‘I need to woo you now, do I?’
‘Maybe. I don’t remember any of the wooing, so . . .’
He pulls a second stool out from beneath the piano and beckons me over. I sit down and he moves his chair in behind me, his hands covering mine on the piano. Gently he guides my fingers to the notes, teaching me a basic set of chords. It feels like there is some muscle memory because my fingers pick it up easily, though I’ve never learnt to play.
‘Do I play?’ I ask, but my voice wavers, distracted by every point where his body is in contact with mine.
‘Yes, I taught you,’ he says gently, needling his chin into my shoulder. My head tilts towards him, but then he moves back to his side of the keyboard. ‘Play those notes, whenever the man is talking,’ he instructs me, then he restarts the clip and hits ‘record’ on his deck of controls. I play my light, flighty chords when the man is talking, while Sam thumps out a more sinister tune whenever the woman does. When the scene ends, we grin at each other, celebrating our mutual accomplishment. Then Sam plays the scene again, with our new musical score.
‘He’s in love with her and she’s a psycho,’ I laugh.
‘Like all the best love stories,’ Sam says with a wry smile, and I elbow him in the ribs.
‘I think this is the version you should go with,’ I say, standing up. ‘And now I’m really going to go, let you work in peace.’ I need to stop distracting him, get back to work myself, but as I turn away, he takes my hand and pulls me back to face him.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
‘What for?’
‘For coming out here, for taking an interest.’ He looks so sincere, as though this small exchange between us has been something important. ‘For reminding me you’re still you.’
‘I am me,’ I say, then more lightly, ‘besides, it’s interesting. You’re interesting.’
‘You haven’t been out here in over a year,’ he says.
‘Haven’t I?’
‘Lack of time rather than lack of interest,’ he says quickly.
‘Well, I could listen to you play all day.’ I start to open the door, but now he’s standing behind me, reaching out his hand to cover mine on the doorknob, pushing the door closed, his broad, hot body pressed against mine. My body pulses with longing as he leans in to kiss my neck.
‘I thought you had to work,’ I say, my voice breathy.
‘I thought you did too.’
Then he turns me around and looks right into my eyes and I feel him looking at me. Me. Not whoever I am in the future, or who I might have been before, but who I am in this moment, in this room.
We make love right there against the door, and I know then, whatever plane of the space-time continuum I am living in, right now, there is nowhere else I want to be.
That evening Sam goes out to teach a tai chi class. The kids are in bed, and Faye comes over to have a drink with me.
‘You know he teaches tai chi to residents at the nursing home? Isn’t that the cutest thing,’ I tell Faye. ‘I bet all the little old ladies love him.’
‘Yes, the little old ladies,’ Faye says, with a smirk.
‘Have you heard him compose? He can come up with these arrangements off the top of his head,’ I say, pouring us both a glass of wine. ‘It’s incredible, he’s so talented.’
‘Yes, very talented,’ Faye says, smirking again.
‘He’s so sweet with the kids—’
‘You know what’s happening here, don’t you?’ Faye says, laughing now.
‘What?’
‘You’re falling in love with him.’
‘What?’
‘This is exactly what you were like when you fell in love with him the first time. All I heard for months was, “He’s so talented, he’s so kind, he’s so funny.” You had this permanent Sam-induced grin on your face, it was sickening. But also, kind of cute and adorable.’
‘That’s not what this is,’ I say, shifting back into the sofa, feeling my cheeks burn.
‘It is! You don’t remember that you love him, so you’re falling in love with him all over again.’ Faye sighs. ‘It’s great, I’m jealous. I would love to fall in love with Alex again, that’s the best part.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ I say. ‘But it’s confusing. He’s often telling me he loves me, but does he love me, or does he love old me, Future Me, me who remembers?’
‘I wouldn’t overthink it,’ says Faye. ‘He’s always loved you. He loved you before he met you, the promise of you, remember.’
‘The song?’ I ask, and Faye nods. ‘Was I sure from the start, when I met him?’
‘Lucy, you were so sure. That night we met him in the karaoke bar – I remember you saying in the cab home, “I’m going to marry that man.” ’
‘I’m sure I was joking, or drunk.’
‘You were, both.’ Faye shrugs. ‘But you’d never said anything like that before. Enjoy it, you deserve to have something good.’
‘Do I though? Sometimes I feel guilty, just being handed all this.’ I wave an arm to indicate the beautiful space we’re sitting in.
‘Lucy, you didn’t get handed anything. Trust me, I was there, I saw how hard you worked.’ She sighs, shaking her head. ‘You took weekend jobs, there were periods where you hardly had time to see any of us. As for Sam, believe me, you put your time in with some frogs before you met your prince.’ She pauses. ‘When you lived in New York, you were in love with this guy Toby who completely broke your heart. I didn’t think you’d ever trust anyone again after that.’
‘I lived in New York?’ I always wanted to live in New York.
‘Yes. All I’m saying is, you have been on a journey to get here, and it’s all connected because if Toby hadn’t broken your heart, you might never have come back home, and you wouldn’t have met Sam, who is your person.’ I reach out a hand to Faye, grateful for her unwavering kindness. ‘You have a strong marriage. But that’s taken work too. What you’ve both been through is not easy.’
‘I wish I remembered Chloe,’ I blurt out. ‘Of all the things I’ve forgotten, she feels the most significant. It’s important to Sam that I remember her.’
‘I think you will remember, Luce,’ Faye says gently. ‘Just enjoy being loved up with Sam before you remember all the things you find annoying about him.’ Faye laughs, and I throw a sofa cushion at her. I don’t admit that I can’t think of one thing I might ever find annoying about him.
‘Can you pass me a spoon?’ I ask Sam, as our little family sit down for Saturday breakfast. Sam grabs one from the drawer and hands it to me, his fingers lingering on mine as he does. He shoots me a devilishly loaded look.
‘Why thank you,’ I say, looking up at him beneath lowered lashes.
‘Why are you being weird with each other?’ Felix demands.
‘We’re not being weird!’ I say, feeling a pulse of heat rising up my neck.
‘You are being weird,’ Felix insists. ‘You keep looking at each other, for ages, like you’re trying to win a staring competition.’