The sunset was a mass of pinks and oranges, promising a beautiful day tomorrow, and a chill this evening. The lingering warmth of the day faded, and the smell of smoke took me back to summers sat on the flat roof outside our window, watching everything with a cup of tea, and burning sausages. There had been picnics in the park, and work friends’ summer birthdays, and festivals. All these memories evoked from charcoal and lighter fluid.
When we were full, moaning at how good the food had been, how much we’d eaten, and, actually, could anyone even think about dessert, I started clearing the table. Effie and I washed and dried together as she tried to teach me a Scottish song. I failed miserably to join in, but we laughed a lot. When the last of the plates were put away, we looked at Kit, sat out at the table, smiling in the candlelight, relaxed as she bounced the baby on her knee.
‘She’s going to be okay, right?’ I asked, feeling foolish.
Effie smiled, ‘Och, she’ll be fine. Her sister is a troublemaker, always has been. But Kit’s got a lot of love to give, and she’ll give it whether it’s wasted or not. There’s no stopping her.’
‘I guess at least she knows the truth now,’ I said.
‘I think she probably had an inkling all along. Your mother was always playing games, and people are complicated. They’re not absolved of their sins just because they get sick. It’s why we can still be so mad at people and still miss them when they’re gone.’ Effie nudged me with her hip. ‘And what about you?’
‘What about me?’
‘Are you going to be okay?’
I smiled, ‘Kit thinks I should go to therapy.’
Effie laughed so loudly and for so long that I thought she was going to stop breathing.
‘I know!’ I said. ‘The strong and silent type all for the healing power of talking.’
‘Well, she does have long chats with those animals, I just thought she liked winning an argument for once.’ Effie grinned at me, her bright eyes wild with mischief. ‘You know, she loves you very much. She’s a soft touch who takes in strays all the time, but it means a lot to her to have family.’
I gestured to the table outside, ‘She has family.’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve been with your aunt twelve years, and I’ve never seen her cry the way she did when she learned what you’d been through. When she found Nina and looked you up. It’s been a regret for most of her life that she didn’t somehow find you sooner and swoop in to save you.’
‘Well she saved me this time round, so I figure…’ I paused. ‘Wait. With her twelve years?’
Effie smiled and raised an eyebrow.
I closed my eyes, ‘Oh god, I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t Kit?’
Effie shrugged, ‘We’re private people and some in this town are still a bit old fashioned. We’re women of a certain age, companionable old maids, as most of the farmers think.’
I pressed my hand to my forehead, ‘I thought it was weird you always cooked breakfast and arrived so early… Please don’t tell me that I chucked you out of your home during this time?’
‘Dunna fash, pet. I keep my flat above the café in case I get sick of your aunt’s moods and it’s best to leave her to her cows and chickens. It was no bother.’
‘I feel so stupid, I’m sorry.’
‘That’s because you assumed she was a crotchety old bag who lived alone. Who knew she could still be so grouchy as part of a couple?’ Effie put an arm round me. ‘I’ll look after her, she’ll look after Nina and you look after yourself. Whether that’s talking to a human or a couple of alpacas, I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Easier to find a therapist than an alpaca in London.’
She nodded, ‘Very practical.’
We went to walk outside and rejoin the others, but Effie suddenly took my hand. ‘I just want you to know that everything’s going to be alright. I don’t know if anyone’s told you before. But you are kind, and loving, and have a lot to give. And you are going to be alright.’ She clasped my hands between hers, and briefly kissed my knuckle before patting them.
I felt a lump rise in my throat, and saw her eyes watering, before I pulled her in for a hug. ‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and she gave me a squeeze.
‘Okay,’ Effie said, wiping her eyes as she pulled back, ‘now I definitely think it’s time for a drink. Let’s get Fraser to make cocktails!’
Time passed unheeded, different to our drunken rampage at the pub days before. This was relaxed, friends talking, laughing and doing nothing much except being together. Kit brought out blankets and I pulled on Daniel’s hoodie, snuggling down and surreptitiously sniffing at it, comforted by his scent. I knew it was almost time to go. I would wait for Daniel’s mysterious package, and then I would go home to have The Conversation.
