I called to Joe a few times, but when he didn’t hear me, I trudged up the stairs to the top floor.
The door to his bedroom was closed, but behind it, I could hear him strumming a tune, stopping and starting as he corrected himself.
I stood for a while listening, until he managed a full verse without a mistake. His voice, as ever, was beautiful, but I didn’t recognise the song:
If you could just see me / if you could just feel me / if you could just understand / all I am / for you.
We are really miracles / we are made of star-dust / and if you’d just touch my skin / feel me here / loving you.
A wave of warmth for him washed over me, but this quickly morphed to a sad realisation that he was probably thinking about Amy as he sang, and then embarrassment for having listened in to such a private moment. So I crept down a few stairs and approached once again, only more noisily this time. I rapped on the door until Joe invited me in.
He smiled up at me weakly, and I could see instantly that he was tearful.
‘Nice song,’ I said, sounding fake, even to myself. ‘Who’s that by, then?’
‘Oh, no one,’ Joe said. ‘It’s just a ditty.’
‘One of yours?’ I asked, and he nodded vaguely.
‘It sounded good,’ I said. Then before my emotions gave me away, I added, ‘Um, brunch is ready. So I’d get your arse downstairs before it’s all gone, if I were you.’
Throughout the meal I fixed a gentle smile on my face and tried, but failed, not to think about Joe writing songs for Amy. His feelings for her were doubtless the reason there hadn’t been so much as a proper kiss, as well. If anything was ever going to happen between Joe and me, it certainly wasn’t going to be for a very, very long time.
We arrived back home late on Monday evening, and by the time I got the girls to bed, both Joe and Ben had gone to their rooms.
The trip had officially been a success: we’d picnicked on the beach, played the slot machines, and visited Whitby Abbey. We’d eaten dribbling ice creams in Robin Hood’s Bay and overall had been made so welcome that I’d actually felt quite tearful when we’d wished Emma and Reg goodbye.
But I’d had to hide my devastation about the fact that Joe was still visibly pining for Amy, so I felt quite relieved that he’d vanished so quickly to bed.
The next morning I was awoken by the children’s shrieks but, because I could hear Joe was up, I let myself lie in. Due to the fact I’d been thinking about Joe all night long – specifically about the various bad omens from our trip north – I’d slept pretty badly.
I must have fallen asleep again, because suddenly the alarm clock read 11.32, and the house around me was silent. I got up, pulled on a dressing gown, and checked the kids’ bedrooms. I peered out at the empty back garden.
Dandy wanted food, so I fed him, and then took my mug of tea out to the conservatory. I’d been there only a few minutes when Joe returned.
‘Hello, you,’ I said, looking up at him in the doorway. ‘I was wondering where everyone was.’
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling vaguely, either with pleasure at seeing me, or perhaps with embarrassment. ‘I walked them round to number 12. I thought we could use a little space, so that we can have a chat.’
‘Oh, of course,’ I said, wondering what kind of chat this was going to be. ‘Good idea.’
‘Weird atmosphere round there, though,’ Joe continued. ‘I suspect there may be trouble in paradise.’
‘Really? The kids are OK, though, aren’t they?’
Joe shrugged and nodded. ‘Amy’s gone AWOL, apparently. But I left them in the garden with Ant. He seemed fine about it.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘OK, then.’
‘Just let me make a brew, and we can talk,’ Joe said. ‘You want one?’
I raised my steaming mug and shook my head, then turned to look out at the sunlit back garden, while I listened to the sounds of Joe in the kitchen. He was whistling, so perhaps that was a good sign. Then again, don’t people whistle when they’re nervous, too?
I heard him fill the kettle and switch it on.
I needed to make the most of this moment, I decided. I could see myself being too shy to tell him how I really felt and regretting it for ever more. So I had to make sure that didn’t happen.
Then again, hadn’t I just learned that he still had strong feelings for Amy? So, in the light of my half-hearted declaration in Whitby, wasn’t it more likely that he was going to say something awful like, ‘I really like you a lot, but I’m still in love with my wife’?
And if he did say that, what option would I have but to say, ‘Of course. That’s fine’?
I realised that the kettle had boiled some time ago, but that I hadn’t heard a sound after that. I put down my now empty mug and stood. I frowned and entered the kitchen. Steam was rising from the kettle. The room looked, for some reason, like a stage set. I crossed to the closed kitchen door, and as I reached for the handle, I felt a sense of unease. We didn’t often close the kitchen door, and I wondered why it was shut now.
I opened it an inch, enough to hear that there were voices coming from the front door. Joe was talking quietly – discreetly, I suppose you could say – to someone on the doorstep. I moved silently along the hallway, and then peered around the corner to see who was there.
Fourteen
Amy
I’m sure you’ve worked this out – in fact, I’m sure everyone knew this from the get-go – but Ant was
