The Good Part(49)

Sam strokes my hand, and I try to think of something else.

‘Did you find your rings?’ he asks.

‘Oh yes, I’m keeping them safe in there,’ I say, pointing to the drawer.

He leans across me to open it, feels for the rings, then holds up my hand and gently threads them onto my ring finger. ‘Safest place for them,’ he says, turning his head to kiss my neck. I close my hand, trying not to mind. My eye darts to the dressing table, where there’s a framed photo of Felix and Amy sitting on a picnic blanket in a woodland glade. I think back to the story Sam told me about playing with his sisters in the wood. There’s more than a six-year age gap between Felix and Amy, so I don’t expect they’ll ever be close in that way.

‘Why did we wait so long to have a second baby?’ I ask Sam, and his hand stops stroking mine. ‘Six years feels like a long gap.’

Sam’s whole body goes rigid.

‘Oh, love,’ he says, and his voice is full of so much unexpected emotion it makes me sit up in bed.

‘What?’

‘Let’s not talk about that now. We’ve had such a lovely evening . . .’ He trails off. ‘Can we save it for the morning?’ There’s a finality to his tone, and he swiftly scoops me into a spooning position, wrapping his arms around me. It’s a novel feeling to be held so close, to be so warm and entirely cocooned by another body. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep like this though, I’m too used to spreading out, to sleeping alone. ‘I love you, Lucy,’ Sam says in my ear. I feel I should say it back, to re-centre whatever tonal shift I created, but I don’t. Even though we’ve had the most wonderful evening, I’ve only known him a few days. How could I possibly love him?

As soon as he’s asleep, I quietly slip out of his arms, take off the rings and return them to the bedside drawer. Then I crawl into the other side of the bed, more comfortable sleeping alone than in someone else’s arms.





Chapter 19


‘Well, I think we can all assume “date night” was a success,’ my mother says tightly over breakfast, shooting me a disapproving look. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t wake the children.’

‘Mum, please,’ I hiss, hearing Sam on the stairs.

‘I suppose it’s reassuring. If your marriage is strong, you can survive anything. You’ve been through worse.’

Have I? Before I can ask her what she means, Sam appears at the kitchen door.

‘Morning, Margot,’ he says. ‘Sleep well?’

Mum clears her throat, then takes a loud sip of her coffee. ‘Adequately, thank you.’

Sam has been in a strange mood since he woke up. Maybe like me, he’s a little hungover. He opens the fridge, closes it, opens it again, stares at the contents for a minute, then closes it one final time before turning back to Mum and me. ‘Something has come up,’ he says, his face serious. ‘There’s this recording session in Manchester tomorrow, with a full orchestra, it’s been scheduled for months. What with everything going on here, I’d asked a colleague to stand in for me, but he just messaged to say he’s sick.’ He pauses. ‘There’s no one else, and I’d be letting a lot of people down if I don’t go.’

‘Of course you should go!’ Mum says. ‘We can stay and help Lucy.’

‘I don’t want you to miss your festival, Mum, I’ll be fine,’ I say.

‘Maria will be here to help first thing tomorrow, but I wouldn’t be back until Tuesday morning,’ Sam says, looking at me hopefully.

‘We’ll stay until the morning,’ offers Mum. ‘Most of the talks don’t start until midday anyway.’

‘What do you think, Luce?’ Sam asks me.

‘Of course I can manage,’ I say, feeling insulted. ‘Honestly, you don’t think I can cope for less than forty-eight hours with the help of grandparents, a nanny, school and nursery?’ Mum and Sam exchange glances. ‘I am a competent adult, I’m not thirteen.’

Mum clears her throat. ‘You seem entirely compos mentis to me.’

Sam combs a hand through his hair, his face serious.

‘Fine. If you’re sure you don’t mind staying, Margot? There’s a list on the fridge of anything you might need, Maria knows it all anyway.’ He pauses, looking at me again. ‘I’ll need to get the train up there this morning so I have time to prepare.’

‘On a Sunday?’

Mum is sitting right here, so I don’t expect Sam to be all over me, but I can’t help feeling that he’s being slightly off this morning. His body language certainly isn’t saying ‘I got laid last night and it was pretty awesome’. Does he regret how drunk we got? Is he embarrassed by how loud we were? I try to convey in a smile that I don’t regret a thing. I want that delicious buzz of flirtation back, but then Amy toddles in, chased by my dad holding a puppet badger, and when I look around, Sam has left the room.

Amy grabs my legs for safety, and I lift her onto my lap where she snuggles into my chest, her whole weight falling against me. She pushes a hand up beneath each of my arms, nuzzling her head into my chest like a baby koala. It’s a unique feeling, being hugged by a child – my lap her refuge from everything scary. It feels like a big responsibility to be that to someone. I wonder what age I stopped crawling into my mother’s lap for comfort. Inhaling Amy’s sweet, milky smell, I hug my arms around her soft little thighs and bury my face in her hair. It’s calming, the gentle pressure of her, this unhurried cuddle that has no agenda, except a desire to be as close to me as possible.