It took nearly three weeks before Zoe was ready to bring Win home.
Then she was standing, at last, on Jackie’s doorstep listening out for her mother-in-law’s approach, which was preceded by the words, ‘Are we expecting anyone, Gav? It better not be someone trying to sell me something.’
The door was wrenched open. Suspicion on Jackie’s face, which transformed to a smile of pure pleasure when she saw it was Zoe, tempered with relief that she wouldn’t have to put up with Win for much longer (Gavin had volunteered the information that mother and son were waged in psychological warfare over the correct way to load a dishwasher). Finally Jackie’s gaze drifted to Beyoncé snuggled in Zoe’s arms.
‘Jesus Christ, Zo,’ she spluttered. ‘I’ve never seen a dog with such a swollen vulva.’
‘Nice to see you too,’ Zoe said, stepping inside the garden flat, which Jackie had bought for a song at the tail end of the recession before last. Every time Zoe visited there was a new interior design development. Something upcycled or distressed or painted one of Farrow & Ball’s latest colours. It was how Jackie and Gavin had turned their friendship into something more; Jackie had his number on speed dial for the bigger jobs she couldn’t manage herself and according to Win, Gav had been pining after Jackie for years.
Now, Gavin called out from the kitchen, ‘Is that Zo? Is she staying for dinner?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘I’m just here to take Win home.’
‘Just go through,’ Jackie said, squeezing Zoe’s arm affectionately. ‘He’s not back from work yet. I haven’t wanted to take sides, but oh my God, that boy is driving me to drink. He wants to clean everything before he puts it in the dishwasher and then he has the cheek to tell me that my way is the wrong way.’
‘Win and dishwashers are never a good combination.’ Zoe shifted a wriggling Beyoncé in her arms. ‘So, I know you and Gav have been put in an awkward situation and I’m sorry about that but…’
Jackie was already shying away. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’
Zoe looked round the living room as Jackie busied herself in the kitchen. Jackie’s interiors aesthetic was best described as country cottage chic. Everything from TV stand to coffee table and radiator covers was distressed and Zoe counted at least five different floral prints, though it was the huge red roses on the curtains that really drew the eye. Pride of place on the mantelpiece was Zoe and Win’s official wedding photo, though Zoe could have sworn that it used to live on the shelf above the TV.
Jackie might not be great at dispensing advice and talking about feelings, but she had other ways of getting her point across, Zoe thought as she heard the front door open. She didn’t even have time to arrange her face into a welcoming smile before Win appeared in the doorway.
Zoe’s body, heart, her everything, gave a joyful tug in his direction because it had been three weeks and six days since they’d last seen each other.
From the day of their very first meeting all those years ago, when she’d walked into Win’s office with two carrier bags full of invoices and receipts, they’d never gone so long without seeing each other.
It would have been the easiest thing in the world to rush over to Win and hug him, say she was glad to see him but Zoe was frozen, held back, by the uncertain look on his face. And when he saw Beyoncé sprawled on his mother’s favourite armchair (Zoe hadn’t thought to ask Jackie what her position was vis-à-vis dogs on furniture) he tensed up. Zoe found that she couldn’t bear to meet Win’s gaze. She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat, felt for the baby’s button, as she tried to build herself up to launch into the speech she’d been rehearsing for days and days as she carried out her grand scheme to make Win happy. Or happier, at least.
The way her heart was twitching unpleasantly, teeth chewing at the inside of her right cheek, the words just out of reach, reminded Zoe of the night of Win’s twenty-fifth birthday party.
By then, Win occupied an odd, undefined place in her life. Technically he was her accountant, but mostly he was her friend, though he had no idea how much Zoe yearned for him to be something more. Because they were friends, Win had invited Zoe to his party in a little Spanish bar in Camden and she’d gone with Tony Cortes in the hope that it would make Win furious to see her with another man. Zoe had been nineteen and everything she knew about relationships had been gleaned from Cosmopolitan and watching rom-coms.
So Zoe had walked into the bar, Tony Cortes following close behind because he was already a bit drunk and he always got quite possessive when he was a bit drunk. Zoe had introduced the two of them.
‘Tony, Win. Win, Tony.’
