I found him in bed, conked out.
‘Sam.’ Shaking his shoulder, not a little roughly, I woke him up.
‘Faith. What time is it?’
‘Nearly one. Have you been in bed all morning?’
‘No.’ He pulled himself up to a sitting position, running his hand over thick beard. ‘I went out with April.’
‘Where?’
‘For a walk. The nurse told April I need to get out the house every day, so we walk now. To the river and back. It knackers me out.’
‘Maybe you shouldn’t go so far, then?’
He shrugged. ‘I like it. It’s peaceful by the water. And if I didn’t, I’d still be knackered.’
I tried to squish down my annoyance.
‘Have you eaten? I brought some bacon.’
‘Uh, yeah.’ He rubbed his head, as if trying to get his mind going. ‘We had a salad thing, with fish. April’s been reading about a diet that can help your mood.’
‘I think your illness is a bit more than a bad mood, Sam,’ I snapped. ‘If food was the issue, someone would have mentioned it by now.’
‘She’s trying to help.’
‘I can see that.’
Sam’s girlfriends fell into two camps: those that joined him and those that tried to change him. The ones who tried to change him generally lasted a couple of weeks, maybe a month at the most. None of them had the patience, the selflessness or the strength to persist. That was my job.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? Or some cake?’
‘No. Thanks. I really need to sleep.’
‘Where’s April now? I’m meant to be taking her to choir practice.’
‘Oh, um, yeah. She said something about that. She can’t come. She’s got a job interview.’
Right. And how long will the lovely April stick around if she gets a job?
‘Where did the flowers come from?’ A vase of yellow roses stood on the bedside table.
‘I sold a painting.’ He rolled back over, with his back to me. ‘Don’t tell April. She thought I should hold out for a higher price,’ he mumbled through the duvet.
‘Since when did you care what anybody else thought?’
He was painting again?
So why did I feel peeved rather than pleased?
A couple of weeks later, Rosa came round for the first bridesmaid dress consultation. I had taken an alarming chunk out of my Avoid Returning to a Bedsit at All Costs emergency savings, and also borrowed a couple of hundred pounds from Marilyn. This would cover the price of the bridesmaid dress fabric, a good, second-hand sewing machine, and all the extraslike dressmaking scissors, buttons and thread. Compared to the kind of outfits Catherine and Natasha would expect if we bought them new, it was a bargain.
I could have asked Perry to pay for the dresses. Or used the credit card he had given me. The teensy, tiny microdot of pride I had left, along with my deep reluctance to feel indebted to a man, forbade it.
Rosa had taken Marilyn’s measurements at a previous choir practice. She arrived at mine with a bag containing a mocked-up dress in cheap material, a sketch book and a tape measure.
Catherine and Natasha arrived soon afterwards in a gaggle of flowery perfume, overlarge designer handbags and pumpkin-spice coffee. I made Rosa, Marilyn and me supermarket-own-brand cups of tea.
