I was just considering giving up when I heard a woman’s voice – Amy’s voice – say, ‘Of course I can change, Joe. Anyone can change if they really want to.’
I moved to the edge of the building, towards the direction the sound was coming from, and peered around the corner. They were seated side by side on the ground, their backs to the wall. Joe was smoking a cigarette, which surprised me. I had never once seen him smoke.
I ducked back out of sight and waited to find out if they had spotted me, but they simply continued to talk. Though I was out of sight, I could hear every word. I could even hear the sound of Joe taking a drag on his cigarette.
I almost walked away at that point. Listening in seemed unreasonable, and I had no idea what I wanted to say to them anyway. But then I heard Amy say, ‘Look, I know I’ve been stupid, Joe. I know I’ve fucked up big time. And I’m admitting it all. That’s got to count for something, hasn’t it?’
I suddenly couldn’t leave until I’d heard Joe’s reply.
‘Sure,’ Joe said. ‘Of course it does.’
‘We’re a family, Joe,’ Amy said. ‘We have a son. Surely you don’t want to destroy that?’
‘Me destroy it?’ he said. ‘Jesus, Amy.’
‘No, no, that’s not what I mean,’ she said, sounding manic, sounding excited almost. ‘I know it’s all my fault. I’ve said that. I’ve admitted it. But I’ve come to my senses, Joe. I see everything clearly now, and I love you. You know I do. I want my family back, Joe. I want you back.’
I started to cry at that point – silent tears streaming down my cheeks. I fumbled in my pocket for a tissue.
‘I get that, Amy,’ Joe said. ‘I do.’
‘And don’t tell me you don’t love me,’ Amy said. ‘Because if you do, I won’t believe you. I know you love me, Joe.’
‘I . . .’ Joe said.
‘I’ve been hell to live with, Joe, I get that,’ Amy said. ‘It’s . . . it’s . . . like, almost a kind of mental illness with me. But I’ll heal. I promise you, I’ll sort myself out this time. I’ll get some therapy. I’ll get proper therapy, too, not the new-age stuff you hate. I’ll be better this time around. We can make this work, I know we can.’
‘Yeah . . .’ Joe said. ‘I hear you . . .’
‘Please, Joe,’ Amy said. ‘Just say yes. You have to say yes. For me, for us, for Ben.’
There was a pause then – a long few seconds during which I held my breath.
‘Amy, I love you,’ Joe said finally. ‘I do.’
‘Oh, thank God,’ Amy said, and I heard her kiss him.
A fresh round of tears started to cascade down my cheeks. I steadied myself with one hand against the wall.
‘I love you,’ Joe said. ‘I always have, and I always will, Ame.’
I remembered the song he’d written for her then, and understood that I’d been right. I’d been dreaming to think that there was some kind of magic between Joe and me. Of course I had! Just the idea that someone as ordinary as myself could snag a man like Joe – even the idea seemed absurd. I felt worthless and idiotic for ever having imagined otherwise.
I turned to leave, but just as I did so, Joe spoke again.
‘It’s just too late, Amy,’ he said. ‘That’s the thing. It’s done. That’s what you’re not getting.’
I gasped and leaned back against the wall for support.
‘What do you mean, it’s too late? What does that even mean?’ Amy asked.
‘It means there was a time,’ Joe explained calmly, ‘when I would have said yes. But not now. Not any more.’
‘But why not?’ Amy asked. ‘I mean, you say you love me, so why not? I don’t get it. Why not let yourself be happy?’
‘But I am happy,’ Joe said. ‘That’s the thing.’
‘You’re happy,’ Amy repeated flatly. Then, ‘How can you be happy, Joe?’
‘I don’t know, but I am.’
‘And when did it suddenly become too late, anyway? You don’t spend fifteen years with someone and decide overnight that it’s too late to save the relationship. That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘Only it does to me.’
‘But since when, Joe? Explain it to me.’
‘Since I realised that I don’t want all that drama in my life any more.’
‘Drama,’ Amy repeated.
‘Yes, drama. It was hell living with you, Ame. And I didn’t realise it for ages. But since I moved out, I see it all much more clearly.’
‘Since you started living alone, you mean? You seriously want me to believe that you’re happier alone than when we were a family?’
