Page 9 of The Woman Who Said Yes

They’re getting married! Can hardly believe it. What d’you think?

I wait. After a few minutes both messages show as read, but there’s still no reply. Come on, I will him. Never mind being Mr Diplomacy. I mean, I wouldn’t want to alter a hair on Sam’s head but I do need to know that it’s not just me who’s worrying senselessly.

Still nothing. Before I can type anything untoward or make any further unnecessary purchases, I dump my phone on the bedside table and click off the lamp. Lying there in the dark, I try to self-soothe by making a mental note to iron my replacement skirt only on the coolest setting when it arrives. Also, perhaps I should treat myself to some non-embarrassing slippers (i.e., not flattened by years of deeply embedded foot sweat) to go with my classy new PJs?

My phone pings and I snatch it. Finally, the man who felt uncomfortable saying anything even vaguely uncomplimentary about Squirrel Lady’s paintings has replied.

Quite a surprise.

And that’s it. One of Sam’s famous three-word messages because, via the medium of WhatsApp, he is to the point. Extremely disappointing, I have to say. I’m tempted to further coax him into engaging with this – or, better still, to call him to find out what he really thinks about our dear friend planning to marry a man she met five minutes ago on a ship. There was no chance to confer after we’d all left Niko’s as Sam hurried off to the Tube. However, I also know, from our many weekends away together in basic three-person hotel rooms, that he has the enviable ability to tip over into full REM sleep the second his eyes have closed. It’s like a switch with him – like clicking off the TV. Maddening! But I decide to leave him be.

Finally, all that wine and champagne must have lulled me to sleep. Because next thing I know it’s a bright and blue-skied Saturday morning, and a new message, from Eva, has landed in the Knitwits’ group chat.

Hi, you two. Great to see you last night. Wasn’t it fun? Just wanted to say we’re going to make an appointment with the registry office next week to fix a date. So you’d better start thinking OUTFITS! (Btw what happened to your lovely pink skirt Andie? I forgot to ask). We’d like you both to be our witnesses. Dom is 100% happy with that as he loved meeting you. Will let you know date asap as I know you both have incredibly packed social schedules! Love you xxx

5

SAM

Despite his busy life, Sam doesn’t have what he’d term a ‘packed social schedule’. He likes to think it’s because his work as a picture-framer often spills over into the after-hours, leaving little time for seeing friends. He’s always reluctant to turn a potential customer away – partly due to financial reasons but also, as a small business owner, he has that underlying fear that one day, work might utterly dry up. After all, bespoke framing is hardly one of life’s essentials. When money is tight, there are plenty of cheaper ready-made options.

However, Sam’s business isn’t the sole reason for his rather unsociable existence these days. At fifty-seven he is a single parent to Theo, and that’s been the situation for the past decade. Since Bibi left them, Sam has felt very strongly that he should be around as much as possible for his son. Which means, aside from his working hours and the occasional night out, being at home an awful lot.

Quite often, Sam wonders about the logic of this, and whether him being around, upsetting Theo’s delicate sensibilities by listening to Radio 6 Music or watching Match of the Day is actually helping matters. After all, a twenty-year-old doesn’t need him very much. And although Sam could fairly confidently say that his son wouldn’t want to see him mown down by a juggernaut or beaten up by thugs, he does sometimes wonder if Theo actually likes him very much.

Despite his (allegedly) full-time college course, he is often to be found mooching around at home. More often than not, he is emitting gusts of exasperation at… well, Sam doesn’t quite know what it is. His coursework, or just life in general, and the fact that he’s still stuck in a little two-bed flat with his dad in not terribly scintillating Finsbury Park? Last night, Sam had a nightmare in which his framing shop had morphed into a university lecture hall full of students waiting expectantly for him to deliver a talk on medieval Latin manuscripts. The choices on offer seemed to be: bolt for the door, or have a heart attack. Sometimes, Sam feels just as ill-equipped for the business of being Theo’s dad.

Maybe the dream had been sparked by the weirdness of the evening, he reflects as he scrambles half a dozen eggs (both father and son have hearty appetites) and grills several rashers of bacon. He slept fitfully, waking several times and checking his phone to see if Andie had messaged again. He knew he’d left it hanging with that bland remark: Quite a surprise. Was that the best he could do? But then, what else was there to say? Sam wasn’t staggeringly pissed, but he was definitely on the wrong side of going onto Discogs – his go-to platform for record purchasing – and buying an album of rare Bob Dylan out-takes that he certainly doesn’t need.

There was also a danger, he realised, of seeming mean and gossipy if he’d tumbled into a protracted dialogue about it. Andie is a dear friend to Sam. One of his closest, in fact. He didn’t want to wake up in the morning and realise he’d made an arse of himself by saying anything negative about Dom, or about Eva throwing herself into this thing so quickly. He should just chill out about it, Sam decides, catching himself buttering toast quite aggressively. Maybe it’s just a champagne hangover that’s put him on edge. That’s a new one for Sam and he’s not sure he likes it.

He dishes up breakfast and calls Theo through from his room. ‘Up to anything today?’ he asks once they’re seated.

Brief headshake. ‘Not-really-are-you?’ That’s what Theo does. Swiftly returns the question; a verbal ping-pong ball batted back across the table to smack Sam in the middle of the forehead.

‘Just going into work,’ he replies lightly. ‘Farrah’s opening up so I’ve got a bit of time.’ He’d pre-arranged this with his unflappable right-hand woman, having decided to allow himself a slow morning following a night out.

