Page 83 of The Art of Loving You

‘You can’t let one rotten apple sour the cider. Most people are good.’

‘I know. If I stop and consider it properly I do know that but these random thoughts come out of nowhere and … Last week we’d had such a good morning.Noah was about to begin painting the last room and Liam was digging the vegetable patch. I was feeling so positive and happy and I went out to get some cakes for them. I was perusing the shelves trying to choose when someone touched my shoulder and I screamed. I made a fist and swung around and it was …’ The thought of it caused my face to burn with shame. ‘It was this little old lady and she lookedterrified. “I just wanted you to reach a box of French Fancies,” she said. I almost lashed out at her and all she wanted was some Mr Kipling.’

‘Perhaps it’s time you talked to somebody. That Victim Support lady you didn’t want to speak to?’

‘I don’t know what to do.’ I leaned against him, the scratchy wall of his tank top rough against my cheek. He smelled of tobacco and mints.

Of comfort.

‘I wish Alice would tell me who the father of her baby is.’

‘Perhaps she wishes you’d stop asking.’ Sid offered me a Polo and I took one. ‘Perhaps she believes having a father isn’t the be-all and end-all.’

‘But it was horrible for us.’

‘Was it? Or is that only how you felt? Did Alice feel the same?’

I contemplated this as I sucked my sweet, feeling it shrink on my tongue. I was incredulous to think that Alice might not feel the same as me.

Driving home, my temples throbbed with the effort of trying to focus on the road when my head was full of Alice.

Without her, without my family, who did I really have except Liam and Noah? And I was paying them to help me.

I had never felt so alone.

So utterly, unbearably lonely.

Broken.

Afraid of the present, afraid of the future. Desperately needing comfort but unsure where to turn.

Jack.

The only person I wanted was Jack.

I tried to summon him in my mind’s eye.

I need you.

I parked outside the house – our house – remembering moving-in day, his hand in mine, my laughter as he swept me into his arms and carried me inside. Now, instead of being held in arms that loved me, I took a lonely walk into my empty hallway.

There was no one to greet me, no Socks purring, curving around my ankles.

I was alone, except, when I stepped into the snug, I saw that I wasn’t.

Jack.

He was there, just like before.

Jack sitting in his armchair, the cat on his lap, smiling that smile at me.

It was impossible.

I began to slide to the floor. I couldn’t cope with this again. Not tonight.

Was I going mad?

I screwed my eyes shut for several seconds and when I opened them again, Jack was still there.

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