He was silent for a minute. ‘I know,’ he said at last. ‘It’s hard sometimes.’
‘I wish…’ she said, but wasn’t sure how to end the sentence.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Yeah, I know.’
‘Maybe I should come and see you sometime? It’s been ages.’
‘Yeah?’ He sounded upbeat. ‘I’d love that. You know you’re always welcome.’
‘Thanks.’
‘We can help with the ticket if you need?’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you know.’
Another silence. One she and Ben could have filled with anecdotes, or serious conversation about how they felt, what they were thinking. One she and Mum could have laughed in for hours. She loved David, but felt everything tense when she was on the phone to him, simply because she knew how much he hated calls.
‘Well, I guess I’d better let you get on,’ she said at last.
‘OK. Glad you called,’ he said. ‘Sorry, I’m… well, you know.’
She snorted. ‘It’s OK. Maybe we’ll try Skype next time.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘Anyway, see you.’
‘See ya.’
And that, she thought, is why I rarely call him.
Still, it had been nice to hear his voice.
She tried Ben one last time, but it clicked to voicemail and she didn’t leave a message.
To distract herself, she began to put away the party items she’d picked up with Sam. Then, once they were all stuffed in the dresser cupboards or stacked neatly on the table, she decided to sit in the garden for a while.
She’d slept badly the night before – although the new bed had been delivered, the mattress was hard to get used to after an airbed that had gradually deflated but somehow moulded to her body in the night. In the new bed, she was aware of the space around her more – aware that she was alone in a space for two.
And she’d felt uneasy, a kind of free-floating anxiety that she couldn’t shake. Something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She poured herself a glass of lemonade, added ice, and stepped into the garden. As usual it buzzed with life – each grassy area clearly filled to the brim with insects. She brushed a few leaves from the cast iron chairs and rested her drink on the table, then settled back, closing her eyes.
She breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh air with its hint of pine from the distant trees. She could hear the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead, but other than that, the insects and the odd rumble of a car, the afternoon was peaceful.
And despite resolving that she would just sit for half an hour, she drifted off to sleep.
34
Saturday morning, she woke with a start, exiting a dream that she couldn’t remember but knew had been unpleasant. Sitting up, she steadied her breathing, swung her legs out of the bed and opened the window, before releasing the catch of the wooden shutters and throwing them wide.
Dim light flooded in.
To her relief, the sky outside her bedroom looked clear and there was no hint of the rain she’d worried might arrive despite the clement forecast. It’s today, she thought, feeling her heart thump with a mixture of nerves and excitement. It was 6 a.m., but there was no chance of getting back to sleep.
It was the first event she’d ever really put on all by herself – she and Ben had had dinner parties back in the day, and had even been known to throw the odd barbecue. But she’d always had backup, someone else to send out for emergency burgers or bottles of wine. Someone to tell her that everything looked OK just before the guests arrived.
Sam had offered to pop over this morning to help her set some of it up, but she’d refused. She hadn’t wanted to become a burden to her new friend, who had already gone above and beyond and would also have Derek and Claudine to deal with. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Lily had said. ‘You’ve done so much already.’
Instead, they’d agreed that Sam would come over at 1 p.m. before the party started to ensure there weren’t any last-minute disasters. ‘We can have a pre-party glass of fizz,’ Lily had said, ‘and you can keep me from having a nervous breakdown.’
She knew she’d be quite happy once the party was in full swing; the anticipation of it, though, felt a little overwhelming.
She sat back on her bed and pulled the duvet up to her chin, letting the warmth flood back through her body and resting her head on a propped-up pillow. Instead of rushing to get up, she watched the beginning of the sunrise: glimmers of light at the horizon, just below the treeline, flooding up and exposing a hint of blue in the early morning sky.