Page 57 of The Ex

Miranda is the only one to give him a hug, arguing that they are, strictly speaking, in a work bubble. He catches Naomi glaring at him, but when he asks her later, she says no, she wasn’t, she must have just been tired after working all day. The remaining four guests make their way slowly out. They are exhausted, they tell him as they step onto the driveway, more so since the pandemic; still nervous about socialising but afraid of loneliness, not to mention devastated by the violent loss of their darling Joycie.

‘She was the brightest star in the firmament,’ Daryll says as he leaves.

‘A true diamond,’ Susy says.

‘We all loved her very much,’ Helen adds.

How strange it is not to shake their hands, not to hug them after such a quiet and intimate gathering. He has known them since he was a teenager. Instead, they wave from two metres away and head off to their cars.

He finds Naomi washing the remaining glasses at the kitchen sink, wraps his arms around her waist, kisses the soft skin of her neck.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘You’ve been amazing.’

She turns to him and they kiss. When they pull apart, she says, ‘And this time next month, we’ll be married.’

‘Did you mention it to anyone?’

She shakes her head. ‘I thought we were doing just us. I thought that’s what you said?’

He can’t remember saying it; he thought she’d suggested it on the phone the other evening, but like so much, what is her wish and what is his have melded together. He takes her hand, kisses her again; she responds with more urgency than she has shown since they got back together, and he senses that all her misgivings about him have gone, that she is, finally, ready to be fully his again.

He pulls at her hand. ‘We could go upstairs.’

She smiles. ‘I thought you wanted to wait? Weren’t we going to be born-again virgins?’

‘I do. We are. I mean, I do but I also… I also don’t.’ He kisses her cheek, her ear, her neck. Groans with frustration.

Naomi’s eyes glint with a mischief of old. Images of her, of the two of them together, flash into his mind’s eye – once in this garden, up by the fir trees, while Joyce was in the front room.

‘It’s up to you.’ Her fingertips trace down to his waist, lower, until she is holding him through the fabric of his suit trousers. ‘Although it certainly feels like you’re keen.’

He gasps. ‘If you do that, I’m not sure I can wait.’

‘I won’t tell if you won’t.’ She giggles, bites his earlobe softly. Picks up her phone from the countertop. ‘Let me text Jo, tell her I’ll be a bit late.’

Afterwards, lying in bed, he tells her he’s seeing stars, that he thinks he might have lost the use of his legs. She laughs and rolls towards him.

‘I have news,’ she says, stroking his chest.

‘Yes?’ He runs his fingertips up and down her arm. He was feeling silly, giddy even, but now, lying here skin to skin with Naomi, a feeling of melancholy settles inside him.

‘I didn’t want to tell you until after the funeral, but… we sold the house!’

‘What?’ He props himself up on his elbows. His heart quickens. ‘How is that even possible? There’s no For Sale sign. We haven’t had any viewings.’ He can’t actually remember agreeing to sell it. But he must have done. A pit forms in his stomach. He wonders about asking if it’s too late to pull out, but Naomi is talking nineteen to the dozen.

‘I told you it would sell. The agents have their mailing lists and there are specialist finder sites, and the world and his dog would kill for a house like this. It sold last week but I didn’t want to stress you out so I didn’t tell you. Some businessman from London. Had his eye on it for years apparently.’

‘Right,’ he says, trying to gather his thoughts. But Naomi is still talking.

‘I think he wants to do it up for his kids and his grandkids to come to for big family holidays. Joyce would have loved that, wouldn’t she? We should have exchanged by now, as he’s a cash buyer. The solicitor said he’d give me a call today, then once I get a date, I’ll book the house clearance firm, which we’ll need if you’re moving in with me, yeah?’ She reaches for her watch. ‘Shit. I need to go. Jo’s going out – I said I’d be back before six. It looks like it’ll be tomorrow now, the house. These things never go through as quickly as they promise.’ She runs her fingers up and down his chest. ‘Hey. Are you pleased?’

‘Yes,’ he says, though he is not pleased, not exactly. There is so much fog and it is so thick inside him; it obscures how he feels, what he thinks, things he might want or not want. He can’t remember saying he wanted to have the contents cleared out. There is the tallboy he customised, the piano, Joyce’s dressing table he thought Naomi might like, or a daughter, if they have one. Panic simmers in his gut but he is not sure why. It is, all of it, only stuff. It will not suit a modern house, he knows that. And a modern house is what Naomi wants.

She kisses his cheek, strokes his face. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you today. It’s too much. I should’ve waited till tomorrow.’ She kisses the hollow just below his ear. ‘We gave her a good send-off though, didn’t we? Considering. And all those people out on the street – I’ve never seen anything like it. How did they even know? And she’ll be at peace now, I promise. She was happy.’ She shifts, throws her legs over the side of the bed. Her back is a pale guitar. Her dark hair falls thick over her tiny white neck.Stay, he wants to say but knows he can’t.Stay and I will fret that thin white neck with my fingers.She pulls her camisole over her head, turns to kiss him briefly on the mouth. ‘I’ll see you Wednesday, OK? I’m back at work tomorrow.’

‘OK.’

She leaves him in bed. He closes his eyes and lies back. His head has begun to ache, and he feels suddenly unable to get up, gripped by an overwhelming tiredness. He feels like he has the flu.

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