‘LIBS, WAKE UP!’
Something warm and sticky prodded Libby’s face, jolting her out of her dream. She groaned and buried her head under the pillow. ‘What time is it?’
‘Late o’clock, lazybones. Granny and Grandpa are here and they want to know where you are,’ Hector said, prodding her again, this time in the back.
‘Tell them I’m coming,’ she mumbled, and waited for the sound of his feet padding out the room.
Libby had slept badly again. It had been a fortnight now and she’d still not heard a word from Simon, but every night he turned up around 2 a.m. to haunt her dreams. Last night, he’d been running and Libby had been trying to catch him, but for some reason she was dressed in a chicken outfit and she kept falling over her giant bird feet. Now, all she wanted to do was go back to sleep, but she had to face the torment of a family Sunday lunch.
Libby reached for her phone to check the time, and then almost dropped it. On the lock screen was a missed call notification from Simon.
She sat up, her mouth suddenly bone dry. Was this it? After fourteen long days and sleepless nights, of uncertainty and heartache and patronising sympathy from Rebecca, was it finally coming to an end? Libby took a deep breath to steady herself, then pressed call.
‘Libby.’
The way he said her name made the skin on the back of her neck prickle. ‘Simon.’
‘I’m so glad you rang back.’
Libby felt relief flood through her body, but she tried to keep her voice cool. He needed to do some serious grovelling, after all. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m OK. Work’s been crazy busy, as you can imagine. I hear you’re staying with Tom and the Gorgon.’
Libby smiled, despite herself. In the early days of their relationship, Simon had given Rebecca that secret nickname, claiming that one look from her could turn anyone to stone.
‘Yeah, it’s been intense.’
‘You must be getting sick and tired of all the chia seeds. How’s Hector?’
‘He’s good. I gave him a Percy Pig the other day and it was like he’d died and gone to heaven.’
Simon laughed and Libby felt her heart lift. God, she’d missed that sound. She waited for the apologies to begin.
‘Look, Libs, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call you. And I’m sorry for the way I handled everything. I honestly thought I was doing the right thing taking you to that restaurant, but I realise it was a terrible idea. I’m so sorry.’
There was a wobble in his voice and Libby wanted to reach down the phone and hold him. This was the Simon she knew and loved, the Simon who brought her a cup of tea in bed every morning and left her little love notes stuck on the fridge. The Simon who she’d planned her future with. So even though Libby knew she should be yelling at him right now, forcing him to grovel and beg, all she really wanted to do was jump on a train and rush back to Surrey. If she left soon, she could be back home by mid-afternoon.
‘You have every right to hate me after everything I said,’ Simon continued, interrupting her mental packing. ‘I know I’ve really hurt you, and I’m so sorry about that.’
Libby took a deep breath. ‘The last two weeks have been hell, Si. And you’re right, you handled it all really badly. But I don’t hate you.’
‘Oh, Libs, thank God,’ he said, and she could hear the relief in his voice. ‘I’m so glad you said that, because there’s something I want to ask you.’
From downstairs, Libby heard a shrill ring of her mum’s laughter and she pictured her family’s delighted faces when she told them that she and Simon were back together. She could almost hear her sister’s satisfaction. What did I tell you? Give him a few weeks and he’ll come running back . . .
‘Libby?’
‘Sorry, I’m listening.’
‘OK, so . . .’
He sounded so nervous, Libby almost wanted to laugh.
‘I really miss you . . .’
A smile spread across her face.
‘. . . at work. So I was wondering if you’d consider coming back and helping out again?’
Libby felt her whole body deflate, as if someone had pricked her like a balloon. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
‘I realise this might seem a weird thing to ask, given I’m the one who wants this time apart. But things have been crazy in the past few weeks and I’m so behind on emails and invoices and the diary is all over the place without you here to organise things. I feel like I’m drowning.’
Libby was listening to him, but Simon’s words made no sense; it was as though he was speaking another language.
‘I’ve thought it all through,’ Simon continued, oblivious to Libby spiralling on the other end of the phone. ‘I can set you up with remote access to the server and divert the office phone to your mobile. That way you can work from your sister’s place and we won’t have to physically see each other.’
He stopped talking, waiting for her to reply, but Libby still couldn’t formulate any proper thoughts, let alone sentences.
‘Libs, are you still there?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What do you think of the idea?’
