‘You too,’ is all I can manage.
She looks me straight in the eyes then, and in that moment, I see it. Something flashes between us. Pain, maybe – the same hurt I saw shining in her eyes when she found those messages from Alice. Or it might even be regret for what we’ve lost. For what I caused us to lose.
Whatever it is, it’s only there for a second before it fades away.
‘See you, then,’ she says. Rich nods goodbye too, and then the two of them walk away, towards the park’s exit, Rich’s arm still fixed tightly around Daphne’s waist.
The pain of it is real – physical – like a blade in my chest. I can feel my eyes beginning to sting. I have to get out of here.
I turn and start walking, and as I stare straight ahead, I see that the watch-seller and his dog have both disappeared.
Chapter Forty-Six
Christmas Day 2023 is finally crawling to a close.
It’s approaching midnight now, and we’re back home, in our bedroom. Alice sits at the dressing table in her nightie, rubbing various powerfully scented creams into her face. I lie on the bed behind her feeling … not much of anything, really. Just hollow and wrung-out: half wanting this day to end, half terrified of what might come next.
The rest of the evening passed in an unreal fog, as if I was observing everything from behind smudged glass. Everyone came back to ours for coffee and cake, and I went through the motions as best I could. But it felt – it feels – like something has broken inside me. I can’t stop thinking about that look in Daphne’s eyes as we said goodbye. That flicker of sadness that told me she was still hurting too.
‘We need to be on the road tomorrow by half nine latest,’ Alice says. ‘Boxing Day traffic is always horrendous, and you know how annoying my dad is about lateness.’ She tuts at my silence, and catches my eye in the mirror. ‘Ben? OK? Half nine latest?’
‘Yep, sure.’
‘So that means getting up about half seven, eight?’
‘OK.’
She spins round to face me. ‘And try not to be so down about Wyndham’s tomorrow, OK? Because Dad’s obviously going to ask how it’s going. It was so embarrassing, you just sort of muttering vaguely about it in front of Phil and everyone. You should be proud to work there. I mean, isn’t it better than what you were doing before?’
‘Yeah, it is.’ I nod. ‘Sorry – I don’t mean to be down on it.’
‘It’s a good job, Ben.’
‘I know. I’m grateful for it. I’ll be on better form tomorrow, I promise. I’ve just been feeling sort of spaced out all day. Maybe I’ll take another Nurofen.’
‘Well, take something.’ She turns back to the mirror, snapping the lid off another pot of cream. ‘I don’t know what’s up with you, honestly …’
I shake my head. I don’t know either. I feel completely cut loose – like I’m sinking slowly into deep, dark water.
I have no idea what’s coming next: will I just keep jumping forward at random? Will I wake up next on my wedding day to Alice, and then on our honeymoon? And if so, when will it stop? What if I just keep hurtling randomly from month to month, year to year, deeper and deeper into a life I don’t even want?
The thought makes me giddy, like peering off the edge of a skyscraper.
On the other hand, what if the watch-seller was right? I wanted all this to happen back in 2020; this was where my life was heading. Your life is the decisions you make, he said. So maybe this is it now: this is reality, and I really will wake up tomorrow, bright and early, ready to drive up to Alice’s parents. And then it’ll be the wedding planner on the 29th, and back to work on the 3rd, and I’ll somehow have to keep going. Keep living this life, day after day, trying to make the best of it.
If that’s the case, then one thing’s for certain: I’ll have to bite the bullet and tell Alice how I feel.
It’s not fair to stay with her – to marry her – when I’m still in love with someone else. She’ll be upset, of course, but it will be for the best in the end, for both of us. I don’t believe she’s truly in love with me either. I can feel that she isn’t. Maybe she’s just scared of falling too far behind Becky and Dee in the life-goals stakes.
The question is, though: what will I do after that? Daphne has moved on. She’s with someone else now; it wouldn’t be fair for me to try and ruin that for her too. No, I had my chance with her. I had hundreds of chances. I blew them all.
The future stretches out ahead of me, blank and unknowable, just like it did all those years ago in the maze at uni. But this time it doesn’t fill me with excitement; only with a hopeless, dizzying dread.
Alice screws the lid back on her final pot of cream and climbs into bed next to me. She lets out a tired sigh. ‘Well. It was a good day in the end, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. It was.’
‘Although Becks was a bit much at lunch, don’t you think?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Just going on about the baby all the time. After a while, it’s like: OK, we get it. You know?’
‘Yeah.’
She reaches across to switch off the light, and I think suddenly about Daphne and her best mate, Jamila; the way they are together. The absolute polar opposite of Alice and Becky. I’ll never forget coming home from a night out a few weeks after we got married to find them both sprawled drunkenly on our sofa holding bags of frozen peas to their shoulders. It transpired they’d cricked their necks dancing far too energetically to the song ‘Whip My Hair’ by Willow Smith. I remember them groaning with laughter as they told me about it. I don’t think it’s possible to love anyone more than I loved Daphne at that moment.
In the darkness, Alice flips her pillow over. ‘Please don’t be weird with my parents tomorrow, OK? Just try and be … normal.’
‘OK.’
‘And definitely don’t say anything to Dad about the teaching thing.’
‘I won’t.’
She sighs again and rolls over, turning her back to me. ‘OK. Night, babe.’
‘Night.’
On the bedside table, my iPhone 13 tells me it’s just turned 11.58 p.m. For some mad reason, I decide to see if I can hold my breath for the next sixty seconds. As though maybe, if I manage it, I’ll somehow beat the system: make myself jump again, but this time back into the past.
Just as I’m about to explode, 11.58 becomes 11.59.
I breathe out raggedly. I’m still here.
This is it. This is the rest of my life.
Alice mutters something and turns over.
‘What was that?’
‘I said: what’s that noise?’ she mumbles.
I listen carefully. ‘It’s, erm … I think it’s …’
I hold my wrist up to my ear.
The watch has started ticking.
Chapter Forty-Seven
For years, when I was a kid, I used to have this recurring dream.
I’m in my bedroom at home – home home, Mum’s home – and the doorbell rings. I run out of my room and down the corridor, and as I get to the top of the stairs, I can see the outline of a person behind the stained-glass panel on the front door.