‘Hello?’ I say, squinting towards the light coming from the corridor.
‘Can I come in?’ Felix asks, hovering at the threshold.
‘Of course,’ I say, sitting up, and pulling my T-shirt down to make sure I’m decent. Now, when I’m not wearing a bra, my boobs droop. They’re not always where I think they should be, so in company, I double-check they’re fully sheathed.
‘Why are you in bed? It’s teatime,’ Felix asks, turning on the light. My eyes squint against the unwelcome glare.
‘Mummy’s not very well,’ I say, channelling Beth from Little Women.
‘You don’t look sick,’ he says.
‘Well, it’s not something you can see, it’s an inside illness. Do you know what mental health means?’
‘Yes. We have a mental health coach at school.’ He pauses. ‘Don’t you want to find the portal and go home?’
‘Felix, Mummy was confused when she said that. She doesn’t think there is a magic portal.’ I attempt a maternal smile, now channelling Marmee from Little Women. Why is Little Women my only reference point for facial expressions? And why am I speaking in the third person? I hate it when people do that. I try again. ‘I’m still me, Felix, I’m still your mother. I’ve just forgotten a few things.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ Felix says. ‘If you tell me what the machine looked like, we could find out who made it. People collect these old machines, don’t they? There could be more than one.’
Before I can reply, he’s thrust an iPad into my hand, and the screen animates with multiple-choice questions, under a golden banner than reads, ‘Portal Quest’。
‘You made this?’ I ask, impressed.
‘I do coding club at school. We’re studying flow charts and visual problem solving. Mummy said it wouldn’t be hard for me, and it’s not.’
His confidence is contagious, and I feel a brief rush of hope. Maybe the machine is out there. Maybe we could find it. But then my rational mind kicks in.
‘Even if I still believed there was a portal, which I’m not sure I do, the chances of me finding it and somehow being able to wind back time – it’s all so improbable,’ I say with a sigh. Felix scuffs a shoe back and forth on the carpet, one arm swinging limply at his side.
Besides the shock of learning about Zoya, I think the reason I haven’t been able to get out of bed these last few days is that doubt about how I came to be here has set in. If I no longer believe there is a portal – then I have to accept there’s no going back.
‘So you’re just going to stay in bed for the rest of your life?’ Felix asks, his little voice angry.
‘No, I’m . . .’ But I trail off because I don’t know what to say. ‘I’m just sad, Felix.’
He turns and heads for the door, hugging the tablet to his chest. Then he stops in the doorway and says, ‘Remember when I didn’t want to go to school because Tom Hoskyns was picking on me for still liking Corn Dogs Adventure Planet?’ He shakes his head. ‘You said, “You have to get up and face the day, because every day is a gift, and you can’t let Tom Hoskyns or anyone else steal a single one from you.” ’
‘I said that?’
‘Yeah, you did,’ Felix says with a sigh. Then before I can say anything else, he stomps off down the corridor, his shoulders hunched up on his narrow frame.
Unexpectedly, this is the pep talk I needed to push me out of my depressive funk. He’s right. I’m not going to fix anything by lying here feeling sorry for myself, scrolling through old photos, watching endless Poirot episodes and lamenting the size of chocolate bars. However I got here, here I am. I’ve missed a huge chunk of my life, one of my best friends is dead, and I’ll never be able to go braless in public again, but it is what it is. With aching clarity, I realise that however alien this life might feel, it is more of a life than Zoya will ever get to live. That little boy needs a mother, even if it’s one who’s completely unqualified, who doesn’t know anything about him or even what Corn Dogs Adventure Planet is, but I guess that’s what the Internet is for.
So, I get up. I have a shower. I wash my hair and I change my bed sheets. Then I draw back the curtains and open the windows. Maria is downstairs when I emerge looking clean and half-human. She crosses the room to give me a hug.
‘Oh Lucy, you poor thing. How are you feeling?’
‘Like it’s time to get up.’
Amy reaches for me from her highchair. ‘Mama!’
‘She needs a nappy change,’ Maria says, crossing the room to get her.
‘I’ll do it,’ I say.
‘You sure?’
‘I’m her mother, aren’t I?’
Then I thank Maria for all her help, and I send her home. She’s already worked plenty of overtime this week and I’m sure she has her own life to get back to. If I’m going to learn how to do this, I need to be able to do it on my own. Maria looks torn, but then admits she has a micro-needling appointment she’d rather not postpone.
Once she’s gone, Amy wriggles in my arms and looks up at me expectantly.
‘Well, Amy, as my granny used to say, “Life’s a shit sandwich,” so best to get it over with.’
Chapter 16
As I finish changing Amy’s nappy, only gagging twice this time, my phone lights up. The name ‘Coleson Matthews’ flashes on the screen. Coleson? Runner Coleson from When TV? Did we stay in touch? Are we friends? My thumb hovers over ‘decline’ but then I pause, my curiosity piqued.
Answering with a tentative ‘Hello?’ I set Amy down on the floor and watch her toddle off towards Neckie across the living room. She might do revolting things in her nappy, but she does have a cute little waddle – like a drunk penguin, swaying from side to side on slippery ice.
‘Lucy, Lucy, Lucy,’ says Coleson. It’s a knowing ‘Lucy’， but I don’t know what it is he knows.
‘Coleson, Coleson, Coleson.’
‘You know what I’ve been thinking about this morning?’ he asks.
‘What have you been thinking?’
‘How good my name is going to look on the door of your office.’
His tone is gently menacing, so I stay silent, hoping he’ll keep talking and give me more clues about the nature of our relationship. After an awkwardly long pause, he says, ‘Word on the street is that you have a big idea for the pitch off. Or is this all part of your game plan to psych out the competition?’
‘Word on the street?’ I say, wondering how long I can get away with this echoing technique.
‘Well, the shared workspace in the Caffé Ritazza next to London Studios.’ Coleson laughs, a slow chuckle that sounds nothing like the meek, skinny boy I used to know. ‘Big gamble you’re taking with this “all or nothing” approach, Rutherford. You should have accepted a merger. Look at the stats, we had eight new commissions this year. What are you at? Four? You really want to gamble your whole company on the strength of one idea?’
I’m gambling my whole company on the strength of one idea? That does sound rash.
If Coleson is my competition, I can’t let him know that Badger TV is currently a captainless ship. So I try my best to match his cocky tone.