The Good Part(58)

His words feel like a punch to the sternum.

‘I’m not “acting” anything, Sam,’ I say slowly, pulling the towel tighter around me, feeling suddenly cold. ‘This isn’t some role play. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t fucking remember.’

He covers his eyes now. ‘I know, I know, I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I mean. I just feel terrible that I left you alone with the children when you’re not yourself. Anything could have happened.’ The torment on his face breaks my heart.

Not yourself. Something in those two words skewers me more than anything else he has said.

‘I am myself. I know who I am. You just don’t know me,’ I say, coldly.

Then I pick up my clothes and leave the room.





Chapter 22


What am I doing here? Trying to play happy families with people I don’t know, falling all over Sam, embarrassing myself. I need to get out of here. I need to get back to London, back to what I know. I need to put on proper clothes, brush my hair, buy eye-wateringly expensive coffee and be the competent TV producer I know I’m capable of being.

The next morning, Maria is still off sick, but Sam has said he’ll stay home with Amy. All I need to do is drive Felix to school on my way to the train station.

‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ Felix asks me in the car, noticing my puffy eyes. It makes me want to cry because it’s so sweet of him to ask.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you though.’

‘What’s the opposite of house?’ Felix asks, and it’s exactly the level of conversation I feel capable of.

‘No house,’ I suggest and his face takes on a contemplative look in the rear-view mirror.

‘Not field?’ he asks.

‘Why do you need everything to have an opposite, Felix?’

He gives a slow, exaggerated shrug. ‘Have you checked for messages on the arcade forum?’ he asks. I haven’t, so once I’ve pulled into the school car park, I log in.

‘Oh, I have a message,’ I say in surprise, then read the subject heading. ‘I have what you’re looking for . . .’

Felix jumps out of his car seat and cranes across my shoulders to look. Luckily, I click on the link before showing him because it’s a full-frontal picture of shrivelled male genitalia. ‘Eugh.’

‘What? Let me see,’ Felix says, reaching for my phone, as I quickly delete the message.

‘I’m afraid that was nothing to do with the wishing machine, just a horrible man sending me nasty photos.’

‘Nasty photos?’ Felix looks confused. ‘What, like of a dog with no eyes?’

‘A bit like that, yes.’

‘Oh,’ he says, disappointed. I clear my throat, keen to move the conversation on. ‘Quick question before you go. I’m pitching ideas for kids’ TV at work today. What would you want to watch if you could invent your own show?’

‘Anything with helicopters,’ Felix says, ‘and conger eels, and a chase through a jungle where you get to go on one of those boats with the big fan at the back.’

Something tells me Helicopter Conger Eels isn’t going to be my winning pitch, but I add it to my list anyway.



Dressed in a fitted trouser suit and my brand-new ankle boots, I walk into the office feeling confident. London. TV. Work. These are the things I know. I’ve decided I won’t tell my colleagues about my memory issues, not if I can avoid it. I don’t want to risk losing the only part of my life that feels vaguely normal, that I might have some control over.

‘Lucy, how are you?’ Michael greets me at the top of the stairs, and Trey and Dominique wave to me from across the office. Callum offers to make me a cup of tea and we exchange a look – pity? Camaraderie? Nope, worse – I think Callum’s developed a crush on me. What was I thinking? He is practically a child. I blame Future Me’s low tolerance for alcohol.

‘I’m so pleased you’re finally back,’ Michael says, beckoning me into his office. ‘I’ll sleep a lot better once we’ve settled on this idea for Kydz Network.’ He does look tired. ‘The team have been brainstorming while you were away, and I know they always appreciate your feedback. Shall we hear a few of their ideas before you hit us with yours?’ Michael gives me a nervous smile as Callum arrives with my tea and a delicious-looking tray of pastries.

‘Pastry day,’ he says, blushing slightly as he places one on my desk with a napkin.

‘Another thing the pound pinchers at Bamph will no doubt put a stop to,’ Michael says, reaching for one himself.

‘Thanks, Callum,’ I say, taking a sip of the perfectly brewed tea with just the right amount of milk in it. This is good. I am Badger Boss, Queen of TV, in my serene office with my delightful colleagues, wearing my amazing new boots. No one is crying or biting me or throwing my craft or cooking attempts in the bin. No one is kicking me out of shower sex for saying the wrong thing. Here, I can simply eat croissants and talk to lovely people about my favourite subject – television. I’ve got a huge list of ideas, so I’m sure one of them is going to fit the bill.

As the team all gather in the boardroom, Trey comes to sit beside me. He is wearing a red velvet smoking jacket and a silver shirt with huge, pointed lapels.