‘No, since I moved in with Heather,’ he said.
‘With Heather?’ Amy repeated.
‘Yes. I think I’m falling in love with her, actually.’
‘With Heather?’ Amy said again.
‘Yeah. She’s the person I want to be with,’ Joe said. ‘I’m sorry, but . . . I don’t know what to say. That’s just the way it is. It’s a surprise to me, too.’
‘You cannot be serious,’ Amy said, laughing bitterly.
‘She’s amazing,’ Joe said softly. ‘I know how . . . unassuming she seems, and everything. But she’s one of – no, actually, she’s the kindest soul I’ve ever met.’
Tears were still rolling down my cheeks and there was a physical pain in my heart as well. I wondered if I was going to maybe have a heart attack and die before I even got a chance at living this thing I’d barely let myself dream of.
‘I don’t believe you,’ Amy said. She’d pulled herself together and sounded incredulous instead of upset. ‘Do you have any idea how crazy that sounds?’
‘Maybe it is,’ Joe said. ‘Maybe I am. Time will tell, I guess.’
‘You’ll never have what we had,’ Amy said. ‘Not with her. You know that, right?’
‘Yeah,’ Joe said. ‘Yeah, I do. But that’s kind of the whole point, isn’t it? I don’t want what we had, Ame. Living with Heather is so easy, and fun, and drama-free. It’s kind. We’re kind to each other. All the time. And that changes everything. It’s made me realise just how miserable what we had was.’
‘We were together for nearly fifteen years, Joe. How can you even compare?’
‘It’s just, this thing,’ Joe said. ‘This thing with Heather. These last few months . . . Well, they’re the closest thing I’ve ever found to whatever it is that I want.’
I heard movement then, the sound of Amy standing – heels on tarmac. ‘I’m trying really hard, here, but I just don’t believe you,’ she said.
‘That’s OK,’ Joe told her calmly. ‘I don’t need you to believe me. Actually, I don’t really care if you believe me or not, Amy. What you think makes no difference to me any more.’
‘This isn’t you, Joe,’ Amy said. ‘I don’t even recognise you.’
‘It’s like you said in your email, Ame. I love you as a friend. I love you like family. But there’s no way I want to live with you again. All that Mungaro and Pure Being bollocks, all the crystals and laying on of hands and . . . whatever . . . There was so much bullshit that I can’t even remember it all. And you were never happy, despite any of it. Actually, you were a pain in the arse to live with, Ame, and if you must know, the truth is that I feel lucky to have got out when I did.’
‘Lucky to have gotten out?!’ Amy gasped.
‘Well, yeah. I’m sorry, but that’s how it feels to me. In retrospect, living with you was a horror story. It took all my energy just to put up with all your shit. You’re a nightmare, Amy – a bloody nightmare!’
There was the sound of a slap, then. The short, sharp snap of skin on skin. ‘Just . . . fuck you, Joe!’ Amy spat. ‘I mean, really. Fuck you!’
As she marched by, I turned to face the other way, and she didn’t glance in my direction. I was feeling faint and my knees had gone weak, so I perched on the edge of a windowsill.
It was about a minute before Joe stepped into view, and I cried the whole time. He’d taken the time to finish
his cigarette, I think, and as he walked past me he was scrunching the butt up between his fingers with one hand and caressing his reddening cheek with the other.
When I called his name, he spun on one foot and stared at me, his expression shifting from shock, to recognition, then finally to that beautiful, gentle smile of his. ‘Heather,’ he said simply.
I began to weep again, which surprised me. I’d thought I was all out of tears.
‘Did you hear?’ he asked, stepping towards me. ‘Did you hear all of that?’ He wrapped me in his arms and I pressed my face into his thick jumper, taking in the musky scent of him.
‘Did you?’ he asked again, while rubbing my back. I nodded in silent reply.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m glad. I’ve been struggling to tell you, but now you know.’
We stood like that for a few minutes, until a waiter passed by with a tray of empty glasses, prompting Joe to release me from his embrace.
It was then that he took my hand, and it was the first time we’d ever held hands. ‘Let’s go home, shall we?’ he said.
‘Home?’ I repeated, because I liked the sound of that word.
‘Yeah, home,’ he said. ‘Come on.’
