Construct a Couple (21 page)

“How about over there?” Kirsty asks, pointing to a café off the main drag.

 “Looks good.” Truth be told, I’d eat Jane’s mushy peas right now, that’s how hungry I am.

We spot a couple leaving an outside table and swoop in, perching on the rickety metal chairs. Kirsty bends down to check on Jane.

“She’s still out! Barely slept at all last night. Neither did I, for that matter.” Kirsty sighs, features sagging with fatigue. Grabbing the laminated menu from the table, her eyes light up. “They’ve got pastrami and rye! Oh my God, I would have killed for one of those in London.”  

A harassed-looking waiter bears down on us, pencil hovering over pad. “Yes?” he barks.

God, we’ve barely sat down! I’d forgotten how swift service is here. In London, you practically become one with your chair before anyone notices you, let alone brings a menu.

We both order pastrami and rye along with sparkling water (even I can’t face wine right now). I lean back in the chair, watching busy New Yorkers stride by as Kirsty feeds Jane.

When the waiter reappears holding two heaving plates of pastrami and rye with a side of gherkins, I think I’ve died and gone to food heaven. The two of us are silent for the next few minutes as we chomp our way through the mammoth sandwiches. Finally, when I can’t cram in any more – pastrami’s about to come out my ears – I pat my food-baby belly contentedly. “That was
so
good. I hadn’t even realised I’d missed those sandwiches!”

Kirsty takes another bite, nodding as she chews. “You know, it’s strange being back here. Not New York, but the States. After London, everything feels different.”

“I felt exactly the same when I landed.” I glance at the honking yellow taxis jostling for position on the crowded streets, wondering if all this could ever seem normal, the way London’s black cabs and double-decker buses do now.

A pensive expression slides over my friend’s face. “It’s funny, but being out here on my own has made me realise how much I rely on Tim. I mean, I can do everything myself if I have to – God knows I have been every day since arriving – but . . .” She shakes her head. “Just the fact he’s around to pick up the slack makes things so much easier.”

“I can imagine,” I say, taking another bite of my pickle even though I’m about to explode. “But he’ll be here soon.”

 “Yeah.” Kirsty sighs. “Thank God. Apart from helping with Jane and all, things just aren’t right without him.”

I nod. I know that feeling – ever since Jeremy left London, my world has been unsteady and off-kilter.

“I thought once I had the house ready, I’d be okay. Then I thought seeing you would help. And it does,” she adds hastily, touching my arm. “Of course it does, but still . . .”

Kirsty gazes at the busy street. “When all else fails, I can usually rely on shopping. But” – she laughs quietly – “I think I need to accept the only thing that’ll make me feel ‘normal’ is Tim. I’m a sap, I know.” 

I stare into her eyes, thinking how much she’s changed. A couple years ago, Kirsty would have been determined to prove she could do everything on her own for however long was required, never admitting she was tired or wobbly without Tim.

“You’re not a sap at all!” I say.  God, if she’s a sap, what would that make me – a massive vat of maple syrup? “You guys are such a great team, and you’ve been a couple for ages. Of course you miss him.”

Kirsty nods. “He’s almost like an extension of me now, you know? Well, maybe a bit nicer,” she says, grinning.

I swig my water, watching a Japanese tourist snap endless photos as Kirsty’s words scroll through my mind. She and Tim
are
a team, and it makes sense now why she’s seemed off since I arrived. The two of them have been together for so long I can’t picture one without the other, and seeing them with Jane – how they both change diapers, do feedings, and all the endless baby-care tasks I can’t even imagine – has only strengthened their bond.

Are Jeremy and I a team, I wonder? I shake my head, knowing the answer’s obvious. Although I tried my best to protect him and stop that article, I didn’t do it
with
him. And Jeremy kept the charity’s troubles and the Julia stuff separate from me, too. We may love each other, but we definitely haven’t worked together on our relationship.

Like Kirsty, I know I can do it on my own. I can go back to London, work hard at my job, and find a way to make the city mine, but I don’t
want
to. Being away from Jeremy – in a foreign environment so far from our mistakes – has let the ice inside recede, leaving behind a barren patch that throbs painfully when I think of him.

I miss my boyfriend. I miss the reassuring, warm presence in my life; his strong arms encircling me at the end of the day; our easy-going banter. We’ve both made mistakes, but there’s still a lot in our relationship that’s good.