Tony had sized Win up; his tall lanky frame, his short back and sides haircut, jeans and neatly pressed T-shirt. Zoe could tell that he didn’t think much of her new friend.
‘Yeah, whatever. Nice to meet you, mate,’ Tony had said, which was pretty civilised of him considering he’d done nothing but moan about having to go to ‘some accountant’s birthday party’.
Win had worked his jaw, much as Zoe was doing now, his face getting tighter and tighter, until he was all cheekbones and taut skin. Then he’d drawn himself up as if he were about to address the United Nations and said, ‘Well, yeah, I’d say it was nice to meet you too, but it’s not because I’m in love with your girlfriend. I’m in love with Zoe.’
It was still the singularly most romantic thing that Win, or anyone for that matter, had ever said to Zoe. Then Tony had tried to smack Win and Zoe had thrown herself between the two of them. Ed had intervened as it all spilled out onto the street, Tony shouting about ‘his fucking bird’ and insisting that he was going to fight Win to protect Zoe’s honour.
She and Win had left the party, to wander along the Regent’s Canal towpath and he’d barely said a word as if his declaration had used up all his powers of speech. The silence hadn’t even mattered.
But now Win’s silence mattered terribly and their positions were reversed. Zoe needed to say something singularly romantic, to speak the truth that was in her heart, the right combination of words that would bring Win back to her.
‘What?’ he finally asked in a hoarse voice. ‘What are you doing here, Zo?’
It felt like a make or break, do or die moment in their marriage. That what happened or didn’t happen in the next five minutes would change their lives, their relationship for ever.
Zoe shook her head, eyes imploring because she was trapped in a prison of her own inarticulacy. ‘I… You…’ She shook her head again. ‘Get your coat, love, you’ve pulled.’
‘What?’
Sometimes, all the fancy rehearsed speeches came to nothing and you blurted out the first thought that popped into your head.
‘Come home with me,’ Zoe said. ‘Please, Win.’
‘That house isn’t a home,’ Win said, his eyes down, his expression mutinous. ‘I hate that house.’
Zoe wanted to scream or scoop up their official wedding photograph from the mantelpiece and hit Win over his incredibly thick head with it.
She didn’t. She didn’t cry either but tried to pick her words with care, speak them with meaning, imbue them with all the love she had for Win. ‘The house might not be a home yet but your home is with me, Win. We’re meant to be together.’
‘You could move in here,’ Win offered, stepped closer to Zoe, bridging the gap between them a little. ‘Mum wouldn’t mind.’
It would only be a temporary reprieve; a sticking plaster over the open fracture in their relationship. ‘No. We both know that wouldn’t work,’ Zoe said with strong conviction. ‘I want to fix this. Fix us, but I can’t do it alone so you need to come home with me.’
There was a pause that lasted a lifetime. Whole civilisations rose and fell in the length of that pause. Then Win nodded. ‘All right,’ he said and within ten minutes he was packed and in the car, Beyoncé settled on his lap. The first time they’d met Win had been less than complimentary but Beyoncé wasn’t the type to bear a grudge. She rested her head on his chest and gazed up at him with trusting brown eyes.
‘I’d almost repressed the memory of how ridiculous her name is.’ Win pulled a face. ‘Sorry, I’m really not trying to pick a fight.’
‘I said I’d foster her until she was spayed. She can’t be put up for adoption until then,’ Zoe said a little stiffly. ‘And she can’t be spayed until everything’s calmed down a bit.’ She gestured at Beyoncé and Win glanced down, lifted the small dog to see her undercarriage.
‘Yeah, she is still looking a little er, pendulous,’ he said and Zoe hummed in agreement and then neither of them said anything for the ten minutes it took to drive back to Highgate.
The house looked just as it had done when Win had last seen it. The skip on the drive full of rubble, heavy plastic sacks full of sand lined up on the garden path, broken crazy paving, the weeds. Zoe’s spirits sank as she tried to take in the scene through Win’s eyes.
Win cradled Beyoncé in his arms as Zoe unlocked the front door and then the smell and taste of plaster and dust assailed them both as they trod over the ubiquitous plastic sheeting laid down to protect the tiled hallway.