‘That’s good.’ Theo shoves back his mop of muddy brown hair as if that, along with the radio and the special thickly sliced bacon Sam buys from the butcher, is irritating to him. He is a handsome boy with a strong, aquiline nose and striking green eyes – these days permanently narrowed in disdain – just like his mother’s. Sam had hoped, with this being a Saturday, that the two of them might have been able to have a pleasant breakfast together. Perhaps not overly lengthy, with laughs and deep talks and copious coffee refills; he is a realist. But maybe ten minutes or so at the table. However, in the time it’s taken for Sam to squirt a dollop of ketchup onto his plate, Theo has wolfed down his breakfast, gulped down his coffee and sprung up to clatter about at the sink.

Fine! Sam should be delighted that Theo does his own washing-up. But it’s not exactly convivial to have the tap blasting and crockery being banged about while Sam is still sitting there, gnawing on expensive bacon from the butcher’s that he only buys because Theo once remarked that it was ‘quite good’. It’s pitiful really, how Sam latches onto the tiniest things in the hope of making the boy happy. What does he expect – ‘Thank you, Father dear, for this exquisite pork product?’ We’ll go back to Asda smoked rashers, Sam thinks darkly, somehow no longer hungry at all. Theo plonks his plate and mug in the drying rack and, without another word, stomps out of the room.

Following his son’s shining example, Sam does the rest of the dishes and then waits for Theo to vacate the bathroom so he can take a shower and head off to work. At twenty-three, Farrah is perfectly capable and conscientious and there’s no need for both of them to be there at all times. Yet now Sam feels that he’d rather be at the shop than in his own home. There, he feels purposeful, and not like some craggy old fool who serves only to clutter up the place. However, judging by the bathroom sounds, it seems that Theo is having his shower first.

Trying to quell his irritation, Sam occupies himself by typing out a few work-related reminders on his notes app. Materials to order, a particular wood stain that he doesn’t have in stock, and a customer to call to say that her linocuts are all framed in good time for her exhibition. Despite Sam’s reassurances, she’s been calling daily to check he can meet her deadline. Are you sure? You will be able to do it, won’t you? Because if you can’t, I need to make other arrangements… People’s artwork means a lot to them, Sam knows that. While not to his taste, those squirrel paintings matter a great deal to their creator (the first time she’d brought one in he’d exclaimed, ‘What a beautiful ferret!’ It’s a blunder she has never let him forget).

Theo’s shower is going on for long enough to cause a serious water deficit across Greater London. With a sigh, Sam checks the news headlines on his phone. The champagne haze is clearing slightly, to be replaced by a niggling sense of unease about Dom, and the whole scenario at Niko’s last night. He’s not quite sure why he’s feeling this way – why something is jabbing at him, and he can’t let it go. Dom is obviously besotted with Eva – and vice versa – and if there was something a little off and awkward about him, it was probably down to meeting her friends for the first time. Maybe he’d even felt a little judged, Sam wonders? Like he had to earn their approval or pass some kind of test? Ridiculous, of course. Sam and Andie have always been totally accepting of anyone Eva’s been seeing (even though, privately, Sam wasn’t entirely sure about Giacomo’s moustache with the waxed tips).

Purely to fill time until he can get into the bathroom, he decides to see if he can find anything about Dom online. Wasn’t there some mention last night of where he lives? Chiswick – that was it. Unsure of quite why he’s doing this, Sam googles ‘Dominic Property Chiswick’, ‘Dominic Property Lettings West London’ and any other variations he can think of. Nothing comes up. The shower is still gushing away as Sam paces agitatedly to the living room. Perched on the sofa arm, he goes to Eva’s Facebook, even though she is famously anti-social media and, beyond having an account, barely uses it.

Her last post, he notes, was of the Knitwits’ Brighton trip last summer. There’s a picture of the three of them, squinting in the sunshine, Andie with a cutely sunburnt nose and her light brown hair flying around in the breeze. Sam has always thought her to be absolutely beautiful in an entirely natural way. He’d even asked her out once, way back in the mists of time. He’d been building up to it for weeks and then blurted it out in that cave-like bar they used to frequent.

That was a mistake. He knew it as soon as the words had left his mouth. Andie’s expression had quickly morphed from shock to embarrassment and it had taken weeks for Sam to feel easy in her company again. But she’d been right, of course. Their friendship was far too precious to risk spoiling, and what on earth had possessed him to think she might say yes? She’d seemed so thrilled for him when he’d met Bibi and that confirmed things for him. That he’d read it all wrong, and that Andie simply didn’t think of him in that way.

In another Brighton photo, taken by Eva, Andie is jokingly kissing Sam’s cheek. He remembers arranging his face so as not to look too delighted as she did that. As if he were enduring the kiss, like someone’s brother dragged along on the day trip. Quickly, Sam switches his attention to Eva’s Facebook friends and does a search for a Dom or a Dominic.

There he is: Dominic Alcock. Once upon a time Sam and Theo might have enjoyed a chuckle about the surname (how they’d sniggered, on spotting a specialist butcher’s called Big Willy’s Sausages, back in the days when they could still enjoy a laugh together). But Sam knows that these days, his son would wilfully not understand what was funny about a name with ‘cock’ in it. Nor would he be remotely curious about Eva’s new boyfriend or the shock wedding announcement – which is why he hasn’t mentioned it. Few things cause the heart to slump like a blank and-why-might-I-possibly-find-this-interesting? look from your kid. Sam has endured enough of these incidents: of starting to tell Theo about something funny that happened at the shop, and having him gawp at him as if he’d tried to show him a tax return.

Theo is still in the bathroom. As his everlasting shower triggers water outages across the entire South East, Sam navigates to Dom’s Facebook page and sees that he has only a handful of friends and a few generic photos around London. There’s a riverside pub, Tower Bridge, and a lake that might be the Serpentine. That could just be his settings, Sam supposes. There’s probably personal stuff that he can’t see.