by Karen Clarke
Sam emptied his glass before replying, head thrown back, and I watched his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. ‘We didn’t see much of it, to be honest,’ he said when he’d finished, turning to rinse his glass.
The evening sun glanced off his hair, turning it almost white, and I had a vision of us, thirty years from now, in the exact same place, having the same conversation.
‘We were a bit hung-over from celebrating last night.’ A smile creased his cheek, as if revisiting a good memory. ‘Chris threw up in a bin this morning, and Dom’s legs ached so much after the descent yesterday, he could barely put one foot in front of the other.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t fathom it. ‘I told him he should have put in more training, but he wouldn’t listen.’ He bent to open the dishwasher, his head snatching back when he spotted the unwashed plates, mugs and wine glasses inside. ‘Forgot to switch it on?’ he said with a grimace.
‘I haven’t had much time for housework.’ It was a cue for him to ask about… everything. He didn’t take it.
‘I’ll have a quick clear up,’ he said, scanning the worktops as if they were coated with grime, eyes lingering on the empty Mini Eggs bag and crumpled cheese wrapper I’d forgotten to throw away. ‘We don’t want mice, like your mum had once, do you remember?’
I nodded, but he was already squatting to pull some disinfectant wipes from the cupboard under the sink, his joggers riding low to show a strip of bare back, and I felt an urge to tug his T-shirt down.
‘I thought my brakes were going to fail at one point,’ he said, bouncing up and starting to rub at the worktops. ‘I had visions of myself flying over the handlebars and breaking my nose, but managed to slow down in time. I had to fit a new cable.’ He paused, wipe in hand, face twisting violently, then released a huge sneeze and simultaneously farted. ‘Pardon,’ he said, turning his attention to the stove, even though I hadn’t used it all week. ‘You should have seen some of the hairpin bends we had to get past on the way to the Col de la Faucille.’
I slid onto a stool at the breakfast bar, with the curious feeling I was watching Sam from a distance, as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn stain – I must have spilt a drop of wine when Cassie and Tilly were here.
I wondered what Nathan was doing at this very moment.
‘How did it go at the bakery?’
At last. ‘It couldn’t have gone better,’ I said stiffly as he finally stopped scrubbing and turned to look at me. ‘We took lots of money.’
He folded his arms, fists wedged under his armpits and fixed me properly in his gaze. ‘I’m glad it went well.’ He sounded genuine, which was confusing. ‘Tell me about it.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Big Steve made some bread before he went to work this morning, and Kath and Cassie helped out in the shop, and Valerie Jones, you don’t know her, is going to be working there too, and a photographer came, so I’ll be in the paper, and Alice did an update on the programme yesterday…’ I paused, aware of trying to paint as positive a picture as possible – even though there hadn’t been any downsides, apart from my aching feet. ‘Oh, and Mum turned up with…’ I stumbled. ‘With my… with Mike.’
‘I’m still not sure about this mystery buyer,’ Sam said, zeroing in on the part he disliked the most. ‘I think you should try to find out who it is.’
‘Why does it bother you, if it doesn’t bother me?’ I shifted position, and had to grab at the breakfast bar to prevent myself shooting off the stool. ‘Would you feel the same if Mr Moseley had left me the bakery in his will?’
That seemed to throw him. ‘I suppose not.’ He scratched his forehead. ‘But then, he knew you. It would have made sense for him to do that.’
‘I really think he would have, you know. If he’d got round to making a will.’
‘It’s academic though, Meg, because he didn’t.’
‘But someone saw its potential, and mine, and wanted to give us a chance,’ I pushed. ‘Isn’t that a nice thing to do?’
‘I just can’t believe there are no strings attached, Meg. What if it doesn’t work out?’ A persuasive tone had entered his voice that I recognised all the more clearly for not having seen him for a week.
‘If it doesn’t work out, he can always sack me and get another manager in.’ My pulse throbbed with annoyance. ‘Which won’t happen, because I’m not going to fail.’
‘I’m just looking out for you, babe.’ His voice was softer, as if calming a temperamental retriever. ‘It’s risky, that’s all, and also you’re going to be there all the time, and I suppose I don’t want to be fighting for your attention.’
