Wishes Under a Starlit Sky. Lucy Knott

I am already spent and I haven’t even logged in yet. I don’t think I have ever been more nervous in my life.

       ‘OK,’ Madi says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. ‘Please know I love you and that I am here for you.’ Then she goes and sits on the black leather couch, her fingers twisting around her hoop earrings anxiously.

       Before I can chicken out and allow my brain to manifest more evil thoughts, I press enter on my husband’s email account. At least I will know for sure what’s been going on and I won’t have to torture myself with guessing.

       Nothing jumps out at me straight away, no woman’s name I don’t recognize. Then I see it. An email to his friend Matt, with the subject line: What am I going to do?

       I gulp and, with a shaky hand, click on the email and watch the conversation fill the page. Words and sentences begin slapping me in the face, hard. ‘We talk every night and every morning.’ ‘We’re practically girlfriend and boyfriend.’ ‘Harper is stressing about kids.’ ‘No kids.’ ‘I get jealous when other guys go near her.’ ‘I love her.’ And that last sentence just about does me in. I fly out of my chair, sick rising in my throat. It takes all I have not to throw my laptop across the room and smash it to pieces. I can’t look anymore. I feel like there is a monster inside of me; it terrifies me. I can’t control it. I don’t want this anger inside me and I’m mad at myself for allowing it in. But all my mother’s words of wisdom, her soothing mantras, are not speaking to me right now.

       My soul mate, my world, it all sounds so childlike now – my person … there can be no such thing. I almost laugh despite the hot tears burning my cheeks. My husband is in love with someone else and has been for months and I had no idea. I can’t make out from the messages how long he has been seeing her, how long he has been sleeping with her, but it was long before he brought up taking a break. The email dated back months before Venice.

       Our marriage is over for him, and he forgot to tell me. Instead. he’s led me to believe he’s just having some breathing room, getting out of the house for a bit, staying with the boys a while before we got serious about kids, all like it was no big deal, like he’ll be back. He even texted only a few days ago that I was being silly when I asked him if he wanted a divorce, like it wasn’t that serious. He laughed it off like I was the mad one, like everything he was doing was normal. He didn’t want a divorce, he wasn’t seeing other people, we would be OK, he loved me; all just lies he was spinning.

      *

      My head is throbbing, I am dripping with cold sweat and someone is rubbing my forehead. There’s a distinct smell of crispy bacon in the air. I force my eyes open, but it takes a few attempts before I can blink anything into a clear view.

      Madi places the breakfast tray on the floor and scoots up next to me on the bed.

      ‘Harp, we’re not spending this Christmas here, OK? We’re going home,’ she says, assertively moving tendrils of hair out of my face. I am aware of the state I am in, what I must look like shrivelled up under the covers again. I have lost all sense of who I am. All I know is that I am a mess and very much on my way to repeating the events of last Christmas – cocooned in my bed, shutting out the world while Madi tries with all her might to spread some Christmas cheer with gifts and mince pies, with mild success. The whole world knows Scott had an affair. It’s been twelve whole months. It’s done, it’s in the past. I need to move on.

      ‘But this is home,’ I mutter, wrapping my arm around her waist for comfort.

      ‘Yes, it is, but I mean home, home; to your mum and dad’s house. It might not be in London, but wherever your mum and dad are, that’s home. We’re going to Colorado.’

       Chapter 2

      Madi’s living room smells like cinnamon and pine. Candles flicker from every surface. With the help of Madi’s famous hot chocolate and bacon butty combo, I’m starting to get into the Christmas spirit. It’s been a few days since the nightmares have haunted my brain and for that I’m grateful. I’m not sure whether to thank the amount of Baileys Madi sneaks into my hot chocolate or the back-to-back episodes of Chuck that she’s been playing late into the evening every night before bed this past week. It’s difficult to have nightmares when my mind is otherwise preoccupied by when Chuck and Sarah will get together and if I could one day write a script anywhere near as incredible as this show. Still, Chuck and Sarah’s love is not enough to get me in the mood for the work Christmas party this year; instead, Madi and I have booked our flights for Colorado. We leave in the early hours of tomorrow morning.

      I haven’t been to visit my parents in Breckenridge in two years. If I’m honest I didn’t take the news of my parents moving away very well at all. Spending time with them has always been one of my favourite things, so I was mad at them for moving and I don’t think I have fully let go of my grudge. Though Scott got on well with his family he was much more independent and encouraged me to be the same. His family live in Greece and he had adjusted to that just fine. I felt I had to be a grown-up and be more like him. But I miss my parents every single day; I just never admitted that to Scott.

      Madi on the other hand could see right through me. Trying to keep up the bravado this past year has been difficult to say the least. My parents had talked about coming over to London to be with me, but I pushed them away, telling them I was fine. In my darkest moments I didn’t feel I deserved the sympathy. Madi was right the other night. Scott having an affair has taken over my life for a year – I can’t go on like this. I need to get my life back on track. I look at the clock on the wall and realize I should hurry. I feel a pang of longing and a nervous anticipation that I will get to see Mum and Dad soon, but I must nip back to my house to pack first.

      As I walk past the twinkling lights that wrap around Madi’s stairs, I feel a small thrill of excitement thinking about my parents’ house. If you thought Madi and I loved Christmas, well, my mum is a force unto herself. You can’t move an inch in her house without tripping over a nutcracker. I can’t imagine what their house in Colorado will look like with the backdrop of snowy mountain tops and log cabins. A big grin takes over my features and I welcome the burst of joy I feel in the pit of my stomach.

      Back at my house I’m going through my wardrobe grabbing every knit and woolly jumper I own to throw in my suitcase. I’m doing my best to stop my eyes from lingering too long on Scott’s belongings. The only time I have heard from him this past year is when he has texted wanting to pick up some clothes or items. I would then make sure I was at Madi’s so I wouldn’t have to speak to him while he collected his things. There’s still a fair bit here though and I have no idea what to do with it all.

      That day I found the emails, I’d called him up on the phone, my whole body tense, straining to keep up with the speed my heart was racing. Scott had told me that his relationship was none of my business, that I was being too emotional and that it wasn’t all his fault. There was no apology, remorse or answers. When I had cried and pushed for more, he’d angrily, and with an irritated inflection in his tone, told me that he had been seeing his apparent girlfriend since February, before hanging up. He had been having an affair for eleven months and I hadn’t even realized. What could I possibly say to him?

      Twelve months on and I still feel raw. The house does nothing to curb my state of emptiness; it simply exaggerates it. Even averting my eyes from the framed photos of us as a happy couple doesn’t stop me from feeling the pain. Being in the house without Scott, I can feel it – that loss, that numbness in my bones. I shiver, pleading with the voice in my head to let me get on with packing without torturing me with what the house once was. I don’t want to think about the lazy Sunday mornings we spent curled up in that bed, me watching ‘This Is Us’, Scott playing games on his phone next to me, in no rush to be anywhere, content in each other’s company. He’d been the only person I wanted to be snuggled up under the blankets with.

      I hastily grab my glittery red Christmas jumper and stuff it in my suitcase. My eyes are getting