The house was in shadow but Win would be able to see that it was still broken. He took a step towards the living room, but Zoe held him back.
‘Upstairs,’ she said, struggling slightly with his holdall because Win was still limping heavily. ‘Can you carry Beyoncé? Otherwise she slips on the sheeting. I should have asked, how’s the leg?’
‘Better than it was,’ Win said. ‘My knee’s still clicking and I’m not going to be running a marathon anytime soon, but it’s improving. Slowly. So, are we still camped out in the back bedroom?’
‘Not exactly.’
Four weeks ago the back bedroom was still the only vaguely habitable room in the house but after they’d made their laborious way up the stairs, Zoe paused at the door of the big front bedroom. ‘I can’t click my fingers so the last six months never happened,’ she said. ‘I can’t give you the dream home that you want either, all I can give you right now is three rooms.’
She pushed open the door. The last time Win had been in here it had been a barren space with bare plaster walls, unvarnished floorboards, the ceiling bearing the marks of water damage from the leaking roof, a light bulb dangling down from looped electrical cord.
Win took one step over the threshold, then stilled. ‘Oh my God,’ he breathed, because now… The walls had been painted the soft smudgy grey blue that they’d talked about, the floorboards sanded and painted white, the ceiling was pristine.
Zoe had retrieved some of their furniture from storage; the chest of drawers and nightstands. The lovely vintage dressing table set that Win had bought her for her twenty-fifth birthday had been placed in the alcove in front of the bay window, where their curtains hung. And of course, the bed Zoe had bought with Win’s guidance all those years ago. Now the pillows seemed a little plumper than they used to, the duvet billowed like a cloud and the Orla Kiely bedlinen Zoe had bought in a flash internet sale was as smooth and wrinkle-free as any millpond.
Zoe had worked hard to get every detail just right. Perfect. The alarm clock set for seven thirty, the book that Win had been reading before he left and the fancy docking station for his fitbit and iPhone all arranged on Win’s bedside table.
‘Oh, Zo,’ he said. ‘How did you do this?’
‘With a lot of help from Cath and Theo. Gav stayed behind for an extra hour or so some evenings. Even Ed came over last weekend to sand the floorboards.’
‘No one said anything.’
‘They were sworn to secrecy and there’s more,’ Zoe said. She rapped the wall nearest to her. ‘In an ideal world, there’d be a door here so we could have an en-suite bathroom but the budget wouldn’t stretch to it.’
‘I think we’ll manage somehow,’ Win said as they left the bedroom to enter the bathroom next door.
It wasn’t such a huge transformation. There were still the same 1930s’ fittings but, along with the original mint-green and black wall tiles, they’d been buffed to a glossy shine. There were matching black tiles on the floor now, a proper shower installed because a showerhead above the bath wasn’t good enough. Zoe’s favourite thing of all was the vintage display unit, an eBay find, that looked as if it had come from an old-fashioned apothecary’s shop, where their towels and bathroom products were neatly stacked.
Win was still in a daze as she showed him into one of the back bedrooms on the other side of the bathroom. ‘For now, this is our lounge while they’re working downstairs.’
There were the same white floorboards as in their bedroom, the walls a soft chalky white and, instead of the deckchairs they’d been sitting on, their velvet grey sofa and armchairs had been rescued from the storage unit.
Apart from the fridge and the microwave, which had now migrated upstairs, as a temporary living room the space was also perfect, right down to Win’s collection of Mojo magazines on the coffee table and two wineglasses to go with the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc Zoe was taking out of the fridge.
‘I don’t know what to say.’ Win gazed around him and blinked. ‘Should I go away more often?’
‘No, you really shouldn’t. Please, sit down,’ Zoe said, as if she were interviewing him for a job. ‘I need to talk to you about the house.’
It was easier to talk about the house, a tangible thing made of bricks and mortar, plasterboard and pipework, than the other things that were less solid but had still driven a wedge between them.
Win settled himself on the sofa, Beyoncé still in his arms. He put the dog down beside him. ‘Will you sit down too?’ he asked Zoe, who’d poured out the wine and was standing over him. ‘What you’ve done with these rooms, they’re amazing. You’re amazing.’
