Page 95 of After Felix
EPILOGUE
FELIX - ONE YEAR LATER
The phone rings and I smile when I see Max’s photo on the screen. It’s a picture of him from the trip to Paris we took last week, giving me the smile that still makes my heart beat a bit faster.
“Yep,” I say as the call connects.
There’s a short silence.
“Yep? The love of your life rings you, and all he gets is a measlyyep?”
“I’m afraid so,” I say, fighting a smile. “Because I’m not Barbara Cartland.”
“If you were, we’d have lots of chocolates in silk boxes and a spoilt Peke instead of that ferocious creature you adopted.”
I look over at the tiny dog who we found shivering on the towpath a month ago. She’s lying curled in a small ball on the sofa. Her white and tan fur is ruffled out, so she looks like a cotton ball on skinny legs. We’d taken her in that night and despite both of us taking care to remind each other not to get attached in case the owner claimed her, she’d managed to worm her way into our hearts within ten minutes. Max had opened a bottle of champagne when no one claimed her.
“Weetabix is not ferocious.”
He groans. “Andthat’sa ridiculous name.”
I smile. “The internet suggested naming her after the last thing I ate.”
“I feel stupid calling her that name.”
I bite my lip to hold the smile in. “You just feel silly because she never comes to you,” I say and then carry on in an earnest voice. “It’s not her fault that she doesn’t like you, Max. You can’t be everyone’s cup of tea.”
“I’d rather be that than a dog’s dinner. I’m telling you she watches me while we sleep. She’s putting me in reserve for when the Winalot runs out.”
“Well, I’ll be fine then, especially when there’s so much of you to nibble on.”
“Are you saying I’ve gotfat?” He’s trying for indignation, but laughter is winning. “How very dare you, Felix Jackson.”
I’m lying because he’s as fit as ever, jogging down the towpath for miles every day. His long, rangy body is now a familiar sight on the path, and as per usual with Max, he seems to know everyone. He moved in with me on the boat the first night we got back together and never left. I’m sure some people think it’s too soon, but I’m equally positive those people didn’t have a two and a half year gap in their relationship and Max warming their bed.
“More of you to love,” I say happily, listening to his splutters.
“People only say that when they’re shagging the homely pool-maintenance man.”
“Then you’re safe,” I say placidly. “We don’t have a pool. Just a canal. Unless you think I’m going to shag the water board.”
“No, darling, you’re too busy, and those uniforms won’t do it for you at all.”
“You do realise that you’re actually keeping me from meeting you for this mystery tour of yours?” I say. “Let me go, and I’ll meet you as planned.”
He rings off but not before saying he loves me. It’s something he always does. I suppose the life he’s led, and the people he’s lost along the way, make him treasure life and love more.
I go to move towards the door and then curse as I trip over one of Max’s shoes. I adore living with him and can’t imagine being without him, but it’s a sure fact that this narrowboat isn’t meant for two men, one of whom is very tall. Plus, Max’s idea of tidy would send Marie Kondo into a tailspin. He sheds possessions here, there, and everywhere, and his books alone are going to sink the boat one day.
My smile dies because we’ve come to decision time. We both know we can’t continue living here. He can’t work in such a small space, and I can’t live with the mess. But what do we do? I know he doesn’t want to get rid of the cottage and I can understand that, but equally, I love living on a boat. I love the lifestyle and the close community that grows up around boat people.
But I love Max more. And I want to be with him more than I want to live on a boat. “I’m going to tell him we’ll move to the Cotswolds,” I say out loud to Weetabix, the words hushed but determined. “He gives me everything I want, so I need to do the same.”
She sleeps on, unconcerned. I feel sad at the idea of leaving a place that’s been my home for so long and my job that I love so much, but I need to do this for him.
Half an hour later I get off the bus, eyeing Max appreciatively. He’s leaning against a shop window dressed in jeans and an olive-green parka. He has a beanie crammed over his hair, and a rucksack slung over his shoulder.
“Going to tell me where we’re going?” I call out, and he looks around, his face lighting up when he sees me. It’s a sight I’ll never tire of because it makes me feel warm inside. I never doubt him anymore because I trust him implicitly, and he gives me no need. I know I’m everything to him because he shows and tells me all the time. That once-cordoned-off bloke is now warm and open, holding my hand or running his hands along my shoulders or through my hair. If I’m near him, he’ll touch me. It’s an immutable fact.
