10PETER

It’s such an easy feeling, he thinks, sitting here talking to her; like slipping into a comfortable old shoe. That’s not how a relationship is supposed to begin but that’s how it feels. She is attractive for sure, not in the same way Sophia was, but she has a quiet charm about her and exudes confidence which is exactly what he needs right now. He likes the way she lets him go at his own pace. Maybe that’s because she knows what it’s like to lose somebody. He thinks that perhaps they are like a pair of drowning souls, trying to resurface and breathe again, to look up at the sky and appreciate the warmth of the sun on their backs.

He is almost there, back into breathing mode once more. No more holding his breath, praying he doesn’t get sucked under into a whirling vortex from which there is no escape. The whirling vortex that was his life while Sophia was alive. Her death was traumatic. Devastating. It was also a welcome reprieve.

‘Right,’ he says, trying to sound self-assured and affable when in fact, he feels incredibly and stupidly nervous. ‘Let’s get out there and explore.’

Even as he says it, his words feel awkward and silly. He feels awkward and silly, like an over-excited child filled with a need to run and play. It’s been a long time since he relaxed, played, did anything that lightened the load he has been carrying around for the past year. He tells himself to rein it in, play down his eagerness. Nobody likes a man who displays unacceptable levels of immaturity. Time to act sedate. Be the person Alice wants him to be. The person he needs to be for this thing between them to work.

He doesn’t know how they ended up holding hands, but it happened and it feels natural. As if it was always going to be. He is aware that he needs to get back to Lauren, to make sure she’s up and about and hasn’t choked on her own vomit after one drink too many last night, yet he doesn’t want to leave too early, to break this moment and leave Alice here before they’ve had a chance to properly meld together.

‘If you like, we could go back to mine. You could meet my daughter, Lauren. She’s a good kid. Been through a lot but you’d never think it to meet her. None of the usual teenage tantrums and surly ways.’ He didn’t plan on saying that. It just came out. He doesn’t regret it. Already, he can visualise Alice meeting the family, rubbing along perfectly with Lauren and his mum.

He takes a breath and stops himself. Too soon. It’s all too soon. After Sophia and a series of subsequent disastrous hook-ups with other women, he needs to be careful, to slow down and not rush headlong into anything. Therein lies the road to failure. He’s tired of losing, being seen as a victim in the wreckage of his life. Time to take back control, to start winning again.

Only a few weeks after Sophia died, he trawled the town, looking for solace. He found it in the bed of women he met in the pubs. That was his way back then, what he did to mask his misery – drink, chat, fuck. He didn’t even get to know their names. He can no longer even recall their faces. Driven by loneliness and guilt, he did his best to obliterate the memory of Sophia from his mind by replacing her with anyone he could find.

It didn’t work. He continued to wake nights with their last heated discussion still in the forefront of his mind. And then there were the lies. Not just hers, but his as well. So many of them. Lie after lie after lie, a multitude of them heaped on top of one another. Too many to count. And of course, there is the biggest lie of all. The one he told the police and the one he keeps telling himself. The one he can’t bring himself to think about without breaking out in a sweat.

‘Lauren sounds like a dream,’ Alice replies as she smiles up at him. ‘And yes, I would love to meet her.’

They walk for a short while, the snapping of twigs underfoot and the echoing cawing of birds in the treetops the only sounds to be heard as they tramp through the mulch and back out into the daylight, emerging from the foliage with a slight rustle. Just two ordinary people spending time together, that’s all it is. An ordinary lady and a damaged man who is doing his best to get his life back on track.

‘We can go in my car if you like? Or you can follow me?’

She smiles at him, her expression unreadable. ‘I don’t have a car, I’m afraid. I got the bus here.’

A stab of guilt forces him to inhale. ‘Sorry. I just sort of assumed…’ He raises his eyes in an act of self-deprecation. ‘Right, I’ll drop you off home after we’ve been to mine. Unless you’re planning on going somewhere else afterwards? I mean, I can give you a lift to wherever you want to be. I don’t mind.’ He is rambling now and needs to stop it. He is aware that he sounds like an apprehensive child, too eager to please. Frightened of doing the wrong thing. Again. So many wrong things. So much guilt.

‘If you could drop me off home afterwards, that would be much appreciated. Thank you.’

She reaches up and gently kisses him on the cheek. It’s barely a touch at all: as light as the breeze passing over his skin. He has forgotten what it feels like to have somebody so close to him, to be shown true affection by another female. Not just skin against skin, carnal lust, but a true and soothing touch with more behind it than desire. A flame starts up under his face, spreading over his neck and down his chest. He swallows and lowers his gaze.

‘Right, well my car’s just parked over there on the road next to the café. And I live about a mile away so it won’t take us long to get there.’

She nods, her hair bobbing around her face, her eyes crinkling up at the corners. ‘This is really kind of you, Peter. I’m looking forward to meeting your daughter. I haven’t got any children of my own.’

He’s not sure how to answer this statement. It’s an emotive subject, a sensitive topic. So many variables and possibilities. So much that can go wrong.

‘And with me not having Stuart around any more, I suppose it’s never going to happen, is it? Time is against me.’