The thought of living without him was painful, it felt like being ripped in half, but I didn’t feel so much like I owed him silence and smiles anymore. It hadn’t been working anyway. Nostalgia, obligation and guilt don’t make a marriage. We had the love, probably the greatest love I’ll ever know, but sometimes love isn’t enough. We focus so much on that big star of the show, that we forget the small things that make it possible – practical things like time, and dreams, and values. Shared goals. There’s no point walking side-by-side if you need to go in different directions.
We had a choice to make, but I wouldn’t just be dragged along in the tides anymore. I’d steer the ship. And if I had to do it alone, I absolutely could.
People always feel like love stories don’t count if they don’t have a happy ending. But that’s not true. Ten happy years aren’t cancelled out by an ending. Those memories happened. They exist. They might be a little dog-eared, but they can’t be deleted.
Even if I didn’t get to have Daniel as we aged, watch him be a father, see the grey at his temples pepper the rest of his hair, or see him chase his grandkids, I had him at all the other ages. I had Daniel at seventeen, at twenty-three, at thirty. I had a lifetime of memories that would live forever.
If that had to be enough, then it would be alright. I’d survive.
I knew that now.
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning started the same way every other had. I got up at 4:30 a.m. and pulled on my clothes, met Kit in the kitchen where we offered silent, bleary-eyed good mornings to each other, sipped our coffee, and headed out on the rounds. That morning everything seemed significantly more loud, that bastarding cockerel shouting his head off like an auctioneer not getting enough interest.
Fraser’s bloody cocktails. My tongue was still blue.
I patted the cows and said hello to Winston, who seemed to have forgiven me for going rogue when I gave him an apple. I had a chat with the chickens, who didn’t have much to say. I felt like I was saying goodbye, and though I was waiting for Dan’s parcel, I knew if it didn’t arrive today I would start my journey home anyway. When you’re finally ready to do something after months of stasis, staying still feels like torture. Kit asked me that morning whether I wanted to say goodbye to my mother, and I shook my head. She left it at that, and not for the first time, I was grateful for how she never needed a justification, never tried to talk you into anything. She respected my choices and left me to them.
Nina got to keep her sister, she got a chance at rebuilding that relationship. It was probably more than my mother deserved, but I was pleased for her. Because she would get nothing from me. No hatred, no thoughts, no regret. Nothing.
When we got back, Effie was preparing food as usual, but this time she stayed in her pyjamas and dressing gown, and I smiled as Kit put an arm around her. Sarah had padded down the stairs with Lachlan in her arms, and smiled as she said, ‘Mmn, bacon!’ She was still wearing the jumper that Jakob had lent her the night before and she blushed when Effie said how nice it was of him to lend it. I almost didn’t want to leave, I wanted to watch as this new potential bud developed, but the way Effie raised an eyebrow at me, I knew she’d be keeping m
e in the loop with all of the gossip. Possibly whether I wanted it or not.
When the postman knocked, poked his head around the door and left the parcel on the side, I almost jumped out of my seat. ‘Just leave these here for you, see yous later!’
I stood up.
‘Hey, finish eating,’ Kit said sternly, nodding towards my plate. It was so incredibly parental that despite my desperation, I smiled and sat back down. But I kept my eyes on that parcel for a full minute, chewing slowly until eventually Kit rolled her eyes, and said, ‘Oh, go on then!’
I scrambled over to the front door and ripped open the packaging, struggling with the tape. What could he possibly have sent me that would fix anything?
When the heavy book fell out into my hand, I recognised it instantly. The black leather cover was more worn than when I saw it last. He had filled it already, in a few weeks? All that talk of work, and being too busy to make art anymore. Was that what he was saying, that he would make the time?
‘Is that a photo album?’ Sarah asked, and I shook my head, opening it.
‘It’s a sketch book. I gave it to Dan when I left.’
I could feel them exchanging quizzical looks, but I ignored them, opening the book and flipping through it. He must have been sketching non-stop. There were line drawings and paintings, charcoal sketches. He drew our history, from the moment we met in the library, to the drawing of me cradling our son in the hospital, heartbroken and numb. He had painted our wedding day photo, the real one that sat on our mantelpiece, with him in that silly top hat and me in my Oxfam dress. Further on there were sketches of the other wedding day, he’d captured how my mouth was a thin line, my eyes anxious as I looked out at the crowd of guests, but he had only been looking at me.
There were moments I didn’t even think he remembered, curled around each other in that mustard armchair in the studio flat, and the Cava we sat and drank by the river when he got his first commission. Some of these were painted from photos, but others were from memory, complete with detail that blew my mind.
