The Love of My Life(18)

‘Mostly just grilling me. He was obsessed with the idea that I’d been in touch with her. I told him I wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m not sure he believed me.’ I hold my hand out in front of me. It’s shaking again.

‘What makes you think he didn’t believe you?’ Jill asks. ‘Was he angry?’

I think about this for a moment. Not angry, exactly, but I was frightened, sitting opposite him. He was intense; all over the place – it had felt like an interrogation, not a conversation. I had plenty of fears of my own about the situation, but I hadn’t dared voice them.

I try to explain this to Jill, but it’s difficult to convey.

Tap, tap, tap. My boots hit cooled paving stones; a chocolate wrapper skitters down the hill. I turn off Heath Street and up a narrow lane.

‘I’m so sorry.’ Jill’s voice is pained. ‘I hoped it might be more positive.’

I sigh. ‘It’s my fault. I should never have agreed to meet him.’

‘But how could you not? You’ve been beside yourself with worry. Oh, Emma. I can’t stand it for you.’

‘Bless you. Thank you. I can’t stand it either – I didn’t get to ask any of the questions I wanted to ask.’

‘But did it help?’ she asks, after a tactful pause. ‘For you, I mean?’

‘No,’ I say firmly. Then: ‘Maybe.’ Then: ‘No.’ Then: ‘Oh, shit. I just don’t know. I feel crazy. I’m going to try and get an emergency appointment with my therapist tomorrow.’

‘Well, I’m here if your therapist can’t fit you in,’ she says, as I knew she would. ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch near your work tomorrow? I need to spend a few hours at the British Library, I’ll even be in the area.’

‘Ah, that’s a lovely idea, but I can’t. I’ve a meeting with one of my PhD students from twelve thirty til two.’

‘Cancel it,’ she says, immediately. ‘You need some space to process this, Emma. You meeting up with him is huge.’

I promise to think about it. I value Jill’s company greatly – a night on her sofa with a bottle of wine and a power ballad playlist on loud is one of life’s great tonics. The problem is that our entire relationship has been shaped by the catastrophic wreckage of my early twenties, and there’s no hiding, when I’m with her. Sometimes I don’t want to lean into all that pain; I prefer to just pretend it’s not there.

‘The main thing that came out of tonight is that there’s no way forward,’ I say. ‘He might have been a mess, but he was abundantly clear that he won’t be coming to any sort of “arrangement” with me. Apart from all the usual reasons he said it would be a betrayal, and he’s done with betraying his wife. All he wanted was to find out if I’d been in touch with her.’

‘Oh, Emma.’

‘I think he’s probably going to cut off contact again.’

‘Mmm,’ she says, quietly. ‘I wouldn’t bank on that.’

‘No, seriously. I think we’re done. For good, this time. Which means I’m going to have to go back to sitting on my hands. Thinking about it every bloody day, never really moving on. But at least I know, Jill. At least I can just get on with loving my family.’

We end the call soon after, because I can’t turn up in this state. I’m not sure Leo is Jill’s biggest fan, but even he knows I’d never come home in tears after a dinner with her.

If you’re an organism living in the intertidal zone, you face a life of extremes: scorching sun or icy submersion; salinity stress, crashing waves, frenzied coastal winds – it’s one of the most perilous environments in nature, my tutor Ted told us, in our very first seminar. If you think you’ve got it hard, imagine life as a limpet!

It’s a line that both Jill and I have never quite forgotten, so when Jill texts Hang on in there, little limpet! a few minutes later, I smile. Managing two separate lives is herculean by anyone’s standards, especially when you’ve just finished months of cancer treatment. But, my friend, you are tougher than you know.

She messages a third time as I turn into the alley that cuts through to my road. And I’m here if you’re ever feeling less than tough.

I delete this and all of the evening’s messages. To be extra sure, I go into my contacts and rename the man who has once again broken my heart as ‘Sally’.

I see him as soon as I emerge from the alley.

A male figure. Standing in the street in front of our little terrace, looking at our house.

I stop dead. Neither of our neighbours have any lights on and Leo, as usual, has left on every light in every room. But, irrespective of the lights, I know instinctively that he’s there for us. For me.

I drop back into the alley and peer around, clutching my bag. He’s wearing a baseball cap, under which long-ish hair spills out at the back. Tall. Rangey, I’d say, although he’s wearing a lightweight parka and it’s hard to tell. I can only see the side of his face, and it’s too dark to make out much detail – but I don’t think this is anyone I know; anyone with a good reason to be visiting my house at this time of night.

I pull back again and get out my phone to call Leo, fingers fumbling. Is Leo safe inside? Ruby? I peer round one final time before calling, just as the man turns and gets into a small car, parked next to mine.