Jonathan.
She ached for one clear, true memory of him.
She yearned for the pain that such a memory would bring.
She turned off the harsh bathroom light and went through to the bedroom. She switched off the light in there as well. Darkness might help. She crossed the room and climbed into bed, huddling down beneath the duvet. Alone, at last, she tried to summon Jonathan – the one true love of her life, the man for whom she’d sacrificed so much.
He refused to come.
She refused to give up.
She lay still, waiting for memories of their time together to assail her.
Still he didn’t come.
Still she refused to give up.
She sat up, searching for something that might help conjure him up.
Then she remembered.
She crossed over to the chest and opened the second drawer. There, lying on the top, was the robe. She ran her hand over it, feeling the slither of silk beneath her water-wizened fingertips. It was soothing to touch something so delicate after so much harshness. She shivered, the heat from her shower long gone. She lifted the robe out of the drawer and wrapped herself in it. Silk against skin. Softness over sinew. She stroked her hands up and down her arms, hugging herself.
They retreated.
He approached.
She closed her eyes and welcomed him.
It was one evening in late June. Too hot for running really, but she’d been desperate to get out of the house. A forty-minute loop was all she allowed herself out on the Filey Road – uphill out, downhill back, watching the sun sink – but it had cleared her head. She was about to dash upstairs to grab a quick shower before going to sit with Jonathan, when Lisa intercepted her in the hallway. ‘There’s no rush.’ She smiled, glanced at the door to his room. ‘He’s not quite ready for you yet.’
There were times when Megan resented Lisa’s presence in their lives so intensely that she wanted to scream. These bouts of sudden, irrational rage made her feel like she was going mad. It must be madness, surely, to feel aggrieved with the one person who was making life bearable – for both of them. Because there was no arguing with the fact that Lisa was a godsend. She was efficient, conscientious, discreet and, even more importantly, Jonathan liked her. But there were occasions when her attitude seemed, to Megan, to be more proprietorial than professional. It was almost as if the two of them were vying for Jonathan’s attention and, on occasions, it was Lisa who was winning.
Standing in the hall, red-faced with exertion and irritation, Megan was glad that the one skill Lisa did not possess was mind-reading. ‘Okay. Thank you. But I won’t be long.’ Without Lisa there would have been no run, no time to shower, no leaving the house at all. She should stop being so ungrateful.
Lisa smiled even more brightly. ‘Honestly, there’s no rush. I’m around for the next hour or so.’ She disappeared into Jonathan’s room, closing the door behind her.
With Lisa’s words in her head, Megan took a little longer in the shower than usual. She even left the conditioner in her hair for five minutes, for better, more glossy results – as it said on the bottle. When she’d finished, she stepped out and, instead of getting dried in a blind rush, like normal, she stood still and studied her reflection in the mirror. Her wet hair looked almost black against her skin. It framed a face that was thinner, the cheekbones prominent. A drop of water trickled down her chest. It slid down to her left nipple, then dropped onto the floor. Her weight loss was nowhere near as dramatic as Jonathan’s, but it had carved away the softness from her belly and her thighs. In another life, Megan might have been pleased at this slimmer, firmer version of herself. She was certainly slimmer and firmer than Lisa.
She reached for the jar of moisturiser on the shelf, the one that Jonathan had bought for her birthday – a lifetime ago. She had used very little of it. There hadn’t seemed much point; what her skin smelt like was an irrelevance nowadays. Slowly she dabbed tiny blobs of moisturiser across her shoulders, arms, breasts. She moved on to her belly and legs, creating a dot-to-dot across her body. Then slowly she massaged the rich cream into her skin, using small circular motions. She took care to be gentle with herself, breathing in the scent of the natural oils.
When she was finished, she went through to the bedroom and sat on the bed. She smelt of lemon verbena. Downstairs she heard Lisa’s footsteps cross the hall. Another irrational pulse of jealousy rippled through her. She opened the wardrobe and, on a whim, picked out her favourite dress, the blue one with the thin straps. From the chest of drawers she chose some pretty matching, rarely worn underwear, eschewing her usual cotton knickers. She brushed her hair, put on some make-up – made herself look like her ‘old’, younger self. When she’d finished she was pleased with the result, but suddenly self-conscious. Either Jonathan would notice her efforts and feel sorrow for what they had lost, or he wouldn’t, and she would. Shaking the thought away, she stepped