When we got back, Amy’s car was still in the drive, so I braced myself for a face-to-face confrontation. Instead, we found Ant indoors. He’d walked the three kids back to ours and let himself in with his key.
‘I made myself a cuppa while I was waiting,’ he called out, from the kitchen. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’ As an afterthought, he muttered, ‘Huh . . . not sure why I’m apologising.’
‘It’s fine,’ I told him from the staircase. I climbed a few steps so that he wouldn’t see what a mess I looked. I wondered why on earth he was here. Could this be him moving back in, already?
‘Hey, Joe,’ Ant said, as he entered the kitchen. ‘I had to bring them back, I’m afraid. They’re in the garden. Sorry about that, mate, but Amy wants to talk or something. She seems to be in a bit of a state, so I’m gonna drive her car back and I’ll, um, let you know if I can have them later.’
‘No, it’s OK,’ Joe said. ‘Just leave them here with us. We’re fine now, aren’t we, Heather?’
‘Totally fine,’ I said, still speaking from the staircase. ‘But you should probably get back home to Amy. I’d like to be alone with Joe, if you don’t mind.’
‘Women!’ Ant said to Joe. ‘Must be a full moon or something. Good luck.’
Once he’d left, I continued to the bathroom to wash my face.
When I got back downstairs, Joe was seated in the conservatory, watching the kids through the open door. Outside, in the sunshine, Ben was playing with a paper plane, while Lucy was dragging Dandy around.
‘Gently with him,’ I called out. ‘He’s old!’
‘So how are you doing?’ Joe asked, looking up at me.
I turned back to face him and smiled gently. ‘I’m OK,’ I said.
‘OK?’ he repeated. ‘I was hoping for a bit more than OK. Unless you don’t feel the same way?’
I swallowed with difficulty. ‘It’s just that I have a question for you,’ I said. ‘There’s something I need to know. Something that’s been eating away at me.’
Joe frowned at me and straightened in his seat. ‘Go on,’ he said.
‘That song you wrote,’ I said. ‘For Amy. How long ago did you write it?’
Still frowning, Joe asked, ‘I don’t . . . which song?’
‘The one you were playing in Whitby. If you could just feel me / If you could just touch me. That one.’
‘Oh,’ Joe said. ‘Oh, right. You heard that then, did you?’
I nodded. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘But yes, I kind of did. So, when did you write it?’
Joe shrugged. ‘This is kind of embarrassing,’ he said.
‘I’m sure,’ I said. ‘Tell me anyway. I think I need to know.’
‘Well, the thing is, I actually . . . um . . . Well, I wrote it there and then. I came up with it that morning. Like I said, it was just a ditty.’
‘I see,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘So the feelings, they were fresh. Even that recently.’
‘But the thing is, I didn’t write it for Amy,’ he said. ‘I didn’t write it for anyone, really.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘Actually, that’s a lie,’ Joe said. ‘If I was thinking about anyone, well . . . that would have been you.’
‘Me?’
Joe laughed then. ‘Oh, come on, Heather!’ he said. ‘We’d just shared a bed for the first time ever. Of course it was about you.’
I started to cry, then – silly, happy tears – because once again, I’d been stupid and got it all wrong, only this time, that was good news.
Joe stood and wrapped me in his arms. ‘I can’t believe you thought that was about Amy,’ he said softly. ‘Jesus.’
I allowed myself to be hugged for a few minutes, and then unexpectedly, even to me, I said, ‘Is this real, Joe?’ The words came from nowhere.
He leaned back far enough to focus on me and looked confused, so I added, ‘I’m scared. I need to hear you tell me that this, you, us, that it’s real?’
He grinned broadly and laughed. ‘Yeah, it’s real,’ he said. ‘Can’t you tell?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Well, it is,’ he said. ‘It is for me, anyway.’
‘It is for me, too,’ I said.
‘It’s a shame the kids are here, though.’
‘Why’s it a shame?’ I asked. His comment had confused me.
He grinned at me lasciviously and winked. ‘Let’s just say that if they weren’t here, I could show you just how real it is.’
‘Oh!’ I said, breaking into a silly grin and, I suspect, blushing. ‘Oh, of course.’ I let myself imagine the scene and wished that the kids were elsewhere too.