Zoe’s smile was an echo of what it could be. ‘Look, we’re stuck with this house. We’ve sunk every penny we have into it, signed a covenant that said we’d live here for five years before we even think about selling it but they don’t have to be awful years. We could be happy here. I want us to be happy again, Win.’
Win looked round the room again at all their dear familiar things. Sofa, armchairs, cushions, curtains, it was just stuff but all of it carefully chosen, deliberated over, as they’d made a home. Together. ‘I want us to be happy again too,’ he said slowly and even now there was half a metre and a gulf between them. ‘It’s just… the thing is… I don’t even know…’
When Win was stumbling over his words, trying to force out his thoughts and give them voice, Zoe knew not to prompt him, talk over him, but it seemed as if he were done.
Beyoncé shuffled over to her and curled up so her head was nestled in Zoe’s cleavage again, her preferred resting place. ‘I shouldn’t have agreed to foster a dog without discussing it with you,’ Zoe said. ‘But even before that, we’d hardly talked in weeks. Not properly.’
‘You, of all people, you should know that my quietness…’ Win groaned in pure frustration. ‘My quietness doesn’t mean I don’t care. You know that, Zo. And these last few months… ever since it happened, you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me see you. These are worse things than not speaking.’
‘That’s not true,’ Zoe began then stopped. She replayed all those times when she shied away from Win’s hand, tensed at his touch, crept as far as she could to the other side of the bed every night. Got undressed in the bathroom or like she was struggling to get out of a swimming costume under cover of a towel on a windy, public beach. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that ever since I left hospital, I haven’t felt right in my own skin.’ She shook her head, cuddled Beyoncé a little bit tighter. It was still so hard to try and make sense of the mess and muddle inside her head. ‘I’ve been so let down by my own body. All those weeks with a time bomb lodged in me, like a virus, and sometimes I think it’s still there, ticking away, ready to infect anyone that gets too close. That’s why I didn’t want you near me.’
‘Zoe…’ Win breathed out and he didn’t say anything but didn’t try to touch her either, which Zoe was grateful for. Not because she still felt tainted but because one brush of Win’s fingers against her arm, her cheek, and she would break down and cry and this was not the time for tears. Her tears hadn’t solved anything.
‘I’m sorry too. For being so silent when I knew you were hurting but God, it’s always impossible for me to find the right words. I’m sorry about what I said about the pregnancy.’ Win flinched as he said the word. ‘When I told you to stop dwelling on it, it’s because I can’t bear to dwell on it at all. I know we need to talk about it but I can’t. Not yet. But I can talk about the house, I can do that…’
It was something. Something was better than nothing. Zoe nodded. ‘What do you want to say about the house then?’ she asked a little dully because she was sure it was going to be the usual litany of complaints.
Win tipped his head back and sighed. ‘We moved round so much when I was a kid. I know that Ed and I talk a good game, make it sound like it was all larks, but it wasn’t. A lot of times it was unpredictable, scary.’ He reached out to gently scratch Beyoncé behind her ears. ‘The dog we used to have, Brandy. One time we had to move in a hurry and Terry just left her behind. Said someone was coming to pick her up, but the next time he got drunk, he confessed. Always cracked under the pressure, did Terry.’
He took a huge gulp of wine and seemed comforted that Zoe was letting him speak. Didn’t pepper him with questions.
‘We moved all the time. Not just every few months, but sometimes every few weeks, even days. It got to the point where we didn’t bother to unpack. So, I’m not being a princess, I’m really not, when I’m bitching about the lack of a kitchen or hot water. That there are wires and holes everywhere. I can’t handle the chaos and the upheaval because in my experience it only leads to bad things; bailiffs banging at the front door or scary-looking men who want a word with my dad knocking at the windows then us having to clear out in a hurry and start all over again. Every time I come back to this house, it’s a sense memory of some of my worst times.’ Win let out a shaky breath and Zoe moved closer so he could list to the right and she was there to lean on.
‘I knew things were tough when you were a kid but I had no idea they were that grim.’ Zoe tried to keep the heat, the hurt, out of her voice because she really didn’t want this to turn into a row. ‘You hardly ever talk about Terry.’
