Always and Only You

Chapter Forty-Seven

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Present Day

I curl my legs up underneath me as I hold my phone to my ear. ‘I understand that, Rob. But Kalinda is used to having things done a certain way. If she pulls you up on something, you just have to smile and say you’ll do better, even if she’s being unfair. I know it wasn’t your fault the florist cancelled two hours before the dinner party and the replacement wasn’t up to par, but I’ll give you the number of the one I use. She’s very reliable and—’

I freeze as I hear a key in the front door. ‘You know what? I’ll text you the deets. Bye!’ I press end on the call and, just for good measure, tuck my phone down the side of the sofa cushion, then turn and smile brightly at Simon as he walks into our living room. ‘How was your day?’

He frowns. ‘Busy. Who were you talking to?’

‘Um … no one?’ I pick up the remote and hold it up, hoping I can make him think it was the TV without actually saying so. The lines on his forehead get deeper. I’m not surprised. I am an absolutely horrible liar.

‘You were talking to that guy again, weren’t you?’

I blink innocently. ‘Which guy would that be?’

‘The guy who’s covering your job. Erin …’ He gives me a warning look, and then comes over to the sofa, delves down the side of the cushion, and pulls out my phone. I have the grace to blush. ‘I thought we talked about this.’

‘I know, but …’

He shakes his head. ‘You haven’t been given the go-ahead to go back to work yet. That means no answering texts and phone calls from Kalinda or your replacement, and certainly no backseat organizing.’

‘But Kalinda just tore strips off Rob for ruining her dinner party! He needed my help.’

Simon slides my phone into his back pocket. He does not look impressed. ‘I don’t give a flying fart about what Rob needs. It’s you I care about.’

I know he’s right. I kneel up on the sofa so I can loop my arms around his shoulders. I try to kiss him, but he’s just that little bit too tall, so I end up planting my lips on his collarbone. He grudgingly huffs and puts his arms around me.

‘I’m just bored,’ I tell him. ‘I feel as if I’ve been pacing around this flat for years with nothing to do.’

I feel his chest inflate and deflate as he lets out a deep sigh. ‘You haven’t even been home from your mum’s for a month.’

‘It feels longer. And you’re so busy at work. I’m spending a lot of time on my own.’

‘Can’t your mum come round a bit more? I mean, back when you first moved home, I’d find her here every evening. It’s as if she didn’t trust me to look after you.’ He says this in a jokey way, but I don’t respond to his comment, knowing there’s probably more truth in it than he realizes.

‘I’ve called her a few times, but she’s only been able to come round once this week. This new charity is keeping her quite busy.’ And I can’t begrudge her that. For years, all I wanted was to be on an equal footing with Alex. Not given more attention, just not less. And now she’s finally showing her love in the best way she knows how, I can hardly complain, can I?

‘What about Anjali?’

‘She’s at work during the day, and she finally said yes to a date with Lars. It now seems they’re the hot new … thing.’

Simon grins. ‘I had no idea. Why didn’t he tell me?’

I shrug. ‘They only had their first date the Saturday before last.’

‘Oh, cool …’ He eases himself out of my grasp. ‘I’m hungry. What are we doing for dinner?’

‘Pasta.’ I’d like to cook something more complicated, but one step at a time. It’s good to feel as if I can do something useful again. However, after a couple of minor mishaps where I walked away from the pan and forgot about it or tried to cook rice with no water, I am not currently allowed to operate the hob unsupervised.

On the whole, though, the doctors say I’m making pretty good progress. Yes, my short-term memory is still patchy. I have problems finding the right word more often than not, but I am learning to adapt. It seems that my love of lists, calendars, colour-coding and colourful sticky notes has been my salvation.

I make a simple supper of pasta and arrabbiata sauce while Simon throws together a salad from a bag and then we sit down to eat at the table.

‘Okay,’ I say, spearing a piece of pasta, then waving my fork in Simon’s direction. ‘I promise I won’t take any more calls from Rob. He’ll just have to work things out on his own. He’s got access to my household binder with all my notes and lists.’

‘Good,’ Simon replies, giving me a stern look.

‘But I’ve got to have something to fill my time, and I … Oh! I stay frozen for a couple of seconds while the thought forms fully in my head and then I shout, ‘Binders!’ surprising Simon so much that he drops his fork and it clatters onto the plate.

‘Um … Sorry? What?’

‘I think I’ve got it … The perfect solution! I can start planning our wedding. Again.’

Simon stops eating and frowns. I suddenly get a really weird vibe.

‘What? What is it?’ I’m aware my tone is shrill and I’m sounding quite confrontational. For the millionth time, I curse the fact that knock on the head has changed me – maybe forever – and that I can’t seem to keep a lid on my emotions as easily. I also don’t have the ability to rein them back in once they’ve been let loose. I stare at Simon. ‘Don’t you want to marry me?’ Before he can answer, I push away from the table and walk away.

Simon comes up behind me and lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘Erin … Of course I want to marry you.’ When I turn round, he loops his arms around my waist and looks into my eyes. ‘I’m just not sure it’s the right time to be planning another wedding. You got so stressed last time. And you’re not great with large groups still. Even dinner with my family last week wiped you out, and that was only ten people.’

I know he’s got a point, but that doesn’t stop me feeling completely stir-crazy. I’ve got to do something.

‘What if we don’t do the whole hoopla a second time over? What if we keep it small, intimate? We can do the ceremony in Lower Hadwell again, and then the wedding breakfast – but only close friends and family. And then we can have a big party back here in London at a later date when I’m feeling much better. Think of it as just postponing the evening reception until I’m ready for it?’

‘But that’s two things to organize! That doesn’t sound much like resting to me.’

I smooth my hands across his shoulders in a soothing sweep. ‘But not both at the same time. And I promise I’ll take it slowly. I won’t get all manic about it this time.’

Simon gives me a look that says he thinks I’m talking out of my backside. I probably am, but I’m going to do my best to stick to my word. ‘Please?’

He sighs. ‘Let me think about it.’ He spots the clock on the wall behind me. ‘Is that the time?’ His grip loosens on me. ‘I told Gil I’d go out with him for a quick pint.’

‘You didn’t mention that to me.’ I frown. ‘Did you?’

He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t get the chance. It’s a bit of a last-minute thing – he’s leaving London for a while, something to do with a change in his job. He explained it to me, but all that cyber threat stuff isn’t really my thing.’

I can believe that. If Simon can’t get his phone or his laptop to do something, he usually just swears at it until I come and sort it out for him. Or I used to. I have no idea if I can do that kind of stuff now. Concentrating too hard either makes me sleepy or gives me a headache.

‘Listen,’ he says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and then letting me go completely. ‘We’ll talk about it when I get back—’

‘A “quick” pint? That means I’ll probably be in bed by the time you get back.’

‘Tomorrow, then?’

This is not the answer I want. Ever since the accident, I seem wto have lost most of my patience. When I want to do something, I want to do it right now. And I want to talk about planning our wedding right now . But I’m also aware this is something I need to work on. ‘Okay,’ I say sullenly.

Simon pulls my phone from his pocket and hands it back to me. ‘No calling what’s-his-face while I’m out.’

I nod. And this time I’m telling the truth. I have no intention of calling Rob back. I’ll just send him the text I promised, then switch my phone off.

When Simon leaves and I’m on my own again, it takes all of ten minutes of scrolling through all my available streaming services for something to watch before I give up and head to the bookshelf. I pull out a storage box out and push the lid off. There, in all its tabbed and multicoloured glory, is my wedding binder. Just a little flick through won’t hurt.