Like I fight for your attention with your bloody cycling.
‘I was thinking,’ he said, before I could react, whipping a clean disinfectant wipe from the pack. ‘What if we have our honeymoon in Geneva?’ He shot me a smile. ‘It’s really beautiful. I think you’d like it, and we wouldn’t have as far to travel, which means we’d get to spend more time there.’ Tell him now. ‘Meg?’
‘Sam, I—’
‘Listen, I know I’ve been an arse about everything, but you know what it’s like when I’m training.’ His eyes had filled with remorse. ‘The challenge is over for this year, so I’m all yours now, babe. I’m going to make it up to you.’
Oh god. ‘I – I don’t know,’ I said, mind frothing. ‘What about George?’
‘George?’ A jumble of emotions crossed his face, gone before I could pin any of them down. ‘What’s she got to do with us?’
I thought about the photo, but it was hardly proof of anything. ‘I…’
‘Look,’ he said, with a rueful smile. ‘Emotions have been running high with one thing and another. You’ve had all sorts going on back here, and I’m sorry you had to go through all that with your… with your dad, on your own.’
So, he hadn’t forgotten I now had a dad. ‘It was a shock,’ I admitted, as the memory of finding out about Mike came flooding back. ‘I honestly thought I was going to faint. Mum had to catch me.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting him,’ Sam said. ‘I need to give him a good grilling about his intentions.’
‘Sam!’ Anger gripped my chest. ‘I’ve already told you, he’s not like that.’ I pushed aside my untouched orange juice and slid off the stool. ‘Why are you being like this about him?’
‘Being like what?’ He threw down the wet wipe and caught my hands, pressing them to his chest. ‘Your mum’s vulnerable,’ he said, as if he knew her better than I did. ‘And you are too, Meg, you just can’t see it.’
I pulled away, catching a whiff of disinfectant, and wiped my hands down my dress. ‘You nearly lost your dad, Sam. I thought you of all people would understand how amazing it is to know that mine’s alive.’
Disbelief crowded his face. ‘Having a brilliant dad in the first place meant I knew exactly what I’d be losing if he didn’t make it,’ he said passionately. ‘It made me appreciate everything so much more.’ He reached for my hands again and I let him take them this time, wishing I hadn’t brought up Neil’s near-death experience. He looked at me with faint disappointment, like a favourite jumper I’d shrunk in the wash. ‘You’ve never known your dad. It’s not the same.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’ I released his fingers. ‘I just wish you’d give Mike the benefit of the doubt, like I am.’
He pulled me close, tightening his arms around me as he pressed his face into my neck. ‘Let’s not argue,’ he murmured. ‘We never argue.’ The light was lowering, sharpening colours and shapes. I looked at the hot-dog-shaped clock on the wall, as if I’d never seen it before. It looked so… phony. ‘Let’s go to bed.’ Sam pushed himself even closer and I wrenched away, feeling an urge to test him.
‘Mum’s invited us round.’ I tugged my mouth into a smile. ‘Mike wants to meet you.’
All at once, tiredness shrouded his face and he gave a theatrical yawn. ‘God, I’m shattered,’ he said. ‘I’ve barely slept in the last twenty-four hours.’<
br />
‘We don’t have to stay long,’ I said. ‘Just show our faces, really.’
He gave an understanding smile. ‘I doubt I’d make a very good impression at the moment.’ He cupped my cheek. ‘You go if you want to, Meg. I think I need to crash out.’
His palm felt clammy and I tilted my head away. ‘But, Sam, it’s my dad.’ I couldn’t believe he wasn’t prepared to come with me. ‘He won’t care if you’re not on form.’
‘I care.’ His smile dimmed. ‘I’m just not up to something so… major right now.’
Again, I had the feeling that I was spoiling the natural order of things; that a long-lost dad simply wasn’t on his agenda. ‘It’s important to me, Sam.’
He squeezed my shoulder. ‘If he’s as nice as you say he is, I’m sure he’ll understand.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
I didn’t go in the end. I couldn’t bear to turn up on my own when Mum and Mike knew that Sam was back in the country. After he’d hauled his rucksack upstairs and jumped in the shower – seeming to have miraculously revived – I texted Mum to say we were both worn out and having an early night.
