Page 47 of You Were Always the One

‘It’s in our contract,’ I remind her. ‘He actually only has to give us two months’ notice.’ I stare at it. I have no idea what I’m going to do.

‘But it’s our home,’ Emma says. ‘And I’m pregnant.’

As if I need reminding. And strictly speaking, since Emma moved out, it’s my home – on paper, at least. I try to reassure her. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll sort something.’

A lot can happen in three months, I tell myself. They might change their mind, for example. But if they don’t… For some reason, however, it’s like when Emma told me she was pregnant. Instead of overreacting, I’m unnaturally calm. It feels like all this change is adding up to something, pushing me somewhere. Where, exactly, though, I haven’t a clue.

It forces me to refocus on the book I’m writing and with the deadline fast approaching, I don’t have time to begin anything new. Suddenly realising the extent to which it’s deviated from the one I started, I email my editor, sending them the first few pages. It’ll be fine, I tell myself, tapping my fingers as I wait for her reply; slightly trepidatious when, a few hours later, she calls me.

‘I think you’d better tell me a little more about this,’ she says.

‘It’s about this guy – he’s writing the future he’s going to have with the woman he loves,’ I explain. ‘She doesn’t know what he’s doing. And he doesn’t know if it will work. But as he writes, to his amazement it starts to come true.’

‘You’ve never written speculative fiction before.’ Christie sounds doubtful. ‘I was expecting something, well, more mainstream, I suppose. More like you usually write.’

‘I understand,’ I say humbly. ‘And I know it might look like a risk. But I seriously think I’ve got something here.’

‘Write some more and send it to me,’ she says decisively. ‘Riggs, I have to go. I have a meeting to get to.’

OK. It might not have been exactly what I wanted to hear, but it’s enough to spur me on. Into my words, I pour everything I want for Holly and me, and what I want for Emma, writing into the night. When writing flows, you have two choices. Either you go with it – or you lose it.

That night, my head is aching as I lie in bed. The problem is, I’m rubbish at planning how I want my life to go – which has always been fine, up until now. Except it hasn’t, Riggs. Not if you’re honest with yourself. It’s why you let Holly walk away. Why you married Emma. Why she’s still living here. You are your own worst enemy. Not once have you gone after what you really want from life.

Holly. First word in my head. But apart from her… What do I want? A nice home. A job I love. Enough freedom. Right now, I have all of those – except for my landlord’s notice and the fact that my writing doesn’t pay enough. And if I’m not careful, lack of money is going to become a problem.

On Saturday morning, I wake up ridiculously early. Unable to sleep, I go for a run. A fine layer of mist lingers over the hills, the path empty of the usual cyclists and dog walkers as I run a few miles towards the coast.

Back at home, after showering as quietly as I can so as not to disturb Emma, it’s still early as I find my car keys. It’s a while since I’ve seen my mother. She lives an hour’s drive away, near Midhurst. She’ll inevitably be wide awake, out feeding her chickens and whatever other animals currently reside with her. In any case, it isn’t that early. It’s just before 9 a.m. when I turn into the lane that leads to her cottage. As predicted, she’s up and about. The kitchen window is open and as I park my car and get out, strains of classical music reach me.

She opens the back door before I get there. ‘Rigby! Darling!’ She holds out her arms, then hugs me. ‘I’m so pleased to see you. You’ve come on a good day, actually. I could do with some help digging the veggie garden.’

It’s like walking into another hug as I follow her into the homely kitchen, wondering why I don’t come here more often. In her usual faded jeans and an old cotton shirt, she never seems to change. ‘You look great, Mum.’

‘Apart from these flaming wrinkles,’ she says. ‘So do you.’ She pauses. ‘I’m guessing you’d like coffee? It’s a bit hit and miss, I’m afraid. I’m still getting the hang of this thing.’

‘I’d love one.’ I take in the coffee machine that’s a new addition since last time I was here. ‘How about I do it?’

While Mum makes toast and finds a jar of homemade jam, I make us coffee. Then as we sit down at the table I remember from my childhood, she beams at me. ‘This is such a lovely surprise.’ Then she frowns, as though she’s only just noticed. ‘Emma isn’t with you.’

‘No.’ I’ve been meaning to tell her. I’ve just saved it for one of those face-to-face conversations – like now. ‘Emma and I… We’re not together any more. Well, we kind of are – but we’re not, if you get my drift.’

She looks confused. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘We decided to split up – we’re getting divorced. She moved out, but she’s moved back in again – only temporarily.’

‘Ah,’ she says. Ah, rather than oh. ‘Excuse me for being blunt, Rigby. But in a way, I’m not surprised.’ She frowns again. ‘So why did she move back again?’

I sigh. ‘Long story.’ I sip my coffee.

‘Oh.’ She looks at me. ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

‘Emma and I… In reality, we probably shouldn’t have got married,’ I say. ‘It’s pretty clear we’re not right for each other. Only the problem now is, she’s pregnant.’

‘Rigby.’ My mother looks horrified. ‘You let her move out when she’s having your baby?’

‘Oh no.’ I shake my head. ‘I didn’t know it at the time.’ I hesitate. ‘Then Emma wasn’t at all sure she was going to keep it.’

‘Oh.’ My mother looks sad. ‘But she is?’