‘Because there’s nothing good to say about him. Nothing worth burdening you with, anyway.’
‘But I don’t mind being burdened,’ Zoe persisted. ‘Honestly, I’m stronger than I look; you know that better than anyone. I’ve even gone quite a few days without crying.’
It was a weak joke to let Win off the hook and he smiled dutifully.
‘It’s all ancient history: Terry, all the crappy places we lived. It’s in the past,’ Win said, as if what belonged in the past never ever impinged on the present and the future. ‘At least I hope it does, the bailiffs and all that.’
‘I promise you there will be no bailiffs,’ Zoe said because she never made promises she couldn’t keep. ‘I can also promise you that the house renovations aren’t going to come even close to bankrupting us.’ Now that she was on a steadier ground, she couldn’t help the smugness creeping into her voice.
‘Really?’ Win sounded hopeful. ‘Have you had any film rights optioned? Or did you get five numbers and the bonus ball on the Lotto?’
They always said that winning the Lotto was too greedy but five numbers and the bonus ball would be just enough money.
‘I wish. Actually, I’ve been revising our budget.’ Zoe sniffed, as Win looked at her like she was talking in tongues. ‘It was horrible. I have a new appreciation for how hard your job is. Do you want me to hit the highlights?’
‘Knock yourself out,’ Win drawled with a little of that old archness that Zoe had missed so much.
The good news was that a combi-boiler compatible with their rare 1930s’ radiators had been sourced at last. ‘I had to go on a central heating engineers’ forum board and throw myself on their mercy,’ Zoe explained. ‘I now know more about radiator valves than I ever wanted to.’
‘So, you’re saying that we don’t have to fork out for new radiators?’ Win clarified hopefully.
‘Exactly that and I’ve massively scaled back our plans for the kitchen. We’re going for the cheapest kitchen I can find. It will probably be made entirely out of plastic. And for the rest of it, well… I’m going to do a lot of the decorating myself. You’re going to help, by the way.’
‘OK,’ Win said, with apprehension because he was fond of saying, as if it were something to be proud of, that he didn’t possess a single artistic bone in his body. But even he could slap paint on a wall. With supervision. ‘It’s not like we can afford to go on holiday this year so I can take some time off work.’
‘And weekends. Gavin says that they’ll prep everything and your mum says she’ll help too. She’s promised not to ragroll anything.’ Zoe and Win both grimaced at the thought. ‘Also, when my parents fly back from Vietnam, they’re staying with us for a fortnight and have offered to sort out the garden.’
‘Thank God for Ken and Nancy.’ Win’s hand shot out to clutch Zoe’s knee. ‘All of this… it would have been better if they’d been here, don’t you think?’
‘A hundred thousand times better.’ It was hardly a ringing endorsement of their joint coping skills.
Zoe covered Win’s hand, which was still on her leg. ‘I’m not the nervous nineteen-year-old that walked into your office all those years ago,’ she said quietly. Now, instead of refusing to look each other in the eye, Zoe couldn’t tear her gaze away from Win. Nearly a month apart and she had to relearn every inch of him. ‘You were right when you said I expect you to fix everything. That’s how we started our relationship, with you fixing my problems, and the habit stuck. But I’m perfectly capable of fixing them too. And there are some things that can’t be fixed anyway, we just have to deal with them in the best way that we can.’
Win raised Zoe’s hand to his lips so he could press a kiss against her knuckles. It was the most intimate gesture they’d shared in months. ‘I need to be in control. And when we moved in here, I thought that at least the house, the renovations, would be something I could control.’ Win shot Zoe a knowing look. ‘Dare I ask if my handy wall planner is still in operation?’
‘Best not to.’ Taking it down had been her very first act as project manager. Gavin had got down on his knees and kissed her feet. But that was the only secret Zoe wanted to keep from him. Though the other secrets, the things still to be said, could wait. For now.
They sat and drank the wine, with Beyoncé burrowed between them, as they looked at kitchens online. They’d had wilder evenings than this, but when Win brushed his hand against the back of her neck, Zoe’s skin warmed to his touch, and instead of shrinking back from it, she couldn’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.