Second Chance - Jane Green [50]
She found she wasn’t getting quite as much out of them. When P was there, they would sit next to each other and surreptitiously touch – she cross-legged on the sofa, her knee gently touching his thigh as she closed her eyes and felt, she swore to God she actually felt it, the electricity.
She would tune out for most of the meeting, closing her eyes and thinking about him, opening them only to catch him looking at her, both of them smiling and looking away.
She wasn’t focusing on the lessons of the programme at all. Her sponsor – the only person who knew – was trying to be firm, trying to point out all the danger that came with her behaviour, how ultimately it was Saffron who would be at risk by not working the principles of the programme; but, in the end, she had sighed, knowing she had to be a loving witness. Knowing there was nothing she could do.
And it is true that Saffron hadn’t found being around alcohol quite as easy as she used to. For years, while working the programme, she found that alcohol didn’t bother her. She could be at parties where everyone else was drinking copiously, and it would never occur to her to have a drink.
But lately, walking into her quiet little house at the end of the day, she found herself thinking: Wouldn’t it be nice to have one drink? Just one. Surely one wouldn’t hurt?
And last week, when she finished her grocery shopping, she found herself passing the liquor store, and she hesitated for longer than was comfortable before pushing her trolley past and trying to think of other things.
She knew what this was called. She was white-knuckling it. She hadn’t even told her sponsor she’d had these feelings, convinced, just like the old days, that she could do it on her own.
Saffron would look around her in restaurants and see people enjoying a glass of wine. That could be me, she would think. I could have a glass of wine. I could be normal. If all those other people can do it, then surely I can too.
‘You need to start working the steps,’ her sponsor would say. ‘You haven’t done any step work for ages.’
‘I know, I know,’ Saffron would groan. ‘It works if you work it.’ But she didn’t seem to have the will to do anything other than turn up to meetings as an excuse to see P.
And last year has been the happiest of Saffron’s life. She is convinced that P is her soulmate. That they belong together, that it is just his marriage of convenience that is keeping them apart, and that soon they will be able to stop sneaking around, and he will marry her: they will be together for the rest of their lives.
Chapter Ten
Sarah groans and rolls over in bed as the tapping on her door continues.
‘Sarah, love,’ her mother-in-law’s voice is soft as the door gently pushes open. ‘Paul and his wife, Anna, are here to see you. They’re playing with the kids downstairs, and Paul brought some old photographs of Tom from school that he thought you’d like.’
Sarah sits up and throws the duvet back. ‘Tell them I’ll be down in a sec,’ she says, as she runs her fingers through her hair and sighs. Why do people keep coming? Why do they keep arriving proffering gifts – food, photographs, stories? Do they think it’s going to make her feel better? Is it going to bring Tom back? All Sarah wants to do is crawl under the covers and sleep for ever, waking up when the pain has disappeared.
It is easier to hide here in this house. Despite being surrounded by Tom – photographs, mementos, constant reminders – this is Tom’s childhood home, not the home she and Tom created together.
Those first few days had been unbearable. Numb. Letters had started arriving, bills that needed to be paid, life insurance policies that needed to be dealt with, and Sarah had taken everything and put it where she always put it – on Tom’s desk in his