Page 91 of The Art of Loving You

I was exhausted, that was all. As soon as Mum left I would take a shower, a nap. Fix myself something nutritious to eat.

‘Jack’s aftershave,’ Mum said. ‘Alice said you’ve been wearing Jack’s aftershave, and talking to him.’

‘It’s comforting.’

‘I know but it’s been six months and—’

‘So I should have forgotten him by now? How can I when he was …’ I bit my lip to stop myself saying the word ‘here’. I knew she’d never believe me. I stared down at the table, not sure what to say. I had been feeling that I was beginning to move forward. Making a new friend in Noah and starting the renovations had been a turning point for me but after seeing –thinkingI saw Jack the other day – I had fallen apart again.

‘I’m not saying you should even try to forget him.’ Mum’s voice was gentle. ‘But I’m worried that you’ve taken on too much with this house. The stress is … Libby, I know you accused Jack of being the father of Alice’s baby.’

I take a sharp intake of breath.

‘We both think … there’s no set time to grieve of course and nobody’s even suggesting that you move on but … we both think that perhaps you should speak to Victim Support or someone.’

‘I amnota victim.’

‘Don’t push me away, Libby.’

I didn’t answer. There was only one person I wanted and it wasn’t her.

The fridge thrummed. The clock ticked. Outside the sheep bleated. The smell of coffee filled my nostrils each time I drew a ragged breath.

‘I’m sorry, Mum, but can you please just go? I’m not feeling great. My head hurts.’

There was a beat or two before the legs of her chair scraped along the kitchen floor as she stood. I watched from the window as she climbed into her car. I could see her head resting against the steering wheel, her shoulders shaking.

I pulled the curtains. Took two paracetamol and climbed into bed.

It was pitch-black when I woke. I had slept the day away. The darkness here was absolute. No lamp-posts shining orange through the window. No headlights from passing cars. Just a luminous glow from a fat round moon suspended high in the velvet sky. The percussive sound of rain splattering against the window.

I hadn’t eaten all day. I shoved a minuscule meal for one into the microwave and while the cannelloni turned lonely circles I headed towards the snug to put the TV on so I wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

A flicker of something as I passed the dining room stopped me in my tracks. I felt a magnet clamp of longing deep in my chest.

Jack?

I hardly dared take a second look but when I did …

‘Jack.’

I wouldn’t cry.

He was leaning against the window, his backdrop a smattering of twinkly stars in between the clouds.

I wouldn’t cry.

From the kitchen the microwave pinged but instead of moving towards the sound I moved away from it. Towards Jack. Feeling his eyes on me. Wanting his hands on me.

I wouldn’t cry.

Rubber Soulwas still on the record deck. After our anniversary I hadn’t slipped it back into its sleeve. I rubbed the dust off with the hem of my shirt before lowering the needle gently into its groove. ‘In My Life’ began to play and it was a song for all the feelings words couldn’t cover.

There was a hesitancy in me as I stepped towards Jack. Not a shyness, but a wariness. He was holding out his hand but I knew that if I took it, no matter how solid it looked, I wouldn’t be able to feel it.

‘Trust me,’ he whispered.

A shiver swept its way down my spine. I recalled us lying on the sofa, in the snug the other night.

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