Page 48 of You Were Always the One

I nod. ‘She just needed time to get her head around it.’

‘I can’t keep up with this.’ My mother looks perplexed. ‘What about you? Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, Mum.’ I’m silent for a moment.

‘It’s a bit of a bloody mess,’ my mother says.

‘It could be worse,’ I say cheerfully. ‘At least we’re amicable about it.’

My mother gives me an odd look. ‘You said you’re getting divorced?’ she asks.

I nod. ‘In a way, the timing is kind of working out.’ I try to put a positive spin on things. ‘Now that we’ve been given notice on the house, we’d have to move in any case.’

‘You have to move? You think that’s good timing?’ My mother looks at me uncertainly.

I butter a piece of toast and spread jam on it, then take a bite. ‘I almost forgot to tell you, I also saw Holly,’ I say through a mouthful.

My mother almost falls off her chair. ‘When was this?’

‘A few weeks ago.’ I’m silent for a moment. ‘We bumped into each other – in Covent Garden. Quite a coincidence, happening the way it did. She was having lunch with an old friend – she hadn’t been to London for years. I was up in town for a meeting with my editor. It turns out she doesn’t even live that far from me.’

‘Talk about everything happening at once.’ She looks at me suspiciously. ‘Rigby, you do know, don’t you, that there is no such thing as coincidence?’

I fold my arms. I know how my mother’s mind works. ‘You’re going to tell me we were meant to meet, aren’t you?’

She holds my gaze. ‘Isn’t that what you think?’ She sighs. ‘You and Holly… I never understood what went wrong between you.’

I shrug. ‘Me, neither. We’ve talked about it. She said she wanted grown-up.’ I pause. ‘I think she regrets it. She certainly found grown-up. But she isn’t happy.’ I stop short of filling my mother in on Holly’s complicated life.

‘That’s such a shame.’ My mother looks sad. ‘Why is everything so much easier with hindsight?’ She frowns. ‘What did she mean by grown-up?’

‘Being organised. Having a good income, a nice home with the mortgage paid off.’ None of which has made her happy.

‘Yes, well. There’s a lot to be said for that,’ she says pointedly.

My mother’s idea of a leisurely morning in the garden is digging soil that’s compacted, before sawing up a fallen tree, after which she suggests we go out for lunch. It’s years since I’ve been to this pub. It’s in a village just outside Midhurst, and I used to come here during my teenage years with my friends, all of us trying to get away with underage drinking, until a new landlord took over and rumbled us.

It’s had a facelift since those days. The menu, too, has changed, the plates of locally sourced food we order delicious. After, however, it’s like I’m a teenager all over again as over coffee, my mother fixes her eyes on me.

‘Now, Rigby. I think we should have a talk about what you’re going to do.’

I shrug. ‘Find somewhere to move to – and finish my book.’

She’s silent for a moment. ‘Forgive me for saying this. But aren’t you always “finishing your book”, as you put it?’

‘Well, when I’m not starting one, that’s generally what happens.’ I intend it humorously.

But my mother doesn’t smile. ‘What about the future?’ she says. ‘You’re nearly forty-five years old. I know how easy-going you are. It’s one of the things I love about you. But don’t you think it’s time you took the reins – just a bit?’ She frowns at me. ‘Have you thought of trying something other than writing?’

I glance away, taken aback. She’s never spoken to me like this before, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. But inside, a part of me can’t help but agree. ‘Easier said than done,’ I say quietly. And she’s right. It wouldn’t be bad to have more control over my life. But as for trying something else, if I’m not a writer, who am I?

I’m in a sober mood when I get home that evening. Emma is waiting for me.

‘Where have you been?’ she says crossly. ‘You might have left a note.’

I look at her, confused. Since when do I have to tell her where I am? ‘Does it matter?’ I take in the dress she’s wearing, then her lipstick. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘Just out,’ she says. There’s a hint of pink in her cheeks and I wonder if she’s meeting a man, as it strikes me. Does she want me to know she’s meeting a man?