Williamses. I know that looking for her like this is a long shot to say the least, but I can’t stop. I’m getting angry with the robot, as though this voice belongs to a little man inside the internet, telling me things that I don’t want to hear.
Mam delivers jars of tea and changes the channel to watch the friendly between England and France; Mam is in love with Harry Kane.
My sister bounds into the room, making me jump.
‘For the love of all things that are holy, Sarah! I almost had a Tena lady moment!’
‘Mule. Repeat after me.’ She clears her throat. ‘I, Samuel McLaughlin, agree, now and for the rest of my life, that my sister is superior to me in every way.’
‘In your fecking dreams,’ I mumble. Mam clips me around the back of the head.
‘Say it.’
‘No.’
‘Say it and I’ll pass you this piece of paper that happens to have Sophie Williams’s phone number written on it.’
‘That’s not funny, Sarah. You know Sammy is in an emotional state at the moment,’ Mam chastises.
‘I’m not joking. It turns out that once I used my Irish charm and told Sophie’s assistant at Sandwell Incorporated what an utter arse my useless brother is, she gave me her number. No address, mind . . . I was treading on thin ice for a while, but once I explained how truly pathetic you are—’
‘Give it here!’ I say, standing.
‘Not until you say it!’
She backs away slowly, flashes of the paper interrupting my vision of her face.
‘Fine!’ I cross my fingers behind my back. ‘I, Samuel McLaughlin, agree that my stupid fecking sister is superior to me.’
‘In every way,’ she reminds.
‘In every way, now give me the number.’ I snatch it from her grasp and sit back down, flapping the paper in front of my face, scanning it.
My hand is shaking as I tap the numbers into the phone. It rings, the three of us ignoring the roar from the crowd on the screen as someone makes a play for the goal.
‘Hello?’ she answers, and I smile.
‘Sophie?’
I’ve found her.
Week Eighteen
Sophie
It’s the beginning of June – bare legs, children with sticky fingers and melting ice-cream cones dribble along the streets – but I’m shivering as though it’s the middle of November.
I take some deep breaths and get out of the car, then steady myself with a hand resting on the hot surface of the bonnet as my head swims and my legs take a moment to find their anchor. This keeps happening. The Book says my blood pressure will be lower than normal, so to take care standing too quickly, but I keep forgetting. Bean is the size of a red pepper this week and as I glance down, leaning forward to catch my breath, my tummy is leaning against the car. Bean is getting bigger; there is no denying it.
