houses down blinking red and green. Along the guttering on the front of mine, I’d hung some blue lights, and when I knew Annabel was coming, I’d gone out and got a tree too. But in Liz’s house there was no tree and no lights, only boxes – because at the bottom of her garden was a for sale sign.
I picked at the label of my own beer, attention drifting from the sign, back to Liz’s living room. It was almost empty now, a stark, abandoned reflection of what it once had been. A memory formed in my head of us lying together on her sofa.
‘You okay?’
Annabel’s voice brought me back.
I smiled at her. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
But she was smart. She could tell something was up. Her eyes moved to Liz’s living room and then back to me, and it was obvious something had fallen into place.
‘Oh, right ,’ she said. ‘That’s the neighbour.’
I’d talked to Annabel about Liz. I’d told her how we’d gone out for eight months and been friends for a lot longer, until I’d done what I thought had been best for both of us and removed myself from Liz’s life. I’d wondered every day since whether it had been the right thing to do.
‘Are you the reason she’s moving out?’
‘It would be incredibly arrogant of me to think that.’
‘Is that a yes?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I had a meeting today,’ I said, trying to manoeuvre the conversation in a different direction. ‘It was in the diary before I knew you were coming up, and there are a few things I need to take care of off the back of it tomorrow. I should be done by lunch, but I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning might be a good chance for you to do the tourist thing.’
Annabel had only been to London three times, once while she was still in primary school, once in the months before I’d known her, and once in the year since. We’d seen each other fourteen times in a year, and thirteen of those times I’d been the one to make the trip down to Devon. She’d wanted to come up more – specifically she’d wanted to see the city and take in the sights – but she had Olivia to think of now.
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘I’ll give you a shout when I’m done.’
‘It’s fine. Honestly. I can’t wait to be a tourist.’
‘Do you like steak?’
She smiled, seemed confused. ‘I love steak.’
‘Great. There’s a fantastic place near Covent Garden that’s always got space. I’ve got to pop down to Wimbledon, but I thought maybe we could meet at the restaurant for a late lunch once you’ve decided you’ve had enough of pounding the pavements.’
‘That sounds fab.’
I smiled at her and, automatically, without thinking, glanced across to Liz’s living room again, just a square of light against the night. Liz emerged briefly, placing some books into a box. She was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a vest, her chocolate-coloured hair scraped back into a ponytail. I wondered if she’d seen me letting Annabel into the house, and what she must have thought. She didn’t know I had a daughter. Since I’d ended things between us, we’d barely spoken. A hello out on the drive; awkward conversations that led nowhere about things that didn’t matter. I never wanted it to be like this, had clung on to the idea that our time together might be worth something more, a bind that wouldn’t fray, even if our relationship was different.
But, in my life, there would always be the missing.
And that would always be the problem.
The First Goodbye
January 2005 | Eight Years Ago
The dog died on 7 January. As snow came out of the sky, landing softly on the roof of the house, the animal moaned gently, shuddered on the rug next to the fire and finally became still. She kept her hand pressed to his stomach, felt his belly cease to swell and shrink, but didn’t look down at him. Instead, she sat there – cigarette smoking between the fingers of her
I picked at the label of my own beer, attention drifting from the sign, back to Liz’s living room. It was almost empty now, a stark, abandoned reflection of what it once had been. A memory formed in my head of us lying together on her sofa.
‘You okay?’
Annabel’s voice brought me back.
I smiled at her. ‘Yeah, I’m fine.’
But she was smart. She could tell something was up. Her eyes moved to Liz’s living room and then back to me, and it was obvious something had fallen into place.
‘Oh, right ,’ she said. ‘That’s the neighbour.’
I’d talked to Annabel about Liz. I’d told her how we’d gone out for eight months and been friends for a lot longer, until I’d done what I thought had been best for both of us and removed myself from Liz’s life. I’d wondered every day since whether it had been the right thing to do.
‘Are you the reason she’s moving out?’
‘It would be incredibly arrogant of me to think that.’
‘Is that a yes?’
I sighed. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I had a meeting today,’ I said, trying to manoeuvre the conversation in a different direction. ‘It was in the diary before I knew you were coming up, and there are a few things I need to take care of off the back of it tomorrow. I should be done by lunch, but I was thinking maybe tomorrow morning might be a good chance for you to do the tourist thing.’
Annabel had only been to London three times, once while she was still in primary school, once in the months before I’d known her, and once in the year since. We’d seen each other fourteen times in a year, and thirteen of those times I’d been the one to make the trip down to Devon. She’d wanted to come up more – specifically she’d wanted to see the city and take in the sights – but she had Olivia to think of now.
‘Sounds good to me,’ she said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘One hundred per cent.’
‘I’ll give you a shout when I’m done.’
‘It’s fine. Honestly. I can’t wait to be a tourist.’
‘Do you like steak?’
She smiled, seemed confused. ‘I love steak.’
‘Great. There’s a fantastic place near Covent Garden that’s always got space. I’ve got to pop down to Wimbledon, but I thought maybe we could meet at the restaurant for a late lunch once you’ve decided you’ve had enough of pounding the pavements.’
‘That sounds fab.’
I smiled at her and, automatically, without thinking, glanced across to Liz’s living room again, just a square of light against the night. Liz emerged briefly, placing some books into a box. She was dressed in tracksuit bottoms and a vest, her chocolate-coloured hair scraped back into a ponytail. I wondered if she’d seen me letting Annabel into the house, and what she must have thought. She didn’t know I had a daughter. Since I’d ended things between us, we’d barely spoken. A hello out on the drive; awkward conversations that led nowhere about things that didn’t matter. I never wanted it to be like this, had clung on to the idea that our time together might be worth something more, a bind that wouldn’t fray, even if our relationship was different.
But, in my life, there would always be the missing.
And that would always be the problem.
The First Goodbye
January 2005 | Eight Years Ago
The dog died on 7 January. As snow came out of the sky, landing softly on the roof of the house, the animal moaned gently, shuddered on the rug next to the fire and finally became still. She kept her hand pressed to his stomach, felt his belly cease to swell and shrink, but didn’t look down at him. Instead, she sat there – cigarette smoking between the fingers of her
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