The Good Part(81)

‘Oh no, don’t!’ I say, burying my face in his shoulder.

‘In a good way,’ he says, laughing. ‘If it’s possible to think about serial killers in a good way.’

‘Maybe we should look at the moon for a minute, try and give the moment a little reverence,’ I say, half joking, but we both look up, and there is indeed something awe-inspiring about the moon – one side luminous, the other, shadow. It’s one sight that doesn’t change. As we hold hands in the cold, sitting beneath our daughter’s tree, I feel immensely grateful he has shared this with me. Maybe I’m not missing out as much as I feared. Maybe this is one of those small, important moments.

There’s another animal cry from somewhere nearby, so Sam gets up and helps me to my feet.

‘I don’t know if that is a fox, you know,’ I tell him.

‘Oh, it’s probably just Bob and Mary, the serial killers who live next door,’ he deadpans, and we’re both laughing childishly as we return to warmth of the hall.





Chapter 30


‘Have you remembered anything else from the in-between?’ Felix asks later that week while I’m reading him a story before bed.

‘Not really, nothing definitive,’ I tell him. ‘Small glimpses, maybe.’

Felix looks thoughtful. ‘Molly thinks you’re Peter Pan.’

‘Peter Pan?’

‘It’s a book.’

‘Yes, I do know it.’

‘Molly said he’s this boy who can fly, but if he ever starts to doubt he can fly, he won’t be able to do it any more.’ Felix pauses, pulling his duvet up to his chin. ‘Do you still believe in the portal, Mummy?’

I’m quiet for a moment, before saying, ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Why?’

Felix shifts on the bed, hugging his cuddly armadillo. ‘I don’t mind if you want to stay, if you like it here now. You’ll be my mummy either way. But I think if you stop believing, and start remembering stuff, it might be like Peter Pan not being able to get back to Neverland.’ Felix bites his lip. ‘That’s what Molly thinks anyway, and she’s the smartest person I know.’

‘Smarter than me?’ I say, smiling.

‘Yeah, she knows her thirteen-times table and everything.’

‘Well, she is definitely smarter than me, then,’ I say, kissing Felix on the head and turning on his night light. ‘I think we’ll be okay, Felix, whatever happens. Night night.’

But as I shut his bedroom door, I feel a nagging pull of panic in my chest. Over the last few days, I haven’t thought about going back at all. I haven’t even checked the forum recently. I logged out because I was getting too much spam. Is Felix right? Have I stopped believing I can fly?

Sam is out teaching his tai chi class, so I put a wash on, then empty the dishwasher, for what seems like the thousandth time this week. I lay out Felix’s sports kit ready for the next day, wipe down all the surfaces in the kitchen, then I really should sit at my desk, do a few hours’ work, but first, I take a minute to log in to the arcade game forum. There are no new messages, but even checking reassures me I have not given up.



On Friday I do a trial presentation of The House Is Going to Get You. I’ve spent ages on the pitch, I know it’s polished, but when I say it out loud, it feels flat, lacking the magic we all felt when we were brainstorming the idea. Trey’s 4D monsters look amazing, but my stilted words aren’t doing them justice. Michael tells me I need to be louder, consult my notes less, allow time to pause, but honestly, I’m worse than rusty, I’m completely green.

After the trial presentation, Dominique lingers, pulling me to one side.

‘Will you write me a reference, if we don’t win?’ She gives me a guilty grimace. ‘I can’t be out of work. I owe my tattooist money.’ She pulls up her sleeve to show me an intricate gold tattoo of a headless mermaid. ‘I have to get the head done, otherwise it’s just a fish with arms.’

‘Sure,’ I say, feeling utterly deflated.

Once the team have dispersed, Michael comes to find me in my office.

‘I’m not doing it justice, am I?’ I say.

He pinches his lips together, then says, ‘How’s the fog?’

‘Currently a dense smog,’ I say, then ask quietly, ‘Do you think memories make us who we are, Michael?’

‘No,’ he says firmly. ‘Who we are is our code of morals, the things we stand for, not our ability to recall the past.’

Michael has such a calm authority, I find myself saying, ‘Maybe you should be the one to deliver the pitch?’ I can’t believe I’m saying this because this is all I ever wanted – to pitch an idea myself, but there’s too much at stake for this to depend on me. I’m half expecting Michael to say, ‘No, you should do it, you’ll be great,’ but he doesn’t, he just nods. He must see my face fall because he adds, ‘It’s a team effort, Lucy. It was your idea.’

Though I know it’s probably the right call, that doesn’t stop me from feeling disappointed.



After work, I nip up to Selfridges with the vouchers I have thirty days to spend. I walk through the women’s clothing floor, go right past the shoes, then straight up to the toy department. Here, I find the perfect present for Felix’s birthday. In the tech department, I spend most of the vouchers on new speakers for Sam’s studio, arranging to have them delivered to the house. For Amy, I get some new giraffe pyjamas, then for Leonard, a shiny new watering can with a particularly long spout, perfect for hanging baskets.