‘For a bit,’ Will said. He smiled. ‘I’ve thought of something that might make you feel better.’
Even that wasn’t going to make her better, she thought, as Will headed, predictably, for her bedroom. She busied herself with taking off Blossom’s lead and harness, making sure she had fresh water, then washed her hands before confronting Will. She couldn’t live like this. Half on edge, half in hope. Tracy was right. It was better to rip off that plaster as quickly as possible, even if it did take several layers of skin with it.
Will was perched on the edge of the bed as he took off his shoes. He was wearing one of his fancy slim-cut suits. He must have had meetings in town. More usually he wore jeans and expensive trainers. Margot leant against the door, which was difficult as she had so many handbags hanging from the hook, and was trying to think of a way to start this awful reckoning that they had to have, when Blossom trotted in.
What Margot wouldn’t give for a cuddle session with Blossom on the sofa.
‘It’s late,’ Margot pointed out.
‘It is,’ Will agreed, straightening up. He patted the bed. ‘Will you come over here?’
‘Will . . . I’m not really in the mood.’
‘Neither am I, but although I’m not an expert in these matters, you really look like you could use a cuddle,’ he said, and although they often snuggled after sex, to hear the C word come out of Will’s mouth and see the awkward, pursed shape of his lips immediately after he said it, was enough to almost make Margot smile. Almost.
She allowed Will to gently pull her down on the bed and she rolled onto her side so Will could curve his body into hers; she was always the little spoon. They lay like that for several moments, but it felt stilted and unnatural. Margot was hyper aware of the sound of their breathing, ragged and out of sync, the tense arrangement of their limbs, and she was about to tactfully call a halt to it when a furry face appeared, and Blossom rested her chin on the edge of the bed, her brows furrowed, her expression both sorrowful and hopeful.
‘No,’ Margot said firmly. ‘You know you’re not allowed on this bed.’
Will shifted so he could see over Margot’s shoulder. ‘Go on, let her up. Just this once.’
‘But it won’t be just this once, will it? She’ll expect to get on this bed for ever more. Just like when you gave her a handful of Cheerios before her last walk that one time, though I still don’t understand why . . .’
‘It was the only way to get her off the sofa . . .’
‘And now she expects a handful of Cheerios every blooming night at the same time.’
Will leaned over Margot, his weight pressing her into the mattress, so he could just graze the end of Blossom’s snout with the tips of his fingers. ‘Look at her! She feels left out.’
And to think that when they’d first become co-pawrents, it had been generally assumed that Margot was a soft touch, when actually Margot established clear and direct boundaries and mostly stuck to them. Mostly.
‘Margot. You’re making Blossom sad.’
Margot flopped onto her back. ‘Oh, go on, then,’ she capitulated with a weary sigh, patting the bed. ‘You can come up, you monster.’
Blossom didn’t need to be told twice. She was up on her hind legs instantly, paws scrabbling but not able to find purchase on Margot’s pink satin bedspread and probably catching it with her claws, which was one of the many reasons why Margot didn’t want her on the bed.
With a frustrated groan, Margot scooched over so she could grab Blossom under her front legs and heft her onto the bed. That would be Blossom’s cue to do what she always did when they were at Will’s: commando crawl along the bed and insinuate herself between Margot and Will, not caring who got hurt on the way.
But not this time. She stood at the end of the bed, uncertain of her victory, then circled three times before settling next to Margot with a contented little sigh, so that Margot was both big spoon and little spoon.
It was perfect.
Will murmured words, nonsense really, one arm wrapped tight around Margot, the other hand stroking her hair back from her hot face still swollen from all the crying. And she in turn had her arm wrapped round Blossom, her hand stroking the vellum softness of her belly and the dog’s happy grunts rumbled and reverberated through her.
Margot remembered the last time she’d felt this safe, this protected, this cherished.
We three. We happy three.
It wasn’t a memory so much as a vague, shadowy recollection of a sensation that Margot had felt before. Once. Many, many years ago. And it was coming back into focus now, growing brighter, gaining more depth.
A nightmare. A storm raging outside and she’d been frightened, tearful enough that she was allowed into her parent’s bed. Tucked in between her mum and dad, held tight so nothing could get at her, enveloped by their arms, their love.
And Margot couldn’t believe that she’d ever forgotten, because she realised now that she’d spent her entire life attempting to recreate that moment, this feeling. She’d coalesced it into one thought, one concept: family.
The Welsh had another word for it. Hiraeth. A word that could hardly be translated but signified a bittersweet memory of missing something or someone, while being grateful of their existence.
She started to cry again, very quietly, because this moment too wouldn’t last. Margot had thought she could make do with a kind-faced man. A companion. But she’d been a fool. She couldn’t make do without love.
Now here she was, feeling the way she did because she loved this dog and, God help her, she loved this man who was kissing the back of her neck, making soothing sounds as he did so. And it was not just implausible, but impossible, that he could love her back. Not when he didn’t want the things that she wanted. He would leave her at some point in the near future. Or was it the distant future? It hardly mattered. What mattered was that he wouldn’t be there.
38
Will
The next morning as Margot was in the bathroom, for once not singing show tunes, Will planned out a speech. A speech felt like the right way to go. He’d never been so intimate with another human being as he had when he’d held Margot as she’d cried. So he wanted to lightly touch on his fears around commitment, then firmly state for the record that he was in this with Margot, whatever this was, and they could figure that out together.
But he didn’t even have a chance to get ‘Look, about last night’ past his lips, because when Margot came out of the bathroom, she was already dressed and had a rigid look on her face.
‘I’ve just remembered that I have to be in work super early,’ she said, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye. ‘I have to leave now.’
‘How about I give you a lift?’ Will asked, because he really did want to make sure that Margot was all right after all the drama of yesterday. Make sure that they were all right too.
‘That would take ages . . . rush hour,’ she mumbled vaguely, still refusing to make eye contact. ‘I’ll get the Tube. You can take Blossom if you want. It is your week after all.’
Blossom had been snoring away under the duvet and barely stirred at the mention of her name. Since he and Margot had been doing whatever it was that they were doing, Blossom’s designated weeks had stopped in favour of a more organic system. This talk of it being Will’s week was deeply troubling. In a tight voice he asked, ‘Is something wrong? With us?’