The Lie of You: I Will Have What Is Mine by Jane Lythell

to him but I needed to talk about it.
    ‘It’s still early days,’ he said in a kind voice.
    I could feel my eyes filling with tears.
    ‘I seem to be messing up, losing things, forgetting things. And the more I doubt myself the more mistakes I make.’
    ‘You lost your notes and that was a pity. You came up with a good idea for the guide,’ he said. ‘And it’s still going ahead, isn’t it?’
    ‘Yes, it is. Philip reminded me that I’m on a six-month probation. I think he’s lost faith in me.’
    ‘I doubt that. Perhaps you try to do too much. Let your team do more. Let them do the writing and you sit back and be the calm and benevolent boss.’
    ‘I like doing the writing.’
    ‘Do some, then, but be generous with them. Let them have the pick of the sites. You’ll get them onside and with a loyal team behind you Philip can’t touch you.’
    It was good advice and his support made me feel better. I decided I would do as he suggested: yes, I would hold individual meetings with each member of my team and ask them which sites they wanted to cover. It would make them feel valued and it would help me get back my good feelings about the project. I squeezed his hand.
    ‘Thank you.’
    We walked some more and admired the light shining on the lake. As we were both enjoying being out we decided to make an evening of it. We found a café with tables on the pavement that was serving tapas. We sat down, parked the buggy next to us and ordered two beers.
    ‘You’re bound to be a tapas expert,’ Markus said, ‘so I’ll let you do the ordering.’
    ‘It’s true, lots of tapas during my childhood, though Dad always remained a meat and two veg man.’
    ‘Well, mine was a pickled herring, potatoes and rye bread childhood,’ he said with a rueful smile.
    I looked at the menu. ‘We have to have garlic shrimp, patatas bravas, marinated anchovies, tortilla and some chorizo, I think. I’m torn between fried squid rings and stuffed mussels. Do you have a preference?’
    ‘I’ve never had stuffed mussels.’
    ‘Well, they’re stuffed, breaded and fried, and very tasty.’
    ‘Do we need another dish?’ he said.
    ‘Maybe not, maybe I’m just being greedy. It’s a bit of a treat, though.’
    Our plate of tortilla arrived first and I cut off a small piece for Billy to chew on. He wasn’t very interested. His eyelids were getting heavy and I tipped his buggy seat back and Markus rolled him back and forth till he was asleep.
    We had a second beer and the rest of our tapas arrived. I told Markus to close his eyes and I would feed him random forkfuls and he had to tell me which dish he liked best. I fed him garlic shrimp and then patatas bravas and then the other dishes, and we were both giggling and being a bit silly. He said he liked the bite from the Tabasco in the potatoes’ sauce. His overall favourite had to be the marinated anchovies.
    ‘That’s your picked fish heritage coming through,’ I said.
    ‘And I’m guessing your favourite is garlic shrimp.’
    ‘Spot on.’
    When we had finished the food and wiped our bread around the plates to catch the last bit of sauce, we both looked at our sleeping son next to us.
    ‘Nothing prepared me for the feelings I have for him,’ Markus said. ‘It’s really quite primitive, isn’t it, how you feel?’
    I put my hand over his. ‘It really is.’
    We walked back to the flat and there was a lovely united feeling between us. It was quite late and I carried Billy into his room and was putting him to bed.
    ‘Did you put this on my table?’ Markus said, coming in.
    He held out a photo to me and it gave me a jolt because it was my favourite photo of Eddie. In it he is standing in a garden, one of the places where he often worked. He is stripped to the waist, his chest and arms are tanned, his face is freckled and he is grinning broadly into the camera. He looks the picture of healthy male sexiness.
    ‘That’s Eddie, my ex. I told you about him. Where did you find