Page 57 of The Art of Loving You

But there he was; I opened the front door, stepped into the snug. Socks, curled up on the chair, but he wasn’t alone.

He was on Jack’s lap.

The carrier bag thudded onto the floor, tins of cat food rolling under the sofa. Spooked by the noise Socks ran away.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the armchair.

‘Jack?’

In the time it took me to blink he had vanished. The moment had fallen away from me and although I’d only seen him for one painful second, I felt his absence keenly.

‘Come on then,’ Mum said from behind me. ‘Where’s this cat then?’

But I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. I’d forgotten the most fundamental of skills as I stood rooted to the spot, pulse accelerated, palms damp, chest aching with both longing and loss. The endless chasm of grief opening up its demanding jaws once more while I fed it another shaft of my intense sorrow.

‘Libby?’

Utterly bewildered, my eyes searched the room.

Socks had gone.

Jack had gone.

Had either of them really been here?

Whatwashappening to me?

A startled scream.

An ‘oh my God, I don’t believe it.’ Alice shouting, ‘Come quickly’ from the kitchen.

Chapter Twenty

Alice’s scream kick-started my feet. One thought boomeranged around my brain as I rushed down the hallway – Alice must have seen Jack too.

Panting, I reached the kitchen, feeling dizzy, afraid.

Excited.

‘Jack?’ The word burst from me.

Alice raised her face to me, puzzled. She was crouching on the floor, rubbing her fingers together, trying to coax a quivering Socks to come out of his hiding place under the table. ‘There’s a dead mouse on the doormat, Libby. This little terror must have dragged it in.’ But she was smiling as Socks hesitantly butted her hand. She scratched her fingers between his ears. They twitched with pure pleasure.

‘What’s going on in here?’ Mum asked confused. ‘Why on earth did you scream, Alice?’

‘Sorry, Mum. Unexpected dead rodents tend to do that to me.’

‘And why did you call Jack’s name, Libby? Surely you haven’t named that cat—’

‘The cat is called Socks, Mum.’ I was sure I’d already told her that.

‘But then why did you shout for Jack?’

‘Because I thought I … Leave me alone.’ I turned and pelted upstairs. Ignoring Mum’s ‘Libby!’ which trailed after me, I ran into the bathroom, locked the door. My hands rested on the sink as I caught my breath. The mirror me staring back reproachfully, my skin pale, dark circles under my eyes. My image was haunting, like one of the brooding monochromes I took during an arty phase at college.

What was happening to me?

I’d sensed Jack before, smelled his aftershave before, but this time I was positive I had seen him.

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