What. The. Hell.
I stepped backward, collapsing on the foot of our bed, still gaping at the date. Then I stared around, reaching for Dan’s mobile, tapping on the screen.
Monday, 3rd December.
I put it down slowly.
Impossible.
“What the . . .”
It couldn’t be. I hadn’t just imagined an entire day. Was there something wrong with my brain? What the hell was happening? Oh my God, if this was true then he was really here, really alive. Could I be that lucky?
A noise above my bedroom: muffled laughter. This was it. I was going crazy. I’d had one of those things, what are they called? A psychotic break? I’d splintered away from reality.
I opened my phone again, checking messages on every platform.
The woman couldn’t pick up the bike.
The committee members were talking about meeting that evening.
Amelia was on Instagram, red cocktail in hand, star-jumping on the same sand. The photo had been posted two hours before.
This was not happening. Could you have a déjà vu this strong?
I could hear Dan turning off the shower, my brain still trying to figure out what was going on. I felt like a contestant on one of those Derren Brown shows where everyone would reveal they’d played their part in some screwed-up social experiment.
I pulled on clothes, the white shirt, burgundy corduroy skirt. They were rumpled but clean. I frowned staring down at the heels and boots. I lifted my heel, felt the smooth skin with my finger: no rub from any heels. I reached for the boots, as Dan reappeared.
“I’m going to check on the kids,” I said slowly, eyeballing him as I pulled them on and left the room, then sticking my head back inside, making him jump. “Sorry, it’s just . . .” I didn’t add anything, just watched him standing in his towel, chest bare. He was really there, in our bedroom. I ached with the desire for it all to be true. A dream, a really vivid dream.
“Perv.” He grinned, removing his towel, but I couldn’t find a smile back. Dan gave me another perplexed look.
Leaving him I moved down the corridor and peered round Miles’s door. No Miles, just an unmade bed, rumpled space duvet, mismatched pillow, and a thousand sharp and tiny pieces of Minecraft Lego on his rug. Hand on the newel post I moved up to Poppy’s room, pausing only briefly at her door where she’d stuck a penciled KEEP OUT sign, softened slightly with some quite artistic pink flowers. It still made me sad. I mustn’t let her keep me out. I thought of her need last night, her pressed into my side when we thought the worst had happened. I shook my head: a dream, just a dream.
I knocked and went in.
“Mum,” she whipped round, just dressed in her training bra, pants, and school tights, “What the—!”
“Sorry,” I averted my eyes, wondering for a quick second when she had become self-conscious in front of me. “I just wanted . . . to see you.”
Poppy gave me a not completely friendly face in response and reached for her school shirt. Her face was smooth, no blotches, no tears. No sign she had had anything other than a good night’s sleep.
She hadn’t slept in Miles’s room, curled around him. She hadn’t been trembling in my arms last night. Nothing had happened.
“Let’s have breakfast all together,” I said quickly. “Come down soon, OK?”
“Sure.”
“I’m serious, Poppy—one minute, OK?”
“OK,” Poppy said, one arm in her shirt.
I left, heading down the stairs quickly, wanting to see Miles, to see he was all right, to hold him. He was sitting in the kitchen when I got in and didn’t look up as I rushed across to the table he was sitting at, planted a kiss on his head. I imagined him bundled into my arms in the hallway shaking with pain and fear, my sticky hands, desperate thoughts.
He looked up, his eyes wide.
I pulled out the chair next to him and sat down on it. I couldn’t resist reaching for his face, tentatively testing the water. I’d been stroking his head only hours before. He’d been broken. He was so close to Dan, adored his dad. “I’m sorry about last night,” I said.
He frowned and looked at me. “S’OK.”
He looked down at the table, as I studied him. “I ended up liking it anyway,” he mumbled. “Maybe we can watch the end tonight?”
It was my turn to frown distractedly. “The end?”
“That girly film about all the kids wearing curtains. It wasn’t actually too bad.”
I straightened. “Oh.” The film, The Sound of Music, we’d watched on Sunday night, bunched all together on our big L-shaped sofa. Well, bunched together before I’d crept away to finish sorting the Arthur stuff, the film I’d turned off so Poppy and Miles wouldn’t be late for bed. “Yeah. The girly film . . .”
Was it really possible?
“So, you don’t remember, um . . . anything special about last night?” I checked.
Miles looked up, a startled expression on his face. “No.”
“Nothing about . . . Dad?”
“No,” he said, giving me a strange look.
A dream. It had to be. There was no way the kids wouldn’t remember. They’d been so broken; I hadn’t been able to shield them from any of it.
Dan appeared in the kitchen and moved across to the fridge. “Hey Miles.”
“Hey,” Miles said, dragging his eyes away from me.
I stood, moving away, staring at the wall calendar that announced it was Monday 3rd, a miniature ballpoint pen on the ledge, a three that Dan had yet to cross off. Because the day was just beginning.
“Cereal?”
“Yeah.”
How? I jumped as Dan touched my shoulder, a practically empty milk carton in his other hand.
“I’m just going to go and get some milk,” he said, grabbing his keys from the counter next to me.
“No,” my voice was shrill and Miles and Dan jerked to look at me.
