A woman, lost and lonely, trapped under the weight of a List of a Billion Things to Do.
But then, a new list, new hope. A new haircut and a repaired shower curtain.
‘The ramifications were tough. I won’t lie. Although much tougher for you. But knowing that someone once considered me worth risking everything for? If I saved you, then you saved me, too. Maybe not then, but countless times since.’
I felt rather than heard him take a deep breath in, readying his reply. I knew him well enough to speak before he had the chance.
‘Don’t say it.’
I squeezed my eyelids shut, holding back the tears.
If Jonah told me he loved me again, I’d find it impossible not to believe him. I still had so many questions. Far too many fears.
‘Don’t say goodnight?’
I smiled, shaking my head even though he couldn’t see.
‘A couple of hours ago my son was brandishing a ladle at the bad prince. Even if your heart thinks I haven’t changed thatmuch, my life has. If we’re going anywhere with this, we have to take it slowly and keep it light.’
‘If?’
‘When.’
‘Another question tomorrow night?’
‘Maybe a bit earlier. I have a private class that finishes at nine-thirty.’
‘I’ll call you at ten.’
‘Okay.’
‘Sleep well, Libby.’
It was almost midnight. My alarm was set for six-thirty.
It was the best night’s sleep I’d had since the last time Jonah King had wished me goodnight.
30
The rest of the week passed in a haze of work, doing my best to implement organised, stress-free parenting and live out my new list while bouncing a fractious, teething baby on my hip so Toby could smooth out yet more of those minor annoyances that had been like rust on the already wonky, ill-fitting wheels of my life.
On Wednesday and Friday, at ten o’clock, when the only sound in the house was the thumping of my giddy heart, Jonah called. We limited ourselves to an hour, and Jonah respected my request to take things slow. We talked about my children and his siblings, as well as the young people we worked with. I shared how I’d built up my business, and Jonah described starting out as the world’s worst, angriest youth worker before growing into someone who loved teaching. Looking forward to that one hour carried me through each day.
Conversation with Jonah had always felt so natural, and it was becoming clearer that what had happened all those years ago hadn’t been some silly, teenage infatuation. It had been real. What was happening now was real.
I was amazed and flummoxed and brimming over with secret wonder.
The only thing nagging at the back of my befuddled mind was what on earth I was going to do about it. So, of course, I decided to keep on keeping on, Libby-style, and worry about that some other time.
Then, on Saturday morning, as I was getting the kids ready for a cinema trip with Brayden and mentally prepared for an eight-mile hike in the Peak District with Nicky, another postcard plopped through the letterbox.
Guernsey.
See you soon!
I slumped onto the hall floor, quickly pretending to be tying the lace of my walking boot when Toby shuffled in from the kitchen, having entered the house through the patio doors. I’d babysat Hazel while he’d celebrated finishing college the night before, relocating the travel cot to my bedroom. Despite me having been up three times in the night soothing her back to sleep, he looked in far worse shape than me.
‘Good night?’ I asked.
