The Girl I Used to Be(53)

He moved away, going over to the sink to fill the kettle. “We agreed to do this,” he said. “When you got pregnant we knew we couldn’t both work. And you wanted to keep the agency going. That was important to you, remember?”

I couldn’t speak. I knew that was what I’d said, but it was nearly four years ago, before Rory was born. How was I meant to know how I’d feel years later? And I looked over at Joe; he was calmly making tea and he seemed so reasonable. It was as though I was at fault, as though I couldn’t keep a promise. Tears filled my eyes. I knew I wouldn’t say anything more. I never did stand up to him. Not really. I’d shout sometimes and I’d get upset, but I never seemed able to sit down with Joe and talk about things honestly. Even now, I could feel myself backing off.

I muttered that I was going to fetch Rory and left the house. Rory was with Sam, a boy from nursery who lived nearby, and the walk there and the chat with Sam’s mother helped me calm down.

Back home I changed into shorts and a T-shirt and we sat out on the patio to eat the dinner that Joe had made for us. Rory told me again all about Ireland and the lovely meals that Nanny had cooked for him and about the adventures he’d had with Grandad and his cousins. It sounded as though Joe had hardly seen him all week; as though he’d reverted back to his childhood self. No wonder he wants to move back there. No wonder he wants us to live with his parents. I thought of how it would be if we did that, how I’d be the only one in the house getting up to go to work every day, while Joe and his retired parents and our child had a permanent holiday.

I had to get past this. I knew my resentment was poisoning our relationship, but I couldn’t find the courage to stand up for what I wanted.





THIRTY-NINE


    RACHEL


Sunday, August 13

I KNOW I’D told the girls in the office that I was coming back on Monday morning, but I actually flew back on Sunday night. David had persuaded me to tell a white lie so that I had more time to spend with him. He didn’t have to be at work on Monday morning and he wanted me to be at home with him. I loved that about him. He always wanted us to be close, all the time.

So I drove back from Liverpool and parked in our residents’ parking bay. I flicked on the car’s interior light and took out my makeup bag. I looked okay, just needed to touch up my lipstick. I smoothed my hair, wanting to look my best, and sprayed perfume on my throat and wrists. When I was quite sure I looked good, I jumped out of the car. As I took my cabin bag from the boot, I saw Jennifer, the woman who lived in the other ground-floor apartment, drive in. I waited for her to get out of her car and we walked toward the building together.

“Have you been away?” she asked. “I noticed nobody was around this weekend.”

“I’ve just come back from Amsterdam,” I said. “A hen weekend.”

“Wow, lucky you. What about David? Was he away on the stag weekend?”

“No, he’s been here.”

She gave me a puzzled look. “Really? A couple of lads were outside, ringing on all the bells last night. Well, this morning. It turned out they were looking for Zoe, but she’s gone now. I didn’t want to go out to them, so I ended up knocking on your door, to see whether David would tell them to get lost.”

“He mustn’t have heard you, otherwise he would’ve gone out to them,” I said. “What time was it?”

“Oh, about three o’clock. Maybe nearer four. I was so annoyed; I had to be at work early today. He must be able to sleep through anything if he could sleep through that, though. I ended up shouting out of the window at them. They wanted Zoe’s new address. As if I was going to give it to them at that time of night!”

We parted company in the hallway and I opened the door to our apartment. The apartment we lived in was pretty small, but it was a temporary arrangement. We made all sorts of plans about what we’d do when we sold my mum’s house, and sometimes I did wonder how we’d manage in a much bigger house. So much space would be wasted. David liked to be with me, to be near me always.

My mum left the house and her money to me. Well, there wasn’t anyone else to leave it to. I was surprised she had so much, really. She certainly didn’t spend a lot when she was alive, though to be fair, she’d paid for my university fees without a question and for the year before she died, when I was looking after her, she used to tell me to use her credit card to get whatever I needed. She never bought anything for herself, though. Except alcohol. She never went out for the last few years; she had it delivered to the house after I refused to buy it for her. I think she grew afraid of running out of money as she got older, though she would’ve been good for a long time.

David was a great help in sorting all that out for me. After she died I wasn’t fit for much, really. On the one hand there was a sense of relief that that era of my life had ended, but on the other . . . well, she was my mum, and even if she hadn’t prioritized me, it didn’t mean the reverse was true.

When I opened the door to the apartment, David was there, waiting for me.

“Hey!” he said, jumping up from the sofa. “I’ve just opened some wine.” He kissed me and I could tell he’d had a head start. “Welcome back!”

I hugged him close. It was so good to come home to someone who loved me, and such a change to come into a house where there was warmth and fun. He’d lit candles in the hearth and a bottle of white wine stood on the coffee table, wet with condensation. He poured me a glass and went into the kitchen and came back with a tray of cheese and crackers and a bunch of plump, dewy grapes.