I See You(12)

‘It’s broken.’

Simon makes a sound that might be agreement, reaching an arm above the duvet to pull me closer to him. I wriggle away.

‘We’ll be late for work. I’m going to have to get someone out to look at that shower; it’s definitely not right.’

‘It’ll cost a fortune – you know what plumbers are like. They’ll invoice us for a hundred quid before they’ve even stepped through the door.’

‘Well, I can’t fix it myself, and …’ I let my sentence trail off, shooting a knowing look at Simon.

‘Oi, I’m not that bad!’ He pokes me in the ribs and I squeal. Simon’s atrocious DIY skills are matched only by my own. The house Matt and I bought together was a repossession – we’d never have afforded it, otherwise – and the plan was we’d both do it up. After the second time I drilled through a water pipe I agreed to step away from the power tools, and DIY became one of those ‘blue’ jobs, like servicing the cab, or putting out the bins. I got used to doing most things in the years when it was just me and the kids, but the shelf in the bathroom has fallen down three times, and the flat-pack wardrobe in Katie’s room is decidedly wonky. Discovering Simon was as inept as I was at DIY was secretly rather a blow.

‘Is there any point fixing the shower?’ Simon says. ‘The whole bathroom needs redoing.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen any time soon,’ I say, thinking of the Christmas presents I’ll soon be putting on a credit card. ‘We’ll have to get the shower fixed and put up with the rest.’ I snuggle under the duvet and feel Simon’s warm body spooning my own, one eye on the clock.

‘It’s a waste of money.’ Simon pushes the duvet off abruptly, kicking it out of reach and sending a blast of cold air across us both. I sit up and look at him.

‘Since when did you worry about money?’ I’m the one who keeps track of how much we’re spending. It’s in my blood. Simon, on the other hand, is casual with cash in the way people only are when they’ve never been without it.

‘Sorry,’ he says, with an embarrassed shrug. ‘Wrong side of the bed. It just seems a shame to patch up something that needs a bigger job on it. How about I get a quote for a complete refit?’

I imagine the bathroom of my dreams; all chrome and white tiles, like the hotel Simon took me to in Paris for our first anniversary. ‘We can’t afford it, Simon, not with Christmas coming up.’

‘I’ll pay,’ he says. There’s something in his eyes that makes me think he regrets his recklessness, but he doesn’t take it back. ‘You won’t let me contribute to the mortgage, so let me buy you a new bathroom.’ I wonder if Justin’s comments last night have hit home; I open my mouth to protest but he holds up a hand. ‘I insist. I’ll look for a reputable building company. If such a thing exists! Right, come on, I’ll be late – and so will you.’ He leaps up and I swing my legs to the side and push my feet into fleecy slippers. My dressing gown feels cold against my naked skin and I shiver as I go downstairs and put the kettle on. Biscuit weaves in and out of my legs, tripping me up until I scoop a cup of food into his bowl.

I hear the whine of the shower come to an end; the bathroom door open. There are footsteps on the landing, and the murmur of voices as Katie and Simon pass each other. The whine resumes. Katie’s in a hurry today. If she’s getting ready for a night out she can be in the bathroom for what seems like hours – not that Simon would ever complain. He’d go without a shower, rather than chivvy her.

‘Teenagers,’ he shrugged, when I told her off for hogging the bathroom. ‘It’s not like I need long to wash my hair.’ He ran a hand over his head, feeling the thinning patch of grey with a rueful smile.

‘You’re very understanding.’ I told him. After Matt’s hot-headedness it’s such a relief to be living with someone so tolerant; I’ve never seen Simon lose his temper, not even when the neighbours came round for the umpteenth time to complain about the music Justin was playing at a far more reasonable level than their own screaming kids. Simon doesn’t have it in him to be angry.

Melissa narrowed her eyes when I told her Simon had lived on his own for ten years before we met.

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Nothing! He just hasn’t found the right person. But he’s perfectly house-trained. Cooks, cleans, even irons.’

‘You couldn’t send him round to mine, when you’re done with him, could you? Neil can build a computer from scratch but the switch for the vacuum cleaner seems to elude him.’

I laughed. I had a feeling, even in those early days, that I wouldn’t be sending Simon anywhere. I remembered the shiver of excitement I’d felt when he kissed me for the first time, and the thrill of the fast, clumsy sex we’d had at the end of that first date; all the more exciting because it was so out of character for me. That’s what I liked most about Simon; he made me feel like a different person. Not a mum, or Matt’s girlfriend or wife. Me. Zoe Walker. I went straight from my parents’ house to living with Matt, and when I found myself single at thirty I was so worried about making sure the kids were all right that finding out who I was just wasn’t important. Meeting Simon changed that.

I make the tea and take a tray upstairs with four mugs, knocking on Justin’s door and picking my way carefully through the detritus on the floor, so I can put a steaming cup next to his bed.