“Ser?” Kirsty breaks into my thoughts. “What do you think about heading back to Westport? I don’t know – I’m just not feeling the vibe here. Actually, it’s depressing me! Not to mention I haven’t bought anything. Total shopping fail.”

I nod, thinking I couldn’t agree more. There’s something about the relentless energy of this place that, instead of lifting me up, is making me tired and drained.  I could land on the moon and I’d still be missing Jeremy, I realise now. Manhattan didn’t stand a chance.

“Let’s go.”

An hour and a bit later, we’re in picture-perfect Westport. After the noise, grime, and chaos of the city, it seems even more idyllic. In a way, I can understand why Kirsty chose this town. It’s peaceful and homely; the ideal place for Jane to grow up.

We pile into the car, and Kirsty navigates through the uniform neighbourhoods on our way home.

 “What the . . .” Her voice trails off as she catches sight of the house. Lights blaze from every window, and an unfamiliar grey car is parked in the drive. Kirsty quickly pulls in behind it then shuts off the engine.

“Who the hell could that be? Stay here with Jane for a sec while I see what’s going on.” Before I can respond, she’s out of the car, tearing up the walkway.

I scan the facade for any sign of movement, waiting for the door to burst open. It’s like a scene from a horror film, when the unsuspecting heroine strolls straight into an axe-wielding burglar. Right, if she doesn’t reappear in five minutes, I’ll . . . well, maybe I’ll give her ten.

Just as we pass the five-minute mark, the front door opens and Kirsty dashes out, her face wreathed in smiles. Okay, so obviously not an axe-wielding burglar, then.

“He’s here!” she trills.

“Who’s here?” Santa? The Easter Bunny? Judging from my friend’s expression, it’s definitely someone just as exciting.

“Tim!” Kirsty opens the back door and unclips Jane’s seat. “And not just for a visit, either. He’s going to work the rest of his notice period here.” Her face glows as she swings Jane from the car. “Come on, let’s go see Daddy!”

I follow the two of them through to the kitchen, marvelling at the change in my friend. All of a sudden, she’s back to her old self, bubbly and full of energy.

“Hey, Tim!” God, I’m almost as glad to see him as Kirsty. She was right: something
was
missing. And now – I sniff the air – with the room smelling of garlic as Tim whips up his famous spaghetti sauce, it feels complete again.

“So what do you think of the house?” I ask, my stomach rumbling despite the earlier pastrami bonanza.

Tim gives the mince a quick stir, then winds an arm around his wife’s waist. “It’s fantastic. The pictures on the web don’t do it justice. And the area is beautiful, too.”

Kirsty beams over at him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, showing up like that. You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops on you!”

“Next time, hide the key somewhere less obvious than under the doormat.” Tim bops her lightly on the shoulder.

 “You know me well.” Kirsty shakes her head. “God, it’s good to have you here.”

“To fill your cupboards?” He lifts an eyebrow, grinning mischievously. “I swear, there was nothing but baby food and wine!”

Kirsty and I laugh.

“Well, at least we have the most important thing covered. The baby food!” I add, in case they think I mean the wine – which, of course, I do.

Tim peers into the bubbling pot. “Okay, dinner’s ready. You guys got back at the right time. Take a seat.” He points to the table, where shiny cutlery is laid out and candles glow.

“Our first meal together in the new house,” Kirsty says, pulling out a chair. Happiness radiates from her as we settle into our places.

Tim heaves a mountain of spaghetti onto Kirsty’s plate, slathering it with tomato sauce. “It’s good to be here. The London house was so empty without you and Jane. Quiet, for once” – he grins – “but empty.”  

Kirsty reaches over and squeezes his hand. “This place wasn’t right, either. No matter what I did, it wouldn’t be a home without you.” She rolls her eyes, grinning at me. “We’re being vom-inducing, aren’t we? Tim, serve Serenity fast before she loses her appetite.”

I push back my chair, thinking their first night here as a family should belong to them. “You know what? I’m still full from lunch. I’m going to chill out upstairs for a bit.”

“Are you sure?” Kirsty asks, but I can see by their faces she and Tim want to be alone. Watching them now – so glad to be together, with an ease that comes from being with the one who knows you best – creates an intense longing that tears into me with every breath. 

