Page 23 of The Art of Loving You

‘Thanks.’ I smiled at her; this version of my mum, when she was positive and paid attention, was my favourite. ‘The theme is hope.’

‘Michelle Walker, who always buys a four pack of sausage rolls and gives one to her dog, had a daughter called Hope and she ran off and became one of those pole dancers and Michelle—’

‘Libby won’t be photographing her,’ Jack cut in. ‘You’ve a very talented daughter. You must be proud of her.’

‘She knows I am,’ Mum said. ‘She doesn’t need me to tell her.’

Oh but I did.

Mum stayed for another drink and a tour of the house. By the time she left Jack was visibly flagging. I was about to suggest we go and lie down when my phone rang.

The third call.

It seemed so innocuous.

‘Libby? It’s Maggie, the district nurse. I’m really sorry I haven’t reached you yet. We’ve never enough cover at weekends – department cuts – and I’ve had an emergency and ended up twenty miles in the other direction … Now I could get to you but I’ve had a dickie tummy and—’

‘It’s a shame you’re not feeling well but Jack has beenstabbed.’ My tone was curt and I was instantly ashamed. It wasn’t her I was cross with. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude.’

‘No. No, luvvie. You’re quite right. How is he?’

‘I’ll let him answer that.’ I passed the phone to Jack and rinsed the mugs, gazing out into the inky dark. The stars that blistered the sky.

Jack’s arms slipped around my waist. ‘Maggie’s not coming.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I’m okay. She seemed satisfied that my dressing was clean and dry. I don’t want to sit around waiting for her. I’d rather have an early night. She’s going to come in the morning, hopefully early, before … Well, we don’t want her arriving later and interrupting … anything. It’s a special day tomorrow, isn’t it?’

Tomorrow. Tomorrow we’ll have been together five years.

‘I was waiting until our anniversary but … will you—’ Jack had begun yesterday before the sour-faced nurse had interrupted him.

Will you … be my wife?I filled in the blanks with my heart’s desire.

Was he going to propose? My heart swelled with happiness. The answer already siting on my tongue waiting to be released.

Yes.

Yes, of course I would marry him. He was my happily ever after. Had always been my happily ever after.

Later, in bed, I couldn’t sleep. The hands crept slowly around the clock.

1 a.m.

2 a.m.

3 a.m.

I was still wide-awake, dreaming of what the day would bring.

It wasn’t what I’d imagined.

Chapter Eight

It was early on Sunday when I woke. We hadn’t drawn the claret velvet curtains, not wanting to spoil the view, the shades of green patchwork fields under a crayon blue sky. It was early spring but lambs on shaky legs nudged their mothers with their heads, wanting milk. I was glad we didn’t have double glazing so I could hear the soft bleat of sheep, the low rumble of farm machinery, birdsong. The cacophony of living in the countryside. Life had transformed, rich with new colour, sounds.

This.

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