She replied that she understood with two winky faces, which made my heart drop, adding Kath said today was a great success! We’re all very proud of you XX
I shot into the garden, wondering how long Sam had been back and whether he’d noticed the patchy grass, and that I’d forgotten to wind the hose up. I stood for a moment, as the sun dipped over the rooftops, the smell of barbecue smoke so strong I could almost hear the spit and sizzle of steak fat on the grill.
‘We’re having sausages, you’re not having sausages.’ It was the twins, back on their trampoline, sunburnt faces almost feral. ‘We’re having sausages, you’re not having sausages,’ they chanted, more loudly.
I wished they would bounce into the nearest tree and stay there.
‘We’ve got cake for afters, from your shop.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said, when they bobbed up again.
‘I bet it tastes like POO-POO!’
I sighed and went indoors, closing the windows so I couldn’t hear their taunts. My thoughts were darting like startled rabbits not knowing where to settle, and I realised I was starving. I went into the kitchen and took some cooked chicken from the fridge and buttered one of the tomato and basil rolls I’d brought back from the bakery, eating quickly standing up. I heard Sam moving about upstairs, no doubt unpacking, probably still dripping from his shower, a towel wound round his waist.
Why hadn’t I told him straight out that I was having doubts about the wedding? I’d had plenty of opportunities. I went through to the hall – imagined marching upstairs and saying it – but the words seemed stuck in my head.
‘I’m in bed if you’d like to join me,’ he called down, in his seducer’s voice. I could almost see him flipping the sheet back and patting the mattress, a look of intent in his eyes, no doubt raring to go now his cycling challenge was over. ‘Meg?’
I backed into the living room, a buzzing feeling in my head. ‘I’ve got some paperwork to sort out,’ I called back.
‘OK.’ Another loud yawn. ‘I’ll keep your side warm, although it’s pretty hot in here.’
I’ll tell him tomorrow. First thing.
I curled into the sofa and switched on the television low. I didn’t need the volume high. I knew every episode of Friends almost word for word.
‘Mum sounded a bit weird on the phone,’ Sam said, as we drove to his parents’ house the following day. I couldn’t believe we were actually going – that I still hadn’t talked to him.
‘Maybe she felt guilty after what she said the other night.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t mean it, especially if she’d been drinking.’ He rested a hand on my knee and I pretended I’d spotted a loose thread on my skirt as an excuse to shift away.
‘Young children and drunk people always tell the truth. Isn’t that what they say?’
He gave a small shrug, and I let it drop. He was still miffed that I’d fallen asleep on the sofa in the end, and wouldn’t join him for ‘a cuddle’ earlier, because I’d given myself a stiff neck.
‘I’ll give you a massage,’ he’d offered, when I took him a mug of coffee, pretending to pout when I wincingly declined, wishing he’d go training as usual, and as if he’d read my mind, he’d sprang out of bed and headed out with his bike.
He’d refused breakfast when he came back, saving himself for lunch, and had spent the next couple of hours tinkering with his bike in the garden and FaceTiming Chris – as if they hadn’t seen enough of each other – while I put on a wash and tidied the house, practising saying I don’t want to marry you in my head, but unable to form the words. It was as if, now he was back, I’d fallen straight back into our Sam and Meg rut, and couldn’t claw my way out.
A vicious headache started to pulse behind my eyes, not helped by the sight of Sadie, hanging out of an upstairs window as we arrived at the Ryans’. She vanished as soon as she saw the car pull up, and I felt sick with the realisation that, by not talking to Sam, I’d probably made everything worse.
My palms were sweating as I got out, far too hot even though I was wearing a thin cotton dress and the temperature had dipped to slightly less than stifling.
Beverley was already bringing food to the table when we got inside, the smell of roasting meat making my throat close up.
‘Ooh, I thought you weren’t coming for a moment,’ she cried, putting down the roast potatoes, and bounding over to bear hug Sam. ‘Look at you, my lovely, you’re so brown!’
She encompassed me in her toothy smile, but her eyes barely grazed mine, and I knew she’d remembered our last conversation and had meant every word.
