Page 25 of The Art of Loving You

Yet.

Will you …

We lay together under a patch of sunlight beaming through the glass, my leg slung over his, trailing an unhurried finger across his chest. He kissed me tenderly and I could feel the heat of his hands in my hair.

‘Sorry,’ he said after a few minutes, a wistful edge to his voice. ‘I haven’t got the energy.’

‘That’s okay.’ I gave him a careful hug before we settled back down, gazing outside as a red kite swooped across the wisps of clouds.

‘What do you think about getting a pet?’ he asked unexpectedly.

‘What brought that on?’ It was a discussion we’d had before. There had been a strict no-animals policy in our flat but we had agreed to wait until the renovations were finished.

‘It’s just … after Thursday. Life’s too short to wait.’

Inside I felt a slackening of tension. I had confided in Sid that I was worried a near-death experience might make Jack want to do something extreme, backpack around the world. Of all the ways I’d thought our lives might change, this was the very best outcome.

‘I’d love that.’

‘What do you fancy? Apart from me of course.’

‘You’re not doing it for me right now with your raging temperature. I’d rather have a puppy.’

‘Charming. How about a goat?’

‘Now you’re delirious.’

‘Seriously, I don’t know how we’re going to tackle the back garden. The goat could eat his way through the undergrowth.’

‘And probably our underwear.’ I had visions of the laundry being tugged off the washing line. ‘What about a dog? Imagine a springer spaniel with floppy ears sleeping in a basket in front of the fire in the kitchen.’

‘It’s a nice idea but it’s not the right time, Libs. You’re always out on shoots. We’ve so much to sort out with this house before I can let go of the studio and be here every day. When would we walk it?’

He was right. ‘A cat?’ I could picture a kitten curled up on the windowsill above the radiator, or watching Jack paint, me edit my pictures.

‘What sort of cat would you like?’

‘Black with white feet. We could call him Socks.’

‘And then you’d want a second called Shoes.’

‘No. One is enough. What do you say?’

‘I say if you can find a black cat with white socks then it’s meant to be.’

Jack was sleeping once more. I dressed quickly in jeans and T-shirt and padded downstairs, hungry for the first time in days. In the fridge were the basics, courtesy of Alice. After three slices of thick granary toast and honey I called her to say thanks.

‘How’s Jack?’ she asked immediately.

‘Sore and now he has flu on top of everything else.’

‘Poor him. And you? How are you holding up?’

‘I feel so much better physically but …’ I’d wandered into the dining room, scanned the stack of boxes. ‘There’s such a lot to do.’

‘Do you want me to come over?’

‘It’s okay. Jack’s asleep so I want to keep the house quiet. I just wanted to touch base. How are you?’

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