Just My Luck(64)

Emily and Logan go into the garden and discover a croquet set. Neither of them has ever played croquet in their lives, the very name of the game has been a source of derision in the past, now they are knocking a ball about with a lack of expertise but complete enthusiasm. I stand at the window and watch them. They giggle and chatter, gently squabbling about whose ball is closest to the hoop. There are no electronic devices in sight. I’m living the dream. Jake is at my side.

But we’re not touching.

The estate agent says breezily, ‘I’ve a bottle of champagne in the car. I should have got it out when we arrived and put it in the fridge to chill. Will you excuse me for a moment while I go and fetch it? I imagine you want a moment just to take in all this fabulousness.’

A strange thing has happened to Jake and me over the past few weeks. For years we used to talk about anything and everything. The big stuff and the little stuff. The value of my career, how many children we should have, where and how we should raise said children, what we should spend our money on. We discussed, in detail, what we’d do if we only had five minutes left to live and if we have fifty years left to live. Now we only talk about what we – he – wants to buy next. I wish I could keep up with him, I wish I could simply enjoy spending it all. I can’t, and somehow that means we no longer know how to reach each other. I’ve noticed when we are alone together, we seem to be more alone than when we are apart.

‘How much does this cost to rent?’ I ask.

‘We can afford it,’ replies Jake, which doesn’t answer my question.

‘And if we did want to buy it, how much would that cost?’

Jake shrugs. ‘I’m not sure exactly.’ I stare at him. He looks just above my eyebrows. Doesn’t he even care anymore? Has he gone past that?

‘A ballpark?’

‘No clue.’

‘Did you ask?’

‘We’ll ask if we decide we want it.’

‘What length of lease is on it?’

‘Monthly.’

I consider this. I’m surprised; a monthly lease offers us the most flexibility. And freedom. It’s the careful, considered thing to do. My husband has been the complete antithesis to careful and considered since we won the lottery. Well, since before then really. ‘Why, Jake?’ He shrugs. ‘Isn’t a six-month rental more usual? Wouldn’t it have been better value?’

‘That’s the point though, isn’t it, Lexi? We are not usual. We don’t have to worry about what is better value.’ He runs his hands through his hair.

‘Everyone worries about money. Even the Queen turns her lights out at night at Buck Palace.’ I’m trying to make a joke because I fear this isn’t one. There’s something lurking in the murky depths of our relationship. Something that will bite or sting.

Jake shrugs. ‘I think that HRH’s decision is more environment-related.’

‘No, I don’t think so. She’s trying to be thrifty. I don’t think the environment is one of her issues.’

‘Well, we don’t know, do we? Pressure groups probably make her feel she has to switch her lights out; she probably wants to leave them on. I really don’t think she cares about spending money. Some people don’t care about spending money, Lexi.’

‘In that case, well done pressure groups. Maybe I should hire them to get you to act differently.’

‘Jesus, Lexi.’ He shakes his head. ‘I’ll ask for a discount and take the place for six months, if that’s what you want,’ he says impatiently.

I stand in the vast, cold kitchen and consider how utterly ludicrous it is to be arguing about the Queen’s thriftiness or otherwise. We are ludicrous. Then I realise something much worse. We’re not arguing about that at all.

I ball up my courage. I grip the side of the table, watch as my knuckles and the tips of my fingers, under the nails, turn a glassy white. ‘Do you still love me, Jake?’

‘Lexi, what a question.’

‘Do you?’ I force myself to look at him. I confront our twenty-five-year history. I see it flashing between us, like some sort of kinetic energy. From the moment I realised he was staring at me in the Student Union, his eyes bored into me. Singed me, set me on fire. Just as a ray of sunlight reflected through a lens can cause a forest fire. Our first kiss and fuck. Which happened within about fifteen minutes of one another, such was the strength of our lust. I remember as I pulled up my knickers thinking that I’d broken all the rules and probably lost him because of it. I’d been taught nice girls didn’t shag their dates up against a wall in the halls of the student residents. Nice girls at least waited to get their dates into their hard, skinny beds. I thought as his itch had been scratched, I’d never see him again. In fact, he never left my side.

At least not for many years.

I remember our wedding day; it was a big and busy occasion. A blur of beams and best wishes, dreams realised and freshly formed. He carried me over the threshold of our hotel room, he stood on my dress and it tore. We laughed and he told me he’d spent all day thinking about tearing the thing off me anyhow. The births of Emily and Logan; one such an easy child, the other a worry and a stress. I see Jake pacing up and down our small sitting room with a squally Logan thrown over his shoulder, his huge hand gently rubbing the baby’s back. Covering it. Protecting it. First days at school. Holidays. Sick days. Pay days. I see a string of them bob in front of me like clothes on a washing line being buffeted in the wind. Fresh, buoyant, brilliant. I remember the simple joy of watching the TV, him sat up straight and me spread out on the sofa, my head in his lap, knowing that The Graham Norton Show was good anyway but all the better because we laughed at the same bits. That all flashes in front of me and I ask for a third time, ‘Do you love me, Jake?’