Page 2 of The Art of Loving You

Yes or no?

I have to give Alice my answer.

Yes or no?

I have to tell her now.

Before it’s too late for her, for me.

For Jack.

Think.

Choose.

Time is running out.

Yes or no?

Part One

Chapter One

The day it all began was almost seven months ago now. My hand had rested on Jack’s knee, both of his gripping the steering wheel as we bumped down the potholed lane, exchanging a look of pure pleasure as we curved into the driveway.

Before the van had fully stopped I was opening the door. Despite suffering from the tail end of flu I could smell the difference in the air; honeysuckle and happiness.

‘Do you want to unload—’

‘Nope.’ I couldn’t wait to get inside. Our scant possessions crammed into the back of the hired transit could wait. Our rental flat had been fully furnished and we didn’t own much. There was nothing I needed in that moment except to step over the threshold of our new home with the man I loved.

Jack took my hand. We crunched over the gravel, our fingers linking together the way they had a million times before, as we gazed in wonder at the decrepit three-storey detached with its smattering of outbuildings that had somehow become ours. Despite the hard work that lay ahead it felt like the right decision. The warm breeze on my cheek, the birds singing from the trees, the lazy buzzing of bumblebees – everything seemed to welcome us.

‘This is it, Libby.’

Despite my thumping headache, streaming nose and sore throat I tingled with excitement as I drank it all in. The pops of yellow in the jumble of the overgrown garden as daffodils poked their cheerful heads through the tangle of stinging nettles. The peeling paint on the front door; I was itching to restore it to a glossy British racing green, to shine the brass lion’s head knocker back to its original glory. Tall and proud against a backdrop of a clear blue sky, the towering chimney. In the winter smoke would curl from the fire while Jack and I lazed in front of it, dipping toasted marshmallows into melted chocolate. It was easy to romanticise. We’d never owned our own home before but the four years spent in our cramped modern flat already seemed part of our distant past.

‘I don’t know whether to run away or run inside.’ Jack turned to me. ‘We’re sure about this, aren’t we?’

‘Yes.’ We’d had endless conversations. A volley of reasons why we shouldn’t do this, taking it in turns to be the one with doubts and fears that the other would bat away with logic and reassurance. ‘Let’s get a selfie. I want to capture every second of today.’

I used my phone, rather than the camera looped around my neck.

Our heads touched, goofy smiles on both of our faces. A paint-plastered beanie on Jack’s head. He dangled the key at the lens, the sun glinting off the metal. Behind us a single bird glided through the sky.

‘Perfect.’ I stuffed my phone back into my pocket.

Jack offered me the key. I shook my head. ‘This is your moment, Jack. Your dream.’

Uncertainty passed across his face.

‘Ourdream,’ I corrected and that was partly true. A long and happy life with Jack was my dream and the rest?I was happy to support Jack in his new venture the way he always supported me in mine.

‘Always the photographer.’ He grinned. ‘Never off duty.’

‘Always the artist.’ I reached up to wipe at a smudge of paint from his cheek.

‘This is it!’ He slipped the key into the lock. His joy was palpable. For a second I forgot my raging temperature, the ache in my bones, how dreadfully this spring bout of flu had hit me, instead feeling nothing but an immense pride for this man who was going to make a difference to so many lives the way that he had to mine.

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