Page 92 of Days You Were Mine

Luke

My mother and I are in the kitchen preparing supper when Hannah walks in and delivers her bombshell.

‘I resigned from my job today.’

‘Oh Hannah, are you sure that’s what you want?’ asks my mother with surprising tact (she is learning; we all are).

‘I’ve never been surer of anything. This whole situation with Alice has made me realise how I feel deep down about leaving Samuel each day. And, actually, I hate it. I feel sick with guilt and ashamed that I’ve been putting myself and my career first. And missing out on the chance to be with my son.’

‘But you’re doing so well,’ I say. ‘And you love your job.’

‘It’s not for ever. Just till Samuel goes to school. And the paper is being fantastic. Mark has promised me a freelance piece every week. I’m still keeping my job title. I’ll make all my phone calls when Samuel is asleep and write in the evenings.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, then I’m very glad,’ my mother says. ‘I hope you’ll let me supplement your income. And any time you need babysitting, you just have to ask. Samuel and I are used to each other now.’

We have come so far in two weeks, my mother, Hannah and I. Christina has helped me through this terrifying breakdown pretty much single-handedly, sitting by my side during theworst days and driving me to my appointments at the Priory. I feel closer to her now than at any time in my childhood. I am proud of the way she cares for Samuel, ashamed that I once considered her old-fashioned and out of touch.

Hannah walks up to her and puts her arms around her, unthinkable not so long ago.

‘Christina, you have been a lifesaver,’ she says. ‘And we are so lucky to have you.’

Two things of note happen in my first week back at work.

On day one, Michael sends me the usual terse summons: ‘Can you pop in for a minute?’ and, as always, I arrive in his glass-walled office pumped with dread and expectation.

‘Sit down, Luke.’ He gestures to a chair. ‘Tell me how you are. What’s been going on?’

‘Everything just got on top of me, I guess. It’s hard to explain. Things at home, things at work. The doctor said I was emotionally exhausted, and that’s how it feels.’

‘I can understand that. I’ve sometimes struggled with the pressure myself. I’m no stranger to the therapist’s chair.’

He laughs at my shocked expression.

‘Yep, even a tough old bastard like me. Well, you’ll be glad to hear I’ve had excellent feedback from Reborn. They are this close …’ he pinches his thumb and forefinger into a minute gap, ‘to signing to us. I’ve promised them you will put together an A&R pitch to seal the deal. Spend this week getting your ideas sorted and we’ll present it to them next week.’

Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday pass in an enjoyable haze of research. I’m listening to seventies Bowie, Chic and James Brown, trying to unpick the production, listening for sounds that will work in a revitalised noughties interpretation.The Dark Side of the Moon(with an accompanying jab of regret) lives onthe turntable, Bob Dylan and The Rolling Stones too. This is the part of my job I love the most.

On Friday, just as the rest of the office is decamping to the pub for the weekly piss-up, a courier arrives with a square cardboard package for me. Nothing unusual in that; we’re a record company, we get sent vinyl every day of the week. There’s something about the writing on the front, though, that makes me look at the envelope for a long time. It’s familiar, I know that, and my heart is aching even before I’ve opened it up to pull out a card and an old album from the seventies. The album is calledApparition; it went to number one in the charts when my father died. I’ve done my research, I know the facts.

I open Rick’s card with hands that shake.

I am so very sorry at the way things have played out between you and Alice. And I hope with all my heart that you’ll be able to fix it. In the meantime, this album belongs to you.

I extract the album carefully from its cover. I walk over to the record player and place it on the turntable with the exactitude, the reverence, of a high priest.

I sit, leaning against the office wall,listening to my father’s voice with my eyes closed and I tell myself, as my heart breaks all over again, that this is what I owe Jacob and Alice at the very least.

Then

Alice

Jake’s birthday at the tail end of August is my hardest challenge yet. I’m determined not to cry in front of Rick or Charlie, and I’ve kept quiet about the date even though I’ve thought of nothing else for the past week.

This time last year we were in Italy. I got up early and walked into Fiesole to buy croissants and cappuccinos from our favourite café and brought them back home. I undressed again in the darkness, the room still blacked out by its heavy velvet drapes, and got back into bed and covered Jake’s naked body with my own. I lay exactly on top of him, groin to groin, shifting from side to side, my breasts pressed against his chest, my mouth brushing his chin, his cheeks, his closed eyes. By the time he was fully awake he was inside me, exactly as I’d planned. He opened his eyes and said, ‘Christ, you’re amazing,’ and the memory of this lovemaking fills me with a longing so raw and insistent I cry out.

When I go downstairs to make breakfast for Charlie, Rick is already up, a pot of coffee on the stove.

‘Good morning, my love,’ he says, and I can tell instantly from the way he says it that he knows.

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