Joe shrugged. ‘Oh well,’ he said. ‘I guess there’s a time and a place for everything.’
‘I think they might need an early night tonight,’ I said softly.
Joe winked at me. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I think I might too. Way too much excitement for one day.’
Epilogue
Heather
It’s a beautiful July morning in Whitby, and we are busy painting the hall. I always hated saying ‘we’ when I was with Ant. The concept of ‘we’ always made me feel a bit nauseous, but these days, I revel in it.
Now Reg has moved out to live at Emma’s place – a seafront bungalow on the far side of town – we’re on a frantic drive to renovate. In our more optimistic moments, we discuss reopening to paying guests by August. Running The Waves is going to be my new career, and I’m as excited about it as I’ve ever been about anything. Encouraged by Joe, I’ve even started driving lessons again, and as they’re going pretty well I’ll soon be able to drive out for supplies and pick people up at the station and what have you. Imagine that!
At the top of a ladder, above me, Joe is whistling while he paints. My job is to sand the skirting boards, a task Joe insists he can’t bear.
From upstairs I can hear the sound of gunfire, so no doubt Ben and Lucy are waging war on the PlayStation. I’ll kick them off it pretty soon and force them outdoors into the sunshine.
A drip of paint lands on my arm, so I look up at Joe and shout, ‘Oi, you!’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘But if you will insist on working right beneath me . . .’
‘This is the last bit,’ I tell him. ‘I can’t work anywhere else.’ Then, naughtily, I add, ‘Anyway, maybe I like being beneath you.’
‘Yeah,’ Joe says, with a snort. ‘Sounds about right.’
I’m so happy here, sanding away – so happy, here in this house, with my man above me sloshing paint around. I remember all those dark days living with Ant and think that they would have been so much easier to bear if I’d just known that so much happiness was coming my way.
‘I’m pretty much done here, actually,’ I tell Joe. I give a final, frantic rub at a bump i
n the old paintwork, and then edge back and stand to admire our handiwork. ‘It’s so much brighter,’ I declare. ‘It’s going to look bloody gorgeous.’
‘Hello!’ a voice says, and I turn to see Amy standing in the porch. We’ve left the front door open because of the fumes, so we’ve not had a second of warning.
‘Christ!’ Joe says, from above. ‘She lives!’
‘Indeed,’ Amy says, stepping forward. ‘Of course, I could say, “Christ! You’ve moved!”’
‘I, um, just need to finish this last tiny bit,’ Joe tells her, brandishing the paint roller. ‘And then I’ll be with you, OK?’
‘Come through,’ I tell Amy. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
As I lead the way through to the kitchen, I’m feeling stressed. I wish Joe would hurry up and join us. Amy’s mental health hasn’t been all that good since her split with Ant, and if she wants to discuss the rights and wrongs of our move north, then I’d really prefer she did that with Joe.
‘So, normal tea, or something herbal?’ I ask her, peering into a cupboard.
‘Herbal would be better if you have it,’ Amy says. ‘Or green tea, maybe?’
‘I’ve got this,’ I say, showing her a box of vervain. It’s supposed to calm people down.
‘That’d be great,’ she says. She’s moving around the kitchen behind me, and it’s making me a bit nervous. I’m scared, I think, that she’s going to launch a surprise attack. ‘So, you’ve moved,’ she says again. ‘Ant says it’s permanent, too. I had no idea.’
‘Well, we had to really,’ I tell her, avoiding eye contact by fiddling with the kettle. ‘Ant wanted the house back, so . . .’
‘He didn’t kick you out, did he?’ Amy asks. ‘Because I wouldn’t have thought he had the right.’
‘No, we did more of a deal, really,’ I tell her. ‘He sort of bought me out – well, a bit. We needed some money to do this place up, so . . .’
‘And he’s OK about the girls living so far away, is he?’ Amy asks, and I realise we’re going to discuss Ben being so far away from Amy through the proxy of Ant and the girls.
‘Well, they have to live somewhere, and it was part of the deal,’ I tell her. ‘He couldn’t have them during term time anyway. Not with working and everything, so this makes sense. He’s going to take them from time to time during school holidays. He’s taking them next week, actually. Joe and I are going to Rome. He was taking all three, but now you—’
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