I bashed myself on the bloody bike as I flew in, flinging my coat at a hook and missing. My hands freezing from standing in the street on my phone to Linda, finally convincing her to send out the apology.
“Hey,” I shouted, “I’m soooo sorry. The meeting went on forever and then the Guardian piece about the Arthur thing has totally blown up and I had to persuade Linda to make him see sense . . .”
I reached the kitchen. There was no one there: two clean plates, the table laid—but no Dan.
Frowning, I backed out, voices coming from across the hallway. Stepping into the living room I saw Dan sitting on the sofa, Miles in his pajamas beside him.
“Hey, what’s this?” I asked. “It’s a school night.”
Both looked up and Dan gave me a warning look and then plastered a smile on his face as he ruffled Miles’s hair, “He’s just off upstairs, aren’t you?”
Miles nodded slowly as Dan leaned in to give him a one-armed hug. “Night, mate.”
“Night.” Miles snuck past me in his green striped pajamas. “Night, Mum,” he muttered.
“Night.” I spun around to give him a hug and kiss but he was already halfway up the staircase, taking two steps at a time. “Love you.” Why was he up? Was this to do with the argument earlier? And the school office had phoned, maybe they’d also noticed he wasn’t himself.
Dan’s tone changed as he stood up. “I made us dinner.”
“You know he gets tired.”
“I do know,” Dan said, gritting his teeth.
“We’ll pay for it tomorrow . . .” Was I carrying on like this to distract from the fact I was back so late? “Was he OK?” I asked, my worry about Miles overriding everything else.
Dan moved past me into the kitchen. “He said he just couldn’t sleep.”
I traipsed after him. “He rowed with Poppy earlier.”
“Well, that’s not unusual,” Dan said.
“I don’t know,” I mused. “It seemed a bit different maybe?” As I said it a small ball of worry lodged in my stomach. Maybe I could pop up quickly now and talk to him before he fell asleep?
“So did you tell them?” Dan asked, his voice low as he switched on the burner, sugar snap peas waiting in a small pile ready to be boiled.
“Tell them wh—” Dan turned, just as I managed to wipe the blank look from my face, realization dawning, “Oh, um, no . . . but I’ll message Denise tomorrow.”
Dan’s mouth set in a line.
“Wow,” I gushed, moving across to the stove and going on a full charm offensive. “That looks amazing,” I said, pointing at the frying pan filled with chicken thighs in sauce.
“It might need reheating,” Dan said pointedly.
“And sugar snap peas!” I exclaimed loudly, pretending not to hear. “I’ll get the wine; do you want a . . .” Too late I noticed his almost-empty white wine on the side. “. . . a top-up,” I said brightly.
Dan shrugged, mellowing a little.
“Thanks so much for cooking.” I stepped across to the table and then froze when I saw the envelope lying next to my fork. My name in black, a small heart over the “a.”
I’d never written the letter. Oh God. I had to write a letter.
“I’m just going to . . . change my . . . boots,” I said, backing out of the kitchen and rushing up the stairs.
“Paper, paper, paper,” I muttered as I rifled through my bedside table, and then, biting my lip, moved across to Dan’s. No paper. Although he did have a little stack of previous letters. Oh God. The guilt worsened. I raised my head up like a meerkat. What was that weird tinny music? It felt so familiar. Where was it coming from?
I could hear Dan calling my name as I raced into the office, snatched up a sheet of paper from the printer tray that I quickly folded up and secreted in my sleeve before heading back downstairs.
Dan looked at my boots.
“I . . . just really like them,” I said, feeling like the idiot I was.
He was standing at the table spooning out the sauce.
“Are you all right?” Dan asked.
“I’m great,” I said, lingering next to the wall calendar, the number 3 already crossed out with the miniature ballpoint pen Dan kept on the ledge. I quickly reached for it and shoved it up my sleeve with the paper. “Brilliant.”
He pointed to my full plate, watching me as I sat down slowly, the heart on the envelope with my name swimming as I tried to think how to avert this crisis.
“Lovely. A letter!” I exclaimed, a wide smile frozen to my face as I pushed the envelope to the side of the table and looked back at him. “We can open them later. Soooo . . .” I steepled my hands and placed my chin on my fingertips, barely waiting for him to settle in his chair. “Tell me about your day? All good? Any new clients? Did you read about the new recycling system? Why couldn’t Miles sleep? I’m a bit worried about him. Did the man from SSE fix a date for the furnace?”
“I told you last week that got sorted, he’s already been and fixed it.”
