I look up at Daff. I can’t blow this. I know exactly what I have to do now.
‘It was … a present,’ I say slowly. ‘From Harv.’
Daff stands up and dusts herself off. ‘OK, well come on,’ she says. ‘We can put all this stuff back in the morning. Let’s go to bed now.’
‘No, Daff … wait.’
She sighs. ‘Ben, please. It’s been a pretty exhausting day all round. And now I come back and you’re drunk and being weird and—’
I cut her off, desperately. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I’m not drunk, I promise.’
‘There’s a nearly empty wine bottle downstairs that would suggest otherwise.’
‘I know, but …’ I can feel the words boiling up inside me, rushing to get out. ‘Listen, Daff, there’s something I want to tell you – something I need to tell you – and I know that it’s Christmas and it’s late and this is not exactly the ideal place or time for a big, serious talk, but this is the most important thing I’ll ever say. And I just please – please – need you to hear me out while I say it.’
Over the course of this manic gabbled statement, the look of mild irritation on Daff’s face has transformed into one of genuine concern. She stares at me now, her eyes wide, almost fearful.
‘What?’ she says hesitantly. ‘What is it?’
I take her hand and guide her gently back down to sit on the floor opposite me. And as I look deep into her big hazelnut-brown eyes, it all comes flooding back – everything I’ve just been through.
That instant spark between us in the bar after the play, and the realisation in the maze that I’d made her find me. The memory of her and Mum looking at me fondly across the dinner table. The shame of knowing she gave up her Rising Star evening to come home and comfort me, then the night of the pantomime, when we ate turkey sandwiches and retraced the early days of our relationship. The searing guilt and regret over what happened with Alice in Paris. The way Daff was there for me at Mum’s funeral – the way she’s always been there for me, no matter what. And then the sickening, hopeless terror I felt in 2023, knowing I’d lost her forever.
And finally, that piece of advice Harv gave me as I lay on his sofa bed with my life in tatters: It’s not going to be easy to win her trust back. It might be the hardest thing you ever do in your life. But isn’t it worth the effort?
This is my last chance. I can’t risk losing her again. I just can’t. This is the right thing to do – even if it ruins everything.
‘Ben?’ Daphne urges, her eyes searching mine. ‘What is it?’
I swallow the lump that’s rising steadily in my throat. ‘I just … There are some things I need to tell you. But before I do, I want to say sorry. For how I’ve been over the past couple of years – and before that, to be honest. I’m so sorry. You’re … Daff, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love you so, so much.’
Her beautiful face is still etched with anxiety. ‘I … love you too,’ she says tentatively.
‘OK … Well, here goes.’
And right there in the attic, just after midnight on Christmas Day, I take a deep breath and tell Daphne the truth. About everything.
I tell her what I said to Mum before she died, and how the guilt of it has eaten into me ever since. I tell her I’m sorry for pushing her away in the months and years after Mum’s death. I tell her I should have let us grieve together, but I was too stupid and selfish and shattered to realise it. I tell her about my dad, too: how I’ve spent years either worrying that I’ll turn into him, or desperately wanting to prove him wrong for abandoning me. I tell her that all my fears and doubts about work and marriage and having kids were linked to him leaving, and it’s a mess I’ve spent twenty-five years trying to untangle, but I think I’m finally free of it now.
And Daff cries and kisses me and tells me it’s OK and she understands and she’s so happy that I’ve told her all this. And it’s the greatest feeling in the world, being held by her like this, but somehow I manage to pull away, because there’s more I need to say, and if I get too comfortable in her arms, then maybe I won’t say it.
So next, I tell her what happened in Paris with Alice. I tell her how I felt afterwards, how guilty and how sick. Then I tell her what happened at Marek’s wedding in that photo booth. I tell her it was Alice who kissed me, and not the other way round, but I’m honest about the fact that I didn’t push her away either. I show her the messages on my phone. I tell her I was planning to meet Alice in four days’ time, but that I am going to cancel that meeting. Because I understand now that if I go ahead with it, I’ll be ruining the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself for it. I tell her I’m sorry and that I’ve been a total fucking idiot. I promise her that nothing like this will ever happen again – and I truly, truly mean it.
I tell her I will do everything I can to make things better, because she is my wife, and she is the person I love most in the entire world, and that’s the only thing in this life I’m genuinely sure of, and I know I can make her happy again if she’ll give me another