As I climb the stairs, the memory of an old, weather-beaten sign on the front door of my parents’ house drifts into my head. Faded grey script intertwined with red hearts spelled out ‘Home is Where the Heart Is’, a sentiment so familiar I’d hardly taken it in. Until this moment, I’d never thought about what those words actually meant. Now, I realise it’s not important who owns the physical structure or where it’s located, it’s the person you love – the bond you’ve built – that will shelter you when you need it.

My heart is with Jeremy, no matter where he is, and no matter what’s happened between us. But can the cracked foundation of our relationship be mended so it becomes our metaphorical home?

Kirsty’s right. If we want to be together, we
will
find a way. And despite the uncertainty of the past few weeks, I’m ready to do what I can to make us solid.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Saturday and Sunday pass in a blur of exploring Westport, visiting the Bronx Zoo where Jane goes wild for monkeys, and an Easter Egg hunt with Kirsty and I consuming all the chocolate. It’s wonderful being here, watching the family adapt to their new home as the pieces of their life fit together. I know it hasn’t come easily; that there have been many challenges along the way. That’s something I’m prepared to face now with Jeremy, knowing it’ll make us stronger.

Sighing, I remember our last Easter in Wales. The rolling hills of the Wye Valley were starting to come alive after a long wet winter, delicate tree buds unfurling with a hint of mint on bare branches. Daffodils burst through the green-speared ground, and the vibrant purple of crocuses dotted the back garden. We’d wandered for hours, plunging into stream-split crevices and climbing onto hilltops, clasping each other as the land rolled and dipped for miles. I’d even run through a field bellowing ‘The Hills Are Alive’ just like Julie Andrews until Jeremy laughingly told me I was scaring the sheep.

After our daily rambles, we’d grab a pint at a pub by the river in Tintern, then dodge Mrs Jones’s barking dog and head into the warmth of the converted barn. We’d curl up in front of the fire with a large glass of red, dinner bubbling away in the background. When darkness fell and birdsong drifted through the half-open windows, Jeremy would take my hand and pull me towards him, gradually sliding off my clothes as desire and love swirled in my stomach. Funny, the two of us never had any of those awkward, watch-out-your-knee-is-in-my-groin kind of moments. Our bodies just fit, as if we instinctively knew how to move in tandem.

I shake my head, determination flooding into me. Despite our mistakes, we
do
belong together. Whatever happens, I’m not going to let us crumble away. But if the past few weeks have taught me anything, it’s that you can’t direct a relationship of your own accord; it takes both people to make it work. Will Jeremy feel the same?

It’s Sunday night now – my last evening in the States – and Kirsty and Tim have dragged themselves to bed, groaning about eating too much of Tim’s giant roasted ham. I’m ready to follow when my phone rings.

Jeremy!
I think, before telling myself not to be silly. He said he wouldn’t call until he’s back in London, whenever that is.

“Hello?” I answer tentatively.

 “Serenity? Karen Cotter, from Pick Up Sticks.”

Karen? My brow furrows as I try to work out why she’s ringing my mobile – on Easter Sunday, no less. A flash of fear goes through me as I remember the last time she got in touch. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, dear. It’s just, I’ve been trying to reach Jeremy since Thursday, but I haven’t been able to.”

“Oh, he’s in the Black Mountains. I’m not sure if his mobile’s working.” I heave a sigh of relief that’s all she’s calling about.

“Yes, Jeremy mentioned he’d be spending time there and that he likely wouldn’t be in touch until he returned to London. Everything was so quiet at the charity, I told him to take all the time he needed. But . . .”

“But?”

“Well, the trustees want to meet first thing Tuesday morning. It’s a bit of a disaster.” Karen pauses, and I picture her shaking her head with chagrin. “A reporter rang last Thursday, wanting to interview a representative regarding the charity’s work. He said he was a colleague of yours at
Seven Days
, and that you’d said such great things about Pick Up Sticks, he wanted to learn more.”

Sweat pops out on my forehead, and my hands start trembling. A colleague of mine? Randomly calling up the charity? Lizzie’s warning about Gregor floats into my mind, and I grip the mobile even tighter.

 “Jeremy was out of reach, of course. I’m absolutely useless at interviews, just babbling on, so I gave him another trustee’s name.”