‘I don’t know . . . I-I thought . . .’ She trailed off.
‘Oh no!’ Simon said, and she heard the realisation in his voice. ‘You thought that . . . Oh shit, I’m so sorry. You thought . . . No, I’m sorry, Libs, but I still need more time apart. I feel like I’m only just starting to get to know myself again and—’
‘I get it,’ Libby interrupted.
‘You’re amazing, you really are. But I feel like we were so young when we got together, and we rushed into a relationship so fast. I just really want to be sure what’s right for me, because I think that maybe—’
‘Goodbye, Simon.’ Libby tried to hang up, but her fingers were shaking too much, so she threw the phone onto the floor and pulled the duvet over her head as she let out a silent scream.
*
Twenty minutes later, Libby came downstairs to find her family gathered in the kitchen, sipping champagne from long-stemmed flutes. She hadn’t had time to shower, but she’d put on some mascara and the smartest top she’d brought with her. However, as she walked into the room and they all stopped talking and turned to stare at her, Libby had a sudden urge to run upstairs, slam the door shut and hide in her bedroom.
‘At last, there you are.’ Her mum, Pauline, looking as elegant as ever in skinny jeans and a silk blouse, stepped forwards and kissed her on the cheek. As she did, Libby was overpowered by the smell of Chanel No 5. ‘Are you all right, Elizabeth? You look unwell.’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Libby walked over to the kettle, but Pauline followed.
‘How have you been finding things, darling?’
‘All right.’
‘Any word from Simon?’
Here it was already. ‘Not yet, no.’
‘Really? What do your friends say? One of them must know what’s going on with him?’
Libby busied herself finding a teabag. The truth was, she still hadn’t spoken to any of her friends back home. She’d hoped one of them might have reached out to her by now, checking in that she was OK, but she hadn’t heard a thing. It seemed that everyone had already picked a side – and Simon had been the winner.
‘Have you tried contacting him?’ Pauline said.
‘No, Mum.’
‘Well, I think maybe it’s time you did. We all thought he’d have come begging by now, but perhaps you’ll need to give him a little nudge? You don’t want him to get too comfortable without you.’
‘How have you and Dad been?’ Libby said, keen to move the conversation on.
‘Oh, you know . . .’ Her mum let out an exaggerated sigh and then lowered her voice to a stage whisper. ‘I’m so busy with all my voluntary work, but your father’s been at a loose end ever since he retired. I come home at the end of the day and find him skulking round the house like a teenager.’
‘He was a doctor for almost forty years, Mum. It’s going to take him a while to get used to his new pace of life.’
‘I know that,’ Pauline snapped. ‘But he needs to hurry up and find a hobby before he drives me mad. I can’t even convince him to play golf these days, and you know how he normally loves that. All this stress doesn’t help.’
‘What stress?’
‘You, of course. We really thought you and Simon were serious. You told us you were going to get engaged when you turned thirty.’
‘That’s what we’d planned. I’m sorry, Mum.’
‘I’m not blaming you, darling. It’s just so strange. I mean, your father and I have been together for thirty-six years and he’s not grown bored with me yet.’
Libby opened her mouth to respond, but her sister swept in. ‘Lunch is ready. Bring the salad, will you?’
They all sat round the kitchen table as Rebecca served up grilled salmon, quinoa, and salad. Libby saw her dad’s nose wrinkle, but he knew better than to criticise Rebecca. Libby didn’t blame his reaction though. After two weeks of Rebecca’s healthy cooking, Libby was dying for a Sunday roast. She and Simon had one religiously every week, always with Yorkshire puddings and a bottle of wine, before they’d collapse on the sofa to watch a film. Libby felt a physical pain at the memory.
‘So, any news on when Rosalita’s coming back?’ Pauline asked Rebecca.
‘No. I messaged her this morning and apparently her mum is sicker than they originally thought and she might have to have an operation.’
‘Poor thing,’ Libby said.
‘I know, it’s a bloody nightmare.’
Libby looked at her sister. ‘I meant poor Rosalita.’
‘Well yes, her too, of course. It’s just bad timing, that’s all. I’m working on a big new deal and Tom’s travelling lots, plus we’re starting another round of IVF. I could really do with knowing when she’ll be back.’
‘Well, at least you’ve got Libby here to help for now,’ Pauline said. ‘It sounds as if she’s not going back to Simon any time soon.’
