“I’m sorry,” I said again. The carrier bags dragged painfully on my wrists. “I’m sorry – I thought you were someone else.”
I stepped back and one of the bags broke. A bottle of wine fell to the ground and smashed; a small tidal wave of merlot flowed like blood over the concrete. I let out a cry. The woman looked at me and looked at the wine that had just splashed her shoes and her face twisted in something that was almost disgust. She shook her head and walked away quickly.
I hurried back to the flat, holding the remaining carrier bag close to my chest. I was shaking. I pictured the wine puddled on the pavement, little rivulets running into the gutter. I had picked up the pieces of the bottle as best I could and cut my finger in the process. I was a mess.
Where was Matt? I missed him as much as I had ever missed him. I turned the heating on high, put on some classical music, lit some candles. I opened one of the remaining bottles of red wine and drank the first glass down quickly, wanting the anaesthesia. I needed to feel safe.
Matt returned home an hour later and I felt a rush of relief at the sound of his key in the lock.
“I’ve missed you,” I said, throwing my arms around him a minute later.
“I’ve missed you too.” He gave me a squeeze and his hands slipped down my arms to take mine. I winced and pulled away as my sore finger was touched.
He kissed my finger gently. “There. All better now?”
I laughed. “Yes, thanks.”
He went to the drinks cabinet and rooted about inside. He was wearing his tweed jacket and, for once, a tie with his shirt. “Could I have one of those?”
“Aren’t you already on the vino?”
“Yes,” I said and fiddled with the controls of the stereo, turning away slightly. I didn’t want to tell him I’d almost finished the bottle. “I just fancied a whisky, that’s all.”
He handed me my drink and sat down on the sofa with a long sigh of exhaustion, dropping his head back. I hesitated and then sat next to him. I told him about Becca coming for dinner, about seeing my therapist, about the new film I’d watched the other night on my own. I didn’t tell him about the blonde woman. Perhaps I should have, but I so wanted him to think of me as stable, and capable; not someone to be pitied.
“How was your session with Margaret?” he asked. “Do you think that new thing she’s got you on is doing any good?”
I picked up the TV remote and tapped it against my palm. It always made me awkward when Matt and I talked about my medication. I wanted to forget that I took pills.
“I think so,” I said, not really caring whether it was true or not. “I feel fine, anyway.”
“Don’t do that,” Matt said, taking the remote away from me.
“Sorry.”
For a moment there was just the sound of a violin concerto coming softly from the stereo in the corner.
“So how was the conference?” I asked.
“Oh fine,” said Matt, “Some quite exciting lectures, actually. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
“Great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. He had closed his eyes while he was speaking and I took the opportunity to study him. He really did look tired, his skin dull and papery. He had dark circles beneath his eyes, visible even behind his foggy glasses.
“Oh, by the way,” said Matt, opening his eyes. I leaned forward, smiling, eager. “Did you call the solicitor?”
“The solicitor?”
“Mr. Fenwick, darling... Did you call him like I asked you to? We were supposed to contact him to discuss the estate and so forth, this week.”
“We were?” I said, blankly.
“Yes, I asked you to do it before I left. When we were having dinner. Don’t you remember?”
“No,” I said, feeling guilty. Not only had I forgotten to do what I was asked, I’d forgotten Matt even asking me to. I must have been more pissed than I realised.
Matt frowned. “But I asked you specially. I distinctly remember asking you. You really can’t remember?”
“No,” I said. “Sorry. I’ve–”
“You’ve what?”
I reached for the whisky bottle again and topped up my drink.
“I’ve had a lot of my mind lately,” I said. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not angry,” said Matt, “It just worries me how much you forget things, that’s all. It really does. I can’t believe anyone can be so absent-minded.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll phone him first thing tomorrow, I promise I will.”
Matt sighed. “Oh, I shouldn’t be so hard on you,” he said, reaching out his arms. I settled gratefully into them. “You’ve had a tough time of it lately, God knows.”
That was when I should have told him. I should have confessed my worries, my anxiety that I was slipping. I didn’t. He began to kiss me and, with relief, I kissed him back.
Chapter Seven
I asked Matt to marry me on Boxing Day, six months after we met. It came as something of a surprise to me, as well as to him, but it wasn’t the first time I’d done something life-changing on impulse.
We were walking in the garden at Caernaven, trying to work off some of the Christmas dinner of the day before. Our breath steamed away before us; the ground was brittle with frost. The sky was grey and low and as we walked, and I watched a solitary crow flap across the clouds, a little moving inkblot against the dirty white sky.
“Oh, the fish pond’s frozen,” I said, as we turned the corner of the walk and came back onto the terrace. “We’ll have to pour some boiling water on the ice so the fish can breathe.”
“Wouldn’t it be quicker to smash it?” said Matt, who was stamping his feet and blowing into his cupped, gloved hands.
“No, the shock waves can kill them,” I said, happy to tell him something he didn’t know. We both looked at the frozen water, grey ripples of ice powdered with a dusting of snow. A blackened water lily leaf protruded from the surface.
“Come on,” I said, somehow saddened by the sight.
“Your whole childhood is here, isn’t it?” said Matt as we walked away.
“I suppose so.”
Cornwall came into my mind. Eight weeks out of a lifetime spent there, just two short months, and yet it had affected the rest of my life... I wasn’t going to tell him that yet, though. Suddenly it came to me that I would be able to tell him one day; that I would be able to tell him everything about me, and be comfortable doing it. I stared at him as we trudged through the frosty grass, dazzled by the realisation. As I had this revelation, my path forward became clear. I wanted that one day to be this day. I wanted our future together to start right now.
“Matt, will you marry me?“
The moment the words were out of my mouth I wanted to laugh, they sounded so silly. Matt stopped walking.
“What?” he said.
I cleared my throat and asked again.
“Are you being serious?” he said. He’d turned to face me fully; his eyes were darting from all over my face, trying to read my expression. He was trying to spot the hidden smirk, the inward smile that would signal to him I was joking.
“I’m not joking,” I said. “I’d like to marry you. Would you like to marry me?”
I think it started sinking in then. He put a gloved hand up to his mouth and I saw his breath huff out in a surprised cloud.
“You are serious.” A smile started to break through on his face. “My God.”
“So what’s your answer?”
I felt irresistibly light hearted, all of a sudden, nothing like the solemnity the occasion was supposed to provoke.
Matt started to laugh. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
I began to laugh too. We didn’t touch each other, not then; we just stood there, laughing at each other’s expressions, our high spirits visible on the frosty air as smoky white clouds. Despite the cold, I had warmth blooming within me, as if a giant sunflower had spread its yellow petals in my chest. I was going to marry Matt. I felt light-headed, oddly dreamlike.