Page 44

43

NOW

Another text from Will startled her and Sophie realised she’d fallen asleep for a moment. Hardly surprising after being up almost all night. She hoped that he, at work despite it all, was coping. She checked her phone.

Will

All OK?

Sophie

Yes.

She thought how often Will had shown up for her, just when she’d needed him to.

A few weeks after they’d started rowing together, she’d been alone in her flat when the doorbell rang, prompting her to think yet again about how she really ought to change the tune of it. ‘Greensleeves’ wasn’t really her, after all. Placing her mug on the coffee table, she stood up and made her way to the door, opening it without a thought. It would no doubt be something boring she’d ordered. Once in a while she’d put something through online, then completely forget about it. The result would be a mystery package which she’d open excitedly only to find dishcloths or something equally dull inside.

‘Oh,’ she said, when she opened the door to Will who was carrying a bag from the local bakery.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Look, I won’t stop, I just wanted to drop these off. You said you were sick?’ His voice took on an upward inflexion as he looked at her – patently not sick – standing in front of him.

She grimaced. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I’m feeling a bit better now. Just… couldn’t face rowing this morning.’

He nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said.

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine.’ He paused, seeming to wrestle with something. ‘You obviously don’t ever have to come. I love you coming, but you know. If you’re going off it, or it’s getting too much…’

She shook her head vehemently. ‘No, it’s not that.’

He nodded. ‘Good. Well, OK. See you in a couple of days then?’

She felt herself flood with guilt. ‘Look, seeing as I’m not infectious or anything, do you have time to share these with me?’ She peeped in the bag and saw two Chelsea buns – her favourites.

‘You’re sure?’

She nodded and stepped back to let him in. He made his way straight to the kitchen and began to boil the kettle. ‘You sit. I know where everything is.’

They’d started having a drink together after weekend rows, sometimes at a coffee shop, sometimes at his place or hers, and he moved around her kitchen as if he lived there. ‘No, I can do it,’ she said.

‘You’re sick. Or tired or…’

‘I’m actually fine,’ she admitted.

He looked at her. ‘Oh.’

‘Yeah. Sorry. I’m not quite sure why I lied,’ she said, ironically lying again. Because she did know why, really.

‘It’s OK.’

‘Oh, shit,’ she said, walking into the kitchen to stand near him. ‘Sorry. I do know.’

‘It’s OK,’ he repeated, smiling as the kettle shuddered to a boil. ‘I’m not your boss. You don’t owe me an explanation.’

‘Thank you. Did you still go?’

He nodded. ‘Bloody shoulder’s killing me. I think I’m used to the extra help now.’

‘Whoops. Sorry.’

‘You and your sorrys,’ he said.

A memory flickered. Tom . She nodded rather than let herself reply.

Minutes later, he handed her a cup as she sat on the sofa, and he sank into the chair opposite. ‘Could probably do with a rest from it myself,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just that I feel like if I miss it, I might never go back. So easy to get out of a routine.’

She blew the steam from the top of her mug. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

They were silent again, sipping their coffee. Will tore the edge from a Chelsea bun and popped it into his mouth.

‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’ she found herself saying.

He looked up, surprised. ‘Well, yeah,’ he said. ‘I’d say so. Why?’

‘No reason.’

He gave her a strange look but kept on chewing, washing down the last of the mouthful with a slug of coffee. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked. ‘You seem…’

‘Sorry. I mean… I know,’ she corrected herself. Then, ‘No. Don’t go. Have your coffee. It’s me, not you. I’m just a bit…’

He smiled weakly and took another sip. ‘OK,’ he said, clearly a bit bemused.

‘It’s just… Do you ever worry that you might be forgetting him?’

‘Tom?’ He shook his head. ‘No. Not really.’

‘Maybe forgetting’s not the right word. It’s just… the rowing. When I’m doing it, when I’m with you, things don’t seem quite so bad. Not quite so raw. And sometimes, just for a bit, I forget to think about him, you know?’

He smiled softly, sympathetically. ‘But isn’t that a good thing?’ he asked. ‘I mean, it’s natural to move on… well, a bit at least. And it’s great that you’re able to give yourself a break from it.’

The tears came then, surprising them both. ‘I’m just scared I’m going to forget him, Will,’ she said. ‘He’s been gone almost two years and I’m already…’

He was next to her then, arm around her back. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Come on, Sophie. You’re never going to forget Tom. He was your first love, you married him. Looked after him. He was a huge part of your life.’

She nodded, knowing his words made sense but unable to completely absorb them. Then, ‘First love?’ she said.

‘Yeah. I mean he was, wasn’t he?’

She shrugged. ‘There wasn’t really anyone before him.’

‘Well then.’

‘But I always thought of him as the love of my life, you know. “First love” makes him seem…’

‘What?’

‘Replaceable.’

He laughed, a short bark of humour. ‘Replace Tom?’ he said. ‘I’d like to see someone try. He was… well, unique. A great mate. A good husband. A complete and utter idiot, with his heart in the right place.’

Will was the only person she knew who didn’t seem afraid to talk about Tom. To joke about him in a way that made him still feel alive, relevant.

She smiled through her tears. ‘I think that’s fair,’ she said.

‘But it’s also OK for you to move on. I don’t mean find someone, get married, put the pics of Tom away – any of that,’ he added hurriedly. ‘But I mean, let yourself be happy – even if it’s in a small way. Tom would want that.’

He was right. Even before he died, Tom had told her that he wanted her to be happy, to live her life. It was just she had no idea how or when that was supposed to happen.

‘And I think,’ Will added, ‘I think you can be sad and happy at the same time, can’t you? You’ll always be a bit sad about Tom. But it doesn’t mean you can’t be happy about someone… something else, too.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning into him, putting her arm around him reciprocally.

‘What for?’

‘Being so bloody wise.’

‘That’s not always seen as an asset,’ he said, deflecting.

‘Well, it is to me,’ she said, and she straightened slightly and kissed him firmly on the cheek.

He turned to her, surprised, his hand moving to where her lips had touched his skin. ‘Oh,’ he said.

Then he leant towards her and gently brushed his lips on hers.

She closed her eyes now, thinking of the kiss. How utterly right it had felt. How utterly, utterly terrifying.