Of course, when it arrives, I gobble up the lot. As always, bacon is the ultimate hangover cure.
“So...” Lara pours us both a second mug of tea. “…Niall Joseph.”
I take a sip. It’s liquid heaven. “What about him?”
She tips her head to the side and gives me an are-you-kidding-me look. “He’s the guy?”
Placing my mug back on the scratched wooden table, I rest my chin on my hands. “Yup.”
“How do you feel about seeing him again?”
“Is this a counselling session? Should I be expecting a bill for fifty pounds an hour?” The waitress takes away our plates and I sigh with relief. No matter how good the breakfast tastes, seeing the remains congealing on the white plate is doing nothing for my lingering nausea.
“I’m not your counsellor, I’m your friend. But I do think you should talk to somebody, a professional. You haven’t been yourself for weeks.”
“I’m not going to fall into depression just because Niall Joseph has waltzed back into my life. I got over that years ago. It means nothing. I worked through all that crap when it happened.”
I’m a different person to the girl who could barely bring herself to breathe. Stronger, more together.
“Why did you drink so much last night?”
Her question makes me bristle. “I haven’t been on a night out like that in ages. I misjudged. It’s a lot easier to be circumspect when you’re drinking hundred-pound bottles of wine.” I sound flippant, because I want to stop remembering it all. Niall, Digby, that hot, humid night when everything changed. If I don’t think about it, I can cope.
Just about.
Lara looks at me and her lips start to twitch. The corners of my mouth rise up in response. A moment later we both collapse into a fit of giggles. I sound like such a loser. Sometimes I think I’m two different people: the Beth who wears jeans and sweaters, who drinks beer and spends her days with addicts, versus the Beth who eats elegant dinners and sips fine wine and listens silently to much older men putting the world to rights. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to decide which person I am; which me I prefer.
The thought is still on my mind when Simon finally arrives home on Sunday evening. By that time I’m fully recovered from my hangover and feeling more like my old self. Any thoughts of depression and angst and Niall Joseph are squashed firmly down, and the smile which lights my face when my husband walks through the door is almost genuine.
“How was your weekend?” I pull his coat from his shoulders and place it on a wooden hanger. “You look tired, darling.”
“I am. We had a good time. Took a few shots, drank a few whiskies. Turns out that Andrew’s had the whole lodge renovated.” Simon puts his case at the bottom of the stairs. “How was your weekend?”
We walk into the kitchen and I try to banish the memory of Niall’s angry face. Deep breaths. Equilibrium.
“Mostly quiet. I managed to catch up on some paperwork today. I’ve realised it’s only three months until the gala; I really need to get working on that.” I’m not as daunted by this as I once was. I’ve been in charge of the gala for four years now. I pretty much know what I’m doing. Not that it’s any easier, though. Even if I don’t have that constant feeling of dread as I did that first year.
After a small supper we head upstairs for bed. It’s only nine thirty, but we’re both exhausted, and have to be up for work in the morning. I take a shower—letting the hot water wash away any remnants of the weekend from my skin—and by the time I’ve dried my hair, Simon is in bed, his wire-framed reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He’s making notes on some briefs he has brought home from work. His chest is bare; his body is well maintained in spite of his age. There is a smattering of grey hair from his neck to his stomach and a tiny paunch that even exercise can’t erase. I like the softness of it, even though I know it makes him self-conscious.
When I climb under the covers, he lays the briefs on the bedside table and takes his glasses off. Switching off the bedside lamp, he shuffles down the mattress, turning on his side so he’s facing away from me. In the darkness, I feel the familiar gloom wash over me again. I can kid myself all I want to that I’m okay, that the events of Friday haven’t affected me, but alone in the dark, I start to feel like that nineteen-year-old girl again—full of emotions and unease. I don’t like these raw sensations that seem to be turning me inside out. I prefer the certainty, the almost-numbness I’ve managed to achieve since marrying Simon.
So I snuggle up to his body, spooning him from behind, curling my arm around his chest. My palm splays against his torso, and he reaches up, placing his hand on top of my own. I push myself against him, letting the tip of my thumb brush
against his nipple. A moment later he gently pulls it away.
“I’m really tired.” He sounds apologetic. “I need to get some sleep.”
I know he doesn’t mean for it to come across as a rejection, but that’s how I take it, anyway.
“It’s okay.” My voice is muffled by his back. This is a good thing, because I can feel the tears threatening to escape. I’m almost clinging to him, desperate for the connection, needing to hold on to him as if he’s my only port in a storm. Simon’s breathing starts to slow, becoming light and rhythmic as he falls gently asleep. A tear rolls slowly down my cheek as I try to stop the longing, the desperation to feel him inside me, the need for him to reclaim me in the basest way possible.
Instead, I cry silently, until nothingness takes over.
* * *
Niall and I don’t mention that Friday night again. We’re back to being amicable colleagues, working smoothly and easily together. Trying to keep the kids interested and under control takes up all of our emotional energy; there isn’t enough left over to get into the angst of our past. It’s so much easier to paper over the gaps than try to dig in deeper.
It doesn’t stop me from looking at him, while he’s preoccupied with something else, and wondering exactly what happened to him that summer. Did he get as low as I did? I find myself wanting to know more about what he’s been doing since graduation. I know from Elise’s brief, breathless description that he spent some time in the States, but how did he end up there? What made him come back?