I put both my hands on Dan’s chest, shaking my head. “No, please don’t.”
His eyebrows shot up, he gave a worried glance over at Miles. “Emma,” he said, removing my hands.
“No, please don’t go anywhere, please. I’ll sort breakfast, just stay here, OK . . .”
“But I want to get you a—”
“I know, I know,” I said, my voice rushed and high. I needed more time. If this was really real, I needed more. “Please don’t. Just stay. I want us all to have breakfast here. Together. Now.”
Poppy appeared in the doorway dressed in her school clothes, “Where’s my blaz . . .”
“Look!” I said cutting her off, my arm thrust out. “Poppy’s here too,” I said. I couldn’t stop this strange manic energy as it seized me. “I’ll sort breakfast. Cereal for all!” I said, as my whole family stared at me.
I got down more bowls and poured the cereal in them. “Everyone at the table,” I trilled, trying not to notice the look Poppy and Dan were exchanging.
They all obeyed in silence.
“There’s not enough milk,” Miles said.
“Hold on,” and before anyone could say anything I took the milk and rushed to the sink. “It’ll just be like skimmed,” I said as I poured tap water into the dregs that were left.
Poppy wrinkled her nose. “Gross. I’ll have an apple,” she said, reaching for the fruit bowl. I put the bowls down on the table and ushered everyone to sit. As I stared round at my family I realized I couldn’t remember the last time when we had all sat together like this. “Well, this is nice,” I said.
Miles dolefully picked up a spoon and Poppy bit into her apple. Dan smiled at me and I beamed back. Silence, apart from the tick of the large gilt sunflower clock as the seconds passed, as I looked round at them all in happy disbelief.
“I don’t think I should go to work,” I said.
Dan’s brows knitted together. “Didn’t you need to get to that meeting? You were up past midnight preparing for it,” he said, brow furrowing.
Was that it? Tiredness? Was I so tired I’d imagined the whole day, that terrible night? None of them remembered anything. They really thought it was Monday. It was Monday. How could it be possible if none of them remembered it? For the first time my chest felt a fraction lighter.
“Emma?”
“Maybe we should all stay here? In the house? Together?”
Miles looked up, curiosity replacing his current morose expression.
“I’ve got a meeting with a new client at eleven,” Dan said slowly, not meeting my eye as he spooned cereal into his mouth.
“What’s going on? Why are you eating cereal with basically water?” Poppy asked, her eyes narrowing. “And why do you want to stay home?”
I didn’t reply.
She looked at Dan.
“Nothing’s going on,” Dan said, a warning look at me. He was right, of course; I couldn’t tell the kids . . . “Well, Mum didn’t have a great sleep,” he added.
Poppy kept munching her apple, eyeing me closely.
“I didn’t,” I said, my phone pinging.
And maybe it really was that. I couldn’t deny it as I stared at the notifications popping up on my phone—it was definitely Monday. Unease prickled as I read the notifications, guessing the next one to appear, but I swallowed it down. Didn’t they say we only used 5 percent of our brain or something? Unexplained things did happen.
“I don’t mind staying home,” Miles said.
Dan looked sharply at him.
Poppy rolled her eyes, “Well, I need to go to school. I need to talk to Gee.”
Miles was watching her, saying nothing. She gave him a wild, round-eyed look and he looked down again.
As Dan asked them questions about their day I zoned out, staring round at them all. It was just a strange morning. After a strange night. A terrible night, a hideous, vivid, frightening . . . dream. It was OK. He was here. He was asking Miles about his math. His low voice steady, familiar. It filled my whole heart to hear it. Oh my God, this was real. My chair scraped as I stood, making my mind up. This was incredible, a miracle. My muscles unclenched. He was here, he was with us all. Nothing had happened.
“How about you get to work, get through things quickly, and get back to us so we can all sit down together later?” Dan said, reaching for my hand and squeezing it.
I could hear the apprehension lacing his words, I’d obviously panicked him. And I didn’t want to worry or scare the kids. Whatever was going on had obviously all happened in my head. Just a very, very real déjà vu. An extended one.
I needed to believe it, will it to be true.
“I’ll see you later then,” I said carefully, “I’ll go to work.”
“Good idea,” Dan said, his shoulders dropping. I felt a flush at seeing his features relax. I shouldn’t be burdening him with my panicked delusions: that wasn’t fair.
“All right,” I said, lingering as I collected up my things.
“Have a good day.”
“OK,” I said, needing a few more seconds to really convince myself.
I bent to kiss both children, relishing Miles’s warmth, not embarrassed by Poppy’s squirm, and then I moved round to Dan. Leaning down I kissed him long and hard. Poppy made “ew” noises behind me. “I do love you,” I said again, feeling my chest expand at his surprised expression. “So much,” I added. Scared my voice was going to break again, I backed away.
I moved through to the hall, another glance over my shoulder at them all watching me from the table. My family.
“Ow.”
The handlebars of the bike got me as I reached for my coat. I could hear them all talking in the kitchen as I squeezed past it.
“Mum’s being weird.”
“Yeah. Really weird.”
“She just loves us,” I heard Dan reply as my hand stilled on the doorknob.
I do love you, I thought, closing my eyes for a moment. I love you so much.