The Good Part(78)

‘That’s who I want to invite,’ says Felix firmly. ‘And Matt Christensen and Molly Greenway.’ Sam and I exchange another look.

‘Well, if you write the invitations today, we’ll deliver them on Monday,’ Sam suggests. ‘You could start them now.’

‘Are you just trying to get me to go upstairs so you can go back to being weird with each other?’ Felix asks, narrowing his eyes, then looking back and forth between us.

Sam and I lock eyes and immediately start being weird with each other again. He reaches for my hand across the kitchen table. I can’t believe how great this is – to live with someone who you like this much. To have your crush right there, all the time. I had this all-consuming crush on this guy Paddy at university, but I only ever saw him in my Monday morning tutorial. I’d look forward to it all week. Living with Sam is like having Monday morning every single day.

‘Maybe you could write a song for Felix’s birthday,’ I suggest to Sam once Felix has left the room. His brow furrows and he lets go of my hand.

‘I don’t write songs like that any more, Luce.’

‘But why not? You’re so good at it.’

When I was stalking my husband online, I found the last song he wrote and sold. It was called ‘The Pulse of Love’, recorded by a band called Neev for their album Slice. Of the reviews I found, most said ‘The Pulse of Love’ was the worst thing on the album and not at all Neev’s style. Some of the reviews were hard to read, but I can’t believe one setback would put Sam off writing anything ever again.

‘We’ve talked about this,’ Sam says gruffly, standing up to open and then close the fridge door.

‘But I don’t remember talking about it, do I?’ I pause. ‘I listened to “The Pulse of Love” and thought it was beautiful. You’re so talented, Sam – you should write songs again; you know you should.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Sam gives me a sharp look, then turns to leave the room.

‘Sam,’ I call after him, but then I hear the back door slam. I’ve hit a nerve, but I don’t know what or why. Just as I think I’m getting to grips with married life, learning this family’s foibles, there’s some new curveball. Sam’s left the fridge door open, so I get up to close it. He always leaves the fridge door open. Okay, yes! Now I have one thing to put on my list of things I find annoying about him. That and his inability to share his deepest vulnerabilities about his creative failures. Wow, this might be starting to feel like a real marriage.





Chapter 29


‘Come to Mykonos this weekend?’ Roisin calls me as I get off the train at Vauxhall. I’m on my way to deliver Mr Finkley his invitation. ‘My boss has got an empty villa. It’s so lush. We can party all night, soak in the sun all day, sangrias at sundown . . .’

‘Mykonos?’ My heart skips in my chest. I always wanted to go to Mykonos.

‘I can’t,’ I say. ‘It’s Felix’s birthday on Saturday. Maybe another weekend?’

‘Sorry, babe, villa’s only free this weekend.’ She pauses, disappointed. ‘I thought a little holiday might be just what the doctor ordered. Maybe come on Sunday, take a few days off work?’

‘I’m sorry, there’s just too much going on. I’ve got this big pitch coming up, I’m still playing catch-up.’ I let out a sigh. ‘I just can’t. Thank you though.’

Clearly, I’m in no position to go running off to Mykonos with Roisin. But having to say ‘no’ makes me realise how tethered I am. I can’t go anywhere at a moment’s notice now. I can’t spontaneously jump in a car and head off on a road trip. There were weekends in my twenties where I would wander the London parks for hours, listening to music, just watching life go by. I didn’t have to tell anyone where I was going or when I’d be back. Afternoons in the pub could merge into an evening, and entire Sundays could be spent simply ‘hanging out’. I don’t think I understood the meaning of the word independence until I had dependants.

‘I’d love to do something another time, Rosh, but I might need a little more notice.’ I pause outside the shop that used to be a Super Way. It’s now a florist. How many times did I stop in here to pick up Monster Munch after a night out, or run down in pyjamas to get milk? ‘Do you know why Sam doesn’t write songs any more?’ I change the subject and ask Roisin while I have her on the phone.

‘I think his last song got panned for being cheesy and generic. You told me it was complicated; you didn’t go into detail. Listen, I’ve got to go, my assistant’s messed up and triple-booked my diary. Look at flights, if you change your mind, let me know.’

As I hang up, I can’t help feeling disappointed. Is that what life is – missing out in your twenties because you have no money, then missing out in your forties because you have no time?

Ringing Mr Finkley’s doorbell, I call into the intercom, ‘Hello, it’s Lucy Young, um, I mean Rutherford.’ He buzzes me in and I walk up the stairs to the top landing where I find him dressed in a bathrobe, holding his rusty metal watering can.

‘Morning, Mr Finkley. My son, Felix, wanted to invite you to his birthday party on Saturday,’ I tell him, handing over the invitation. ‘It’s in Surrey, and it’s not really a party, just the four of us, grandparents, and a couple of school friends. I know you only met him once, so you don’t need to feel obligated—’