‘Yes, what have you been doing with all your free time, Elizabeth?’ her dad asked.
‘Oh, this and that.’ In truth, when she wasn’t with Hector, Libby spent most of her time huddled on the sofa rewatching Titanic. A couple of times she’d considered doing some drawing, but as soon as she picked up a pencil, she’d remember her excruciating humiliation at the hands of the stranger on the bus and drop it like it was red-hot.
‘I keep telling her she should go to the gym,’ Rebecca said, skewering a piece of cucumber on her fork.
‘I’m not really a gym person.’
‘Well, maybe you could give it a go, seeing as you’ve got nothing else to do?’ her mum said. ‘It would be good for your mental health. Plus, you do look like you’ve let yourself go a bit recently.’
‘Pauline!’ Rebecca’s husband gave an awkward laugh.
‘I’m just saying, Tom, it might be time she started thinking about her appearance a bit more.’
‘I also suggested a haircut,’ Rebecca said.
‘Ooh, now that’s a good idea,’ Pauline said. ‘You had shorter hair when you and Simon first met.’
‘My hairdresser, Antoni, is a miracle worker; if anyone can sort Libby’s hair out, he can.’
Libby focused on her salmon, but the texture was slimy and it was making her feel sick.
‘Maybe you could do some shopping as well, spruce up your wardrobe,’ Pauline said, warming to the makeover theme.
‘What’s wrong with my clothes?’ Libby asked, and then immediately regretted it when Rebecca smirked.
‘Nothing’s wrong per se,’ her mum said. ‘It’s just . . . well, you still dress like you did when you were a teenager, jeans and boring plain tops.’
‘You’re turning thirty soon. It’s time you learnt to dress for your shape,’ Rebecca added.
‘But I like these tops, they’re comfortable.’
‘Comfortable is not the point,’ Rebecca said, with the exasperated tone of a teacher talking to a particularly stupid student. ‘Do you think I’m comfy in the skirt suits I wear to work every day, the stiletto heels that kill my feet? Of course not. But I dress like that because I know that appearance matters.’
‘That’s a bit anti-feminist, isn’t it?’ Tom said, and Libby nearly choked on a cherry tomato. She’d barely heard Tom speak since she’d been here, let alone challenge his wife.
‘That’s easy for you to say,’ Rebecca said, glaring at him. ‘You can swan into work in your jeans and trainers and no one bats an eyelid. But, as depressing as it is to admit this, what women wear does affect how people perceive us. If I dressed like you, no one would take me seriously at work.’
‘But still, are you suggesting Libby needs a haircut and new clothes in order to win Simon back? Because that sounds pretty outdated to me.’
‘We’re not saying that, Tom, dear,’ Pauline said. ‘But I think Libby’s lack of – how should I put it? – care in her appearance may send out a message that she doesn’t care about herself. And who would want to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t love themselves?’
‘Any chance of a top-up?’ Libby’s dad said, signalling his empty champagne flute.
‘Plus, a bit of physical improvement can do wonders for your self-esteem,’ Pauline continued. ‘Remember when Hector was two weeks old and I gave Rebecca that size eight designer dress as an incentive to lose the baby weight? You were back to your old shape in four months, weren’t you, darling?’
‘I was,’ Rebecca said, although Libby thought she saw her wince slightly at the memory.
‘And I can’t help thinking Libby might also feel better about herself if she looked in the mirror and saw a nice haircut and a pair of jeans that actually fitted properly,’ Pauline added.
‘I might feel better about myself if my family stopped talking about me as if I wasn’t here,’ Libby mumbled, but no one was listening.
‘Maybe I could come up one day and we could go to the big John Lewis on Oxford Street?’ her mum said. ‘It’s ages since we’ve had a girlie day together, and we could find you some nice new dresses?’
‘Sure,’ Libby said, with a resigned shrug.
‘I’ll message Antoni and see if he can squeeze you in for an appointment this week,’ Rebecca said, reaching for her phone.
‘Mum, I’ve had enough. Can I go and play with my train set?’ Hector said.
‘Fine,’ Rebecca said, not looking up from her screen.
‘I’ll come and help you,’ Libby said, standing up quickly.
‘I don’t need—’ Hector started to say, but he must have seen the look in Libby’s eyes because he stopped, took her hand, and led her out of the room.