‘How was it, son?’ Neil came through and there was more bear hugging with added back-slapping, as though Sam had been gone for six months and we hadn’t just seen them last week.
He filled them in as we settled ourselves at the table and filled our plates, and I noticed with a surge of relief that Maura wasn’t present.
‘Your sister’s got this summer flu, but sends her love,’ said Beverley, opposite Sam, folding in her voluminous white top as she sat down so it didn’t dip in the gravy boat. ‘She’ll catch up with you soon.’
She slid me a look of thinly veiled contempt, as though it was my fault that Maura wasn’t well, and I realised they must have discussed me, and that Maura was firmly on her mother’s side. The thought was deeply depressing, and I wished I could get up and leave – go to the bakery and make a cake or… go anywhere, really.
My thoughts felt like tangled vines, when a day ago they’d been straight lines, and I was increasingly furious with myself.
‘Meg was busy while you were away, weren’t you, love?’ said Neil, once Sam had finished going through his itinerary, which I knew Beverley would have avidly followed online. ‘She’s got that bakery up and running again.’
‘Yes, I did know,’ he said, briefly resting his hand on mine, as though he fully supported my decision and hadn’t more or less told me I wouldn’t succeed. ‘She’s amazing.’
‘Could you please pass the gravy?’ Beverley asked me, clearly keen to deflect the topic, and I had another Groundhog Day feeling as I handed it over and watched her tip half the liquid on her roast lamb. ‘The meat’s tender, don’t you think, sweetheart?’
I nodded. My appetite had fled, and I knew I was going to struggle to eat even half of what I’d put on my plate. Sam, sitting beside his mum, was having no such trouble, forking a floret of broccoli into his mouth.
Sadie came in and sat next to me, casting me a look that I couldn’t read. She didn’t seem hostile, but wasn’t smiling either.
My heart rate doubled. ‘How’s, er, make-up college?’ I fumbled over the words, feeling as if I had no right to talk to her, especially when I hadn’t called to ‘speak’ like I’d said I would.
‘It’s cool.’ She speared a pea with her fork. ‘We’re doing prosthetics at the mome
nt, so we’ve been making each other into monsters.’
Her gaze flickered to me and her eyes widened. I dropped my fork. Was she saying I was a monster? Maybe I was. Sweat broke out on my brow, but when I looked at her again, she was watching Beverley squash a Yorkshire pudding into her mouth as if she’d never seen anything quite so repulsive.
I ransacked my brain for an inoffensive topic of conversation. I couldn’t face bringing up Mike, and dealing with their reactions, and it didn’t look as if Sam was going to either. He was still talking about his trip to Neil, at the end of the table, pausing only to swallow food, or take a gulp of water.
Beverley was sticking to water too, and I wondered whether she’d made a conscious decision to stay sober. Perhaps she didn’t trust herself not to lunge at me over the table and rip my hair out.
‘Had a word with your mum yet, about buying your dress?’ she said brightly, folding a slice of lamb onto her fork.
I poked a nugget of sweetcorn, which shot onto the table. ‘No, I haven’t.’ I risked a glance at Sadie, in time to see her eyes dart back to her plate.
‘I probably won’t be coming over every week in future,’ she said, unexpectedly. ‘My friends…’ She paused, perhaps arrested by the panic on Beverley’s face, and remembering the way Beverley had cried about losing her family, I almost felt sorry for her. ‘We’d like to do things together sometimes on a Sunday.’ She cast an apologetic glance in her dad’s direction. ‘Sorry.’
‘Of course you do, love,’ he said. A drop of gravy splashed the front of his shirt as he lowered his fork. ‘You don’t want to hang around with the old folks every week, you want to be out having fun!’
‘You’re saying Sunday lunch isn’t fun?’ Beverley looked bewildered, her cutlery hitting her plate. ‘What could be more fun than this?’
Almost anything.
The unspoken words hung over the table, and Sam laughed into the silence. ‘I don’t think it’s meant to be fun,’ he said, wagging his knife and adopting a grandfatherly tone. ‘Sunday lunch with the family’s about tradition, not about having fun.’