They reach the car before he can reply which he thinks is probably for the best. He presses the key fob and opens the passenger door for her to climb inside, relieved that she’s still smiling. Relieved that she hasn’t turned around and fled. This is how grief works. So much unsaid. So much left undone. He thinks about her husband, his death and how little she has said about him. Soon he will ask, but not just yet. They have time enough to cover that area of her life. For now, he’s content to just be with her.

‘Right,’ he murmurs, thankful the moment of awkwardness has passed, ‘let’s see if that daughter of mine is up out of bed, shall we?’

The journey takes just a few minutes. He breaks the silence by turning on the radio and humming along, a deep thud starting up under his sternum as the music fills the air around them.

They pull up outside the house and he can see that Lauren’s curtains are pulled back, the window cracked open slightly. He wonders if she has a hangover and then thinks about how reckless he was at that age, drinking everything and anything just because he could. He likes to think that his daughter has a little more about her, a greater level of sensibility and decorum, and fewer bad influences driving her on, but isn’t entirely sure.

‘Well, it looks like she’s out of bed,’ he says, traces of optimism in his voice as they step out of the car.

He slips the key into the lock and opens the front door, the smell of fresh coffee wafting through as they head into the kitchen.

Lauren is sitting at the table, her hands clasped around a large mug, her eyes rimmed with smudged mascara, a haunted look carved into her expression.

‘Good party?’ He leans down and kisses the top of her head, something he hasn’t done for a long time. There seem to be a lot of things they have forgotten how to do. Like being truthful and honest.

She doesn’t reply, closing her eyes and taking another sip of the steaming liquid instead.

‘Lauren, there’s somebody I’d like you to meet. This is Alice. Remember I told you I was going out for coffee?’

He is relieved when she stands up and holds out her hand like the polite young woman that she is, even though she is clearly suffering from a mammoth hangover.

‘Lovely to meet you, Alice. I’m Lauren.’

They shake hands like old friends and a small blossom of joy unfurls deep in his chest, green shoots of hope that this thing is going the way he wants it to. Every act of kindness and joy is a step closer to eradicating the badness, the festering darkness that sits at the base of his belly, clawing its way up, reminding him of the past. Of what he did.

‘Right,’ he says a little too loudly, clapping his hands together for added effect as if to scare away the demons that continually nudge their way into his brain. ‘Who’s for more coffee?’

11ALICE

She’s perfect. Everything I hoped for and more. Amenable, gracious, affable. I have a feeling this is all going to work out just fine. I have to remember keep my cool, not get too over excited at being welcomed into their little family unit. I don’t want to reveal my hand too early in the game. Not when there is so much at stake. I have a lot to gain from this venture. I also have a lot to lose should it stray off course.

‘Lauren, I love the way you’ve styled your hair. I wish mine would look like that. I’ve got dry, frizzy, split ends. I can’t seem to do anything with it.’

She runs her fingers through her curls then reaches out and touches my hair, her fingers long and lean, her nails painted a pale shade of pink. ‘It’s lovely, your hair, but I could curl it for you one day, if you like? It’s really easy to do.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Peter smiling, a relief evident in his features. He is as happy about this little set-up as I am. Except my reasons are different to his. Very different indeed. If only he knew, then he might not be standing there grinning, his face soft and gentle, his eyes full of hope and wonderment.

‘That would be great. I’d really love some kind of hair makeover. I’m useless with things like that.’ My voice sounds disembodied. I’ve rehearsed this scenario in my head so many times and now it’s happening, it feels surreal. It’s like an out-of-body experience. I’m floating up above this, watching it all as it unfurls, my mouth saying the words while my brain is disengaged, busy observing it from afar.

‘Well, next time you come around, I’ll have my things ready. It’s just that today, I’m a bit under the weather.’

‘Under the weather?’ Peter stands beside us, laughing. ‘That’s the best euphemism I’ve ever heard. Did a bottle of vodka do that to you, put you under the weather?’

Lauren blushes and dips her head away, sliding down into the chair again and groaning. ‘Oh God, don’t. I am my own worst enemy. Never again.’

‘You’re also underage, young lady,’ he whispers and ruffles her hair playfully. ‘Come on, Alice. Let’s head into the living room and let Lauren recover in peace.’

I follow him out of the kitchen into an average-sized living room. In the centre is a small, oak coffee table. On either side are two cream, leather sofas. There are pictures on the wall. A shelf full of books. Pictures of Peter and Lauren. And Sophia. She is there, smiling down at me. I try not to look but my eyes are drawn to them, to her casual, effortless poses and charismatic smile. She’s attractive. There’s no denying that. But of course, I know the real Sophia, the one that maybe her husband doesn’t know. I know all about her secrets and her alluring manner. I know all about her devilish, wily ways and how she tried to rip my family apart. I know her all right. And I wish I didn’t.

‘I did consider taking some of them down.’ Peter is standing next to me, following my gaze as I pore over the collection of photographs. ‘But it felt a bit disloyal. An insult to her memory.’ An unfathomable look flits across his face, his eyes darkening as he tries to disguise it. ‘So I kept them up and even added a few more.’

I don’t know what to say. I want to question why he would do that, add more of that woman to this house. I remain silent for a few seconds before speaking. ‘I think they’re beautiful. She was obviously a very attractive lady. You must miss her so much.’ I watch his eyes mist over, see his face colour up and wonder what he is thinking. So far, our conversations have been directed towards his family, his partner. I wonder when he will ask about mine – my absent partner who is now dead to me. My philandering shit of a husband.