Always and Only You

Chapter Fifty

CHAPTER FIFTY

Present Day

‘Oh, God … Vera’s now asking if she can bring a plus one.’ I throw my phone down on the bed and dive onto the mattress face first. I try to breathe past my ribs and into my stomach, like my old yoga teacher suggested, but I can’t seem to get the oxygen past my bra strap.

‘You’ll just have to explain to her – again! – that because we’ve cut the guest numbers by two-thirds, no one who wasn’t already with someone when the save the date went out is bringing anyone.’

‘Can you do it?’ I mumble into the duvet cover. I just can’t face it. I want to pretend Vera doesn’t exist and I don’t have to deal with her.

‘Pardon?’ Simon says as he moves around the bedroom, getting ready for work.

I lift my head. ‘Do you think you can message Vera?’

Simon stops and looks at me. ‘I’ll try. But you know how full-on it is at the moment at work. I might not have the time until this evening.’

I groan and let my head flop back down, this time with my cheek meeting the white cotton, and I stare out across the bedroom, my eyes focusing on nothing. I know Vera will ‘nudge’ well before this evening, so I’m probably going to have to answer her anyway.

But I don’t. I know I’m only going to make it worse for myself, but I don’t. My batteries are flat. Every time I open up the messaging app on my phone, the letters on the keyboard shimmer and dance and I put it away again.

I spend most of the day sitting on the sofa, the TV on mute, as Pride and Prejudice plays in the background. I can’t even bear to hear their voices either. I just need … stillness. Quiet. Space. Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe all the way down to my belly button, but not now.

When Simon returns home, I’m still in my pyjamas. I haven’t even had a shower or pulled my hair out of its messy bun and brushed it, which is most unlike me. What’s the point? I’ve got nowhere to go at the moment, unless it’s a medical appointment, and those doctors and nurses see people who look way worse than me.

I’m lonely. Mum and Anjali make sure they visit. Dad has even driven from Wales to see me. But most of my days I’m on my own, and even when Simon’s here … I hardly want to admit it, even to myself … even when Simon’s here, I feel disconnected from him. As if I’m in a bubble that no one else can see. Another of the lovely surprise gifts my knock on the head gave me.

Halfway through the afternoon, the door buzzer goes. I answer it and let a delivery guy into the building. Did I order something? I don’t remember doing that, but these days, that means nothing.

When I open the door, the delivery guy is standing there with an enormous cardboard box. It’s so heavy that I struggle to take it from him, but I manage to thank him and totter back down the hallway to the dining area, where I dump it on the table. It’s addressed to me, so I set about opening it.

After cutting the tape, I prise open the cardboard flaps and find an envelope sitting on top of organic packing material. Frowning, I open it and read: Erin, I know you’ve been bored recently, so I thought this might cheer you up! All my love, Simon x

I start to cry and I don’t even know why. Wiping away the tears, I pull out the straw packing material and find a hamper containing all-butter shortbread, cracked black pepper oatcakes, Tunnock’s tea cakes, tablet, the hard crumbly stuff similar to fudge that is my absolute weakness, a bar of heather-scented handmade soap, and a half bottle of champagne.

And then I notice something on the bottom of the note: P.S. Can you guess the theme? Tonight, when I get home, there’ll be a surprise. X

Scotland? But why? Burns’ Night was months ago. I don’t get it. I’m also not sure why Simon has sent me all this. I can’t drink the champagne. Not yet. Alcohol is off the menu post brain trauma, along with caffeine and too much sugar and junk. I open the packet of oatcakes and nibble one, but it tastes like hamster bedding on its own and I can’t be bothered to cut myself any cheese, so I make do with sniffing the bar of soap. It does smell heavenly.

I’m still confused when Simon bounds back into the flat at six-thirty that evening. ‘Did it arrive? Do you like it?’ He sweeps me up into a hug and kisses me before I can answer, then adds, ‘Are you ready for your surprise?’

To be honest, I’ve been ignoring messages from Vera for the last two hours, so there’s a tight band of tension around my forehead. ‘Yes,’ I say, more because I want to get it all over and done with. I’m too tired for dramatics today.

‘We’re going to Scotland!’ he says, practically bouncing up and down.

‘What? When?’

‘Next month. For the Edinburgh Festival. You always said you wanted to go, and you’ve been complaining about how bored you are sitting at home with nothing to do. I thought this would be the perfect thing!’

I sink down into one of the dining chairs. ‘I wish you’d talked to me about it first,’ I reply wearily.

Simon stops bouncing. ‘Why? Don’t you like the idea?’

‘I do … It’s just …’ Suddenly, I’m finding it hard to line words up in a sensible order.

Simon sits down next to me and takes my hands, looks into my eyes, his features a picture of compassionate concern. ‘What? You can tell me, Erin.’

I know, I reply silently. But I hardly ever do. Why is that?

But maybe I need to. I think back to that weird and elaborate dream I had while I was in a coma, how I was brave enough to tell Gil the truth, and how free and light I felt afterwards. I know that wasn’t real, but I want to feel that way again, I really do.

‘I … I …’ I take Simon’s face between my hands and kiss him on the lips. ‘I really appreciate you doing this, for thinking of me this way. It’s very, very sweet.’

‘But …?’

I swallow. ‘I don’t know if I’m up to it.’

Simon’s brow wrinkles. ‘But you don’t have to do anything. I’ll drive up there. I’ve booked a hotel. We can get cabs to and from the venues. All you have to do is sit there and enjoy yourself. Fill the well … You’ve been saying you needed to do that, right?’

I nod sadly. He’s tried so hard. I’m tempted to take back what I’ve said, to endure the noise, the lights, the people, but I can’t. I have a feeling overloading myself that way will put me back months.

I kiss him again. ‘I’m so sorry … But I have to listen to my brain and my body. I don’t think I can do this so soon. Maybe next year?’

‘Of course.’ He nods. ‘Whatever you need. It’s fine.’

I can tell he’s upset as he stands up and sees the contents of the hamper splayed all over the dining table. I pick up a packet and tear it open, paste on a bright smile. ‘Shortbread?’

He takes one and attempts an answering smile. ‘Listen … I’m going to change out of these work clothes. After that, I’ll heat up some of that casserole we made at the weekend, okay?’

‘Okay.’

I wait for a minute or two, but the atmosphere between us is bothering me. It’s like an itch I need to scratch. I need to sort this out now, smooth things over. I stand up and walk down the hallway. The bedroom door is ajar and I’m about to push it open when I hear Simon’s voice.

‘What am I going to do? I don’t suppose you want tickets to the Edinburgh Festival, do you?’

There’s a few seconds of silence and I realize he’s on the phone.

‘Yeah. No … Right. It was worth a shot. But seriously, what do I do?’

Is he talking to my mum? I know they’ve been in cahoots with each other since my accident. I know I should back away and leave him to it, but I need to know if my hunch is right. However, I haven’t got much to go on, as Simon is mostly silent. The person on the other end of the line is obviously dominating the conversation.

‘Yeah … Yeah … I’ll think it over. Thanks for that. I’ll let you know, okay?’

I get the feeling farewells are imminent and I skulk away like a guilty child.

When Simon comes back into the living area, he finds me putting the contents of my hamper away in the kitchen cupboards. Maybe I’ll save the champers until I’ve got the all-clear from the doctors to have a drink now and then – if I ever do.

Simon rubs his hands together. ‘How about that casserole, then? And what do you want with it? Rice or mash?’