Sam reaches out and takes both my hands, knitting his fingers between mine.
‘You’ve never told me that story before.’
‘Haven’t I?’
‘No.’ Our knees meet again, and now I am sharply aware of every part of my body that is in contact with his.
We talk for hours, telling each other stories from our lives before, from the times I can remember. Sharing these stories, I can be myself, I don’t have to try and hide what is missing. We order more drinks and move to a booth near the back of the bar. Sam is funny, interesting and attentive. This has to be the best date I’ve ever been on. Unlike all the weird, self-involved, twenty-somethings I’ve been out with recently, Sam is delightful company. He’s mature, handsome and engaging. He really listens when I talk, and the way he looks at me, with this unfiltered affection – it ignites something inside me I didn’t even know was there. As an added bonus, I can be confident he’s not going to suddenly admit to having a crisp-eating fetish, or holding any alarming political views, because he’s already been thoroughly vetted, by me.
When I tell him the story about the bones in the shower, he lets out a deep, unfiltered laugh that makes everyone in the bar turn to try and see what’s so funny. Sam’s eyes settle on mine, as he says, ‘We never do this any more, just the two of us.’
‘Why not?’ I ask. Then I feel him reach for my hand beneath the table, and slowly circle a finger around my palm. It’s sexy as hell.
‘I don’t know. We’re always so busy, or we’re socialising with friends, making plans, doing admin. We never make time to just chat and tell each other stories. I love your stories. I have always loved the way you tell stories.’
His finger on my palm feels exquisitely torturous in its limitations, and I can’t focus on what he’s saying. I lean in and kiss him, right there in the bar. At first, I feel his surprise, but then he responds, moving a hand up my neck into my hair, kissing me back. His lips are firm yet soft, hot and— ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says, his voice now a husky whisper.
We stumble out onto the street, laughing like teenagers. His hands are on my waist, but I need them to be all over me. Pushing him against the wall of the bar, I lean in to kiss his neck.
‘You’re so hot,’ I say into his warm skin, running a hand down his thigh. ‘How did I end up with someone like you?’
‘We’re in the street, Lucy. Someone will see us,’ he says, his deep voice rasping slightly, and I can feel he wants me too.
Sam orders us a cab, and one arrives in minutes.
‘I really thought we’d have driverless cars by now,’ I tell him between kisses as we make out like teenagers in the back seat.
‘We did have them,’ Sam says. ‘But then there was a legal battle over this patent, and they were all taken off the roads until—’
‘Okay, never mind,’ I say, needing him to kiss me more than I need him to explain why driverless cars aren’t part of the future yet. As soon as we get back to the house, I grab Sam’s shirt collar and lead him upstairs. We’re trying to be quiet, but we’re drunk and giggling like children as we kick the door closed behind us.
It’s a strange experience, sleeping with someone who knows my body, someone who knows what I like – who knows things I didn’t even know that I liked. I’m drunk enough not to care that my parents are in the house with us, and at one point Sam has to cover my mouth and say, ‘Lucy, shhhh,’ in this stern voice, which honestly, only turns me on more.
Afterwards, I sit astride him in a heady daze, running a finger down his broad, firm chest. ‘Is that how we usually do it?’ I ask.
‘Not usually that loudly,’ he says, putting a hand on either side of my hips. I rock my pelvis against him, unable to stop smiling. ‘What’s got into you?’ he asks, staring up at me and slowly shaking his head.
‘I woke up and found I was married to a complete hotty.’
He flips me over so I’m lying on my back and he’s on top of me, which makes me squeal with laughter.
‘Maybe there are some advantages to you waking up and thinking you’re twenty-six again, Mrs Rutherford,’ he murmurs in my ear.
Twenty minutes later, as I’m lying in our big, beautiful bed, with Sam’s strong arms wrapped around me, I feel an overwhelming sense of contentment. Sure, it’s not ideal that I’ve missed sixteen years of my life, but this situation certainly has its advantages. I’ll never need to have bad sex ever again or wear cheap footwear that dissolves in the rain. The shower pressure in the bathroom is to die for. Zoya would scream if she saw the size of it. Zoya. All my contentment dissolves, like a hand gently shredding a spiderweb. How could I be happy when she is not here? How could anything in my life be good when she is not there to share it? I wonder if Future Me felt this way too, or if she had learnt to live with this gaping absence.
Sam strokes my hand, and I try to think of something else.
‘Did you find your rings?’ he asks.
‘Oh yes, I’m keeping them safe in there,’ I say, pointing to the drawer.
He leans across me to open it, feels for the rings, then holds up my hand and gently threads them onto my ring finger. ‘Safest place for them,’ he says, turning his head to kiss my neck. I close my hand, trying not to mind. My eye darts to the dressing table, where there’s a framed photo of Felix and Amy sitting on a picnic blanket in a woodland glade. I think back to the story Sam told me about playing with his sisters in the wood. There’s more than a six-year age gap between Felix and Amy, so I don’t expect they’ll ever be close in that way.
‘Why did we wait so long to have a second baby?’ I ask Sam, and his hand stops stroking mine. ‘Six years feels like a long gap.’
Sam’s whole body goes rigid.
‘Oh, love,’ he says, and his voice is full of so much unexpected emotion it makes me sit up in bed.
‘What?’
‘Let’s not talk about that now. We’ve had such a lovely evening . . .’ He trails off. ‘Can we save it for the morning?’ There’s a finality to his tone, and he swiftly scoops me into a spooning position, wrapping his arms around me. It’s a novel feeling to be held so close, to be so warm and entirely cocooned by another body. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep like this though, I’m too used to spreading out, to sleeping alone. ‘I love you, Lucy,’ Sam says in my ear. I feel I should say it back, to re-centre whatever tonal shift I created, but I don’t. Even though we’ve had the most wonderful evening, I’ve only known him a few days. How could I possibly love him?
As soon as he’s asleep, I quietly slip out of his arms, take off the rings and return them to the bedside drawer. Then I crawl into the other side of the bed, more comfortable sleeping alone than in someone else’s arms.
Chapter 19
‘Well, I think we can all assume “date night” was a success,’ my mother says tightly over breakfast, shooting me a disapproving look. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t wake the children.’
‘Mum, please,’ I hiss, hearing Sam on the stairs.