truth. My first weekend without my wife is, thankfully, almost over and – whilst hardly brimming with joie de vivre – I have at least survived it.
‘I’m not going to fall apart,’ I say aloud.
And now, when I run through Sinead’s list in my head, another idea starts to form in my mind. Never mind all this cleaning and weeding and snapping at Mum. A kind, loving gesture is what’s needed: something to prove to Sinead that I’m capable of making everything right. I’ll get onto it tomorrow and choose her something thoughtful. But right now, I sense myself drifting, lulled by comforting thoughts of Sinead’s surprised but delighted expression as I turn up at Abby’s with … well, I don’t know what exactly. But I’m sure I’ll think of something.
It’s my wife’s heart-lifting smile I’m thinking of as I stretch out and knock my iPhone with my elbow so it plummets, with a small splash, to the bottom of the bath.
It’s 7.45 a.m. when my mobile rings. Wrapped in a towel, I race from Abby’s bathroom to my bedroom in order to retrieve it. HOME is displayed on the screen.
‘Hello?’ I bark in panic. No one ever uses our house phone.
‘Hi,’ Nate says.
‘Nate? What is it? What’s wrong?’ It comes out more sharply than I’d intended.
‘Erm, nothing. I just …’
‘Why are you calling me on the landline?’
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