“Of course you did,” I said, brightly. “Great!” I added, the quite-scary smile slipping a bit.
I was distracted for a lot of the meal, my palms dampening as I wondered when he was going to ask where my letter was, the tiny pen slipping down my sleeve every time I moved. I had to get some words on the page. This couldn’t be like last year.
Dan was quieter too, his responses to any questions brief, lackluster. I really needed to try and salvage this.
I needed to buy myself some time. “Is there pudding?” I asked.
“Apple crumble.”
“Yum,” I said, theatrically smacking my lips.
Dan looked a little taken aback.
I’d pitched my enthusiasm too high.
“I didn’t make it,” he said apologetically.
“I wouldn’t expect you to. But . . . I’d love some custard with it. Have we got any?”
“I thought you’d want cream. I bought cream.”
“I do,” I said slowly. “Normally. But custard would be like the icing on the cake. Ha!”
Dan gave me a strange look as I got up and removed our empty plates and then loitered in the middle of the room. Probably wondering why I wasn’t making this amazing custard that I so desperately wanted.
“Just going to the loo!” I sang, racing out of the room.
Perched on the toilet I scribbled some thoughts on the paper, adding an exuberant number of kisses. It was short but it was very loving. One too many exclamation marks but this was no time for perfectionism. I sidled back into the kitchen, Dan’s back to me at the oven as I returned the pen to the ledge and slid the folded paper onto the counter.
My insides immediately lighter, I moved to top up our wines.
“What are you doing?” I said, patting his chair. “Come and sit down.”
Dan gave me a strange look. “I’m making you custard?”
“OF COURSE! Amazing!”
He turned, walking across the room to place the steaming bowl in front of me, but stopped dead when he saw the folded piece of paper.
He stared at it.
“That was not there before.”
“Hmm . . . ?””
Reading glasses on, he picked it up, his words slow. “You just wrote this when you went to the loo.”
I put a hand to my chest. “I can’t believe you’d say that!”
“Admit it!”
“I had it in my bag all day. So I just put it there while you were gone.”
“I don’t believe you, Emma.”
“I’m your wife, Daniel.”
He waved the paper. “You misspelled affection—”
“It’s a tricky word,” I stuttered.
“—and it’s basically three lines long.”
I scoffed, “I don’t always have to write really long letters. I thought this year I’d—”
“Emma, just admit it, you forgot . . . again.”
My chest squeezed tight. “Why are you making such a big deal about this?”
He curled his fists, crumpling the note in his hand. His mood this evening justified, the hurt oozing from him. “Because it is a big deal. Or . . .” He paused. “I thought it was. Maybe you don’t.”
I felt a pang in my stomach to see tears film his eyes. “Dan, don’t be like that.” My voice was panicked, the memories of last year crashing in as if I was living a hideous déjà vu. How could I have messed up again? This day represented so much to both of us and I’d spent my time on everything else when I should have put this first.
“I’m not being like anything. I’m allowed to be bloody sad.”
“Mum? Dad?” A small voice from the top of the stairs.
“God, you’ve woken the kids,” I accused, the anger at myself utterly misdirected at Dan. As I moved to the kitchen door I felt momentarily grateful to escape the pain of his gaze. “Hi darling, go back to bed. I’ll pop up and tuck you in, in a minute.”
“Were you fighting?”
I couldn’t speak for a moment, my throat thick.
“No, darling. It was the telly. Night, night.”
I returned to find Dan in his coat, Gus whining for a pee. “Come on, Gus,” Dan snapped.
Gus, crouched low, his nose almost touching the floor, resisted Dan’s tug on the leash.
“Don’t pull on him like that.”
“I’m not pulling on him. C’mon, Gus.”
Dan scooped up a barking Gus and carried him out of the house. The door slammed.
Christ.
“Mum,” Miles’s sleepy voice called from the landing.
“Hey darling,” I half-whispered. “Sorry, Dad went out with Gus, I’ll come up and tuck you in . . .”
He returned to his room.
I looked around the kitchen at the detritus of our meal, at the orange flowers on the central island, at the envelope with my name. I had royally screwed up. Dan deserved so much better than this. And then to be angry at him when I’d been the one at fault.
A loud bang made me jump. The wail of an alarm followed, high-pitched, over and over.
My skin broke into goosebumps as my head turned toward our front door.
What was that?
I took a step forward, my thoughts scrambling as I replayed what I’d heard. Where was Dan? I needed to see him. Why did I feel this chill?
Oh my God.