Page 37 of The Day Shelley Woodhouse Woke Up
‘It was “How Great Thou Art”, not “Abide With Me”.’ He comes over, ruffles my hair with his hand. ‘You’re confused. It’s been a long day.’
I don’t say anything, but in my head I hum both hymns. Is he right? I’m not sure. And it doesn’t matter.
‘I’m hungry,’ I say. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, other than a packet of crisps.
Dee and David look after me. Dee makes me cheese on toast while David runs me a bath, and by nine we are all on thesofa wrapped in a blanket, watching old episodes ofFriends. It doesn’t stop the hurt, about Granny Rose, but it makes it more bearable.
21
NOW
I wake from a dream with that strange, unsure feeling, and I close my eyes and try to piece it together. Dee was there, with me, and we were shopping, but she was pregnant. I remember touching the bump, feeling the baby kick, and it felt so real. But Dee has never been pregnant. I make a mental note to tell her about it when she comes in.
And as if I’ve summoned her, she turns up after lunch. It’s only a couple of days since I saw her but I’ve forgotten about the short hair again and have to adjust to it.
‘I dreamed you were pregnant,’ I say.
I think she’ll laugh, but she doesn’t. ‘Really? Who was the father?’
‘No idea,’ I say.
Dee and I talk about babies, sometimes. About whether we want them, and when. I’ve never told her outright that I know I can’t bring a child into my marriage with David, but she knows. And she is single, but adamant that she will have a baby by her mid-thirties, whether that means a whirlwind romance or going it alone. I’ve always found it so brave, that she’s so sure about that.
‘What else happened?’ she asks.
I didn’t expect her to take such an interest. I thought she’d just laugh at the idea of it.
‘We were shopping, and you were wearing these denim dungarees, and you stopped in the middle of the street and grabbed my hand and put it on your bump because the baby was kicking. That’s all, I think. You know how random dreams can be.’
She looks a bit tearful, but not unhappy. Isn’t it always on her mind, to a greater or lesser extent? Her singleness, her being in her thirties, her biological clock?
‘Anyway, enough of that,’ I say.
She blinks a few times, and I know she’s trying to stop herself from crying.
‘Dee, what is it?’ I reach out a hand, and she comes closer so she can take it.
‘Nothing. I’m so happy you’re getting better, Shell. It’s just all this, seeing you in here, like this…’ She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to.
‘I’ve had an upgrade, though,’ I say. ‘Intensive Care to Brain Injury. Next stop home.’
She nods. And I think about home, again. About the pub, and David. I can’t go there.
‘Dee?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can I stay with you, while I find my feet?’
She looks a bit confused. Have I asked too much? But all those times, she’s offered to take me in.
‘I’m not going back to David,’ I tell her. ‘So I’ll need to get somewhere of my own, or get him to move out. Probably that, since I’ll still be running the pub so it makes sense for me to be the one living there. I just know I need to make a clean break. IfI go back, even for a couple of days, he’ll try to persuade me to stay.’
Dee squeezes my hand and I look down at it. Wonder, absently, where my wedding ring is. Not that it matters. It’s now a symbol of something that’s broken.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Of course you can stay with me. It will be like old times.’
We lived together for years, Dee and me. When I took over at the Pheasant, we moved out of the flat we’d been sharing and into the one above it, where I live now. And then she moved out, without any fuss, when David and I were ready to live together. Turns out I would have been better off sticking with her. Is it a step backwards, to move in with a friend in your thirties? But what does it matter, really, if it means you’re happy and safe?