He had been watching, had been paying attention. There was a cartoon of me pulling a tuna pasta bake out of the oven, him looking eagerly over my shoulder. There was a comic strip of him walking to work, and every day he got lower and lower, smaller and smaller until eventually he was just a stick figure in a blue suit, standing before a huge building. There was a sketch of him in the baby’s room, head bowed over the cot, face in his hands. His way of grieving.
The last one was a sketch of me, curled up in an armchair, smiling at him.
On the last page, he’d written a note in bright blue ink:
You told me to draw the things that matter. So that’s what I did.
I skipped back through the drawings again, tracing them with my fingertips. There were moments there I’d forgotten about, the ones where we laughed or cried, stupid arguments and delicious meals.
There was us, celebrating our positive pregnancy test, me in the bath with my bump popping up through the bubbles. There were burnt birthday cakes and cycling through the countryside and getting lost in Rome. Our first Christmas tree in a little pot with a sad single star on it, and me on a ladder, painting Callum’s room, singing to the music.
A lifetime of memories, of just being us.
Not a single fancy dinner, not the expensive holidays, or those people we pushed into friend-shaped spaces.
The things that mattered.
I pulled out my phone to call him. He answered before the first ring had ended.
‘Hello?’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Hello,’ I said tearfully, ‘I got the sketchbook.’
‘I gathered. Did you like it?’
I nodded, pressing my lips together to stop myself from weeping, then cleared my throat. ‘Yes.’
Daniel laughed, ‘You know, that’s what I love about you. Stoic woman, few words wasted.’
‘It’s a lot, Dan. I’m just… we still need to talk about things. About where we go from here.’
He sighed, ‘I know, but I think we should do that in person.’
‘I agree.’
‘Good,’ he said again.
There was a knock on the door.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve got to go—’ I started to say, and Daniel laughed.
‘Yes, get the door, I bet it’s very important.’
When I opened it, of course, he was standing there. My handsome husband looking every bit the saviour he had when he was seventeen. He grinned at me.
‘Oh, look how proud of yourself you are!’ I laughed, and he nodded.
‘Too right, I’ve been sat in the car for forty-five minutes waiting for the bloody postman to arrive. Got some very funny looks too!’
I wanted to hold him, to throw my arms around him and not let go, but it wasn’t so simple. A romantic gesture after months of distance, of confusion and grief and loss… Happy endings didn’t last forever. Real life got in the way.
‘Uh oh, you’ve got that overthinking look in your eyes,’ he said, and took my hand, before peering behind me and waving, ‘Hello!’
Kit, Effie and Sarah mumbled and made noises as they pretended not to be watching us like we were the latest TV drama.
‘So here’s the thing. We lost our way, and I’m here to make sure we find it again.’
I shook my head, ‘I think we want different things.’
‘You told me to fill that book with the things that mattered. I filled it with you, with us. Our memories, our life. The things that made us,’ Dan grasped both my hands, those blue eyes so desperate as he argued. ‘And there was one more drawing I had to add, but I had to wait. So here, add this to the last page.’
He reached into his back pocket and unfolded a piece of drawing paper, handing it to me.
It was in colour, the entrance to our flat, with a big red ‘sold’ sign outside.
‘Confirmation came through this morning,’ he said, waiting for me to respond. I could feel his eyes on me, ‘Are you happy?’
‘What are your parents going to say?’
‘Well, I imagine they’re going to be more concerned about the fact that I quit my job.’ He grinned at me, desperate for me to be pleased.
‘You quit your job? And sold our flat?’
Dan nodded, ‘I’m not making up for things anymore – we didn’t do anything wrong. We loved each other, we went through some shit, we lived the way we wanted to. You’ve spent all these months biting your tongue because you wanted me to be happy. I wanted them to be proud and they’re never going to do that unless my life looks like theirs. I don’t want their life, I want ours.’
‘So what, we go back to living in damp studios, living off tuna pasta bake and counting our pennies?’ I snorted, ‘You’re not going to miss skiing in Aspen or drinking with your work buddies, or going to the races with your dad?’
Dan shook his head. ‘Babe, you were in the worst place possible when you came up here, and still you got me a notebook to remind me to create something. You’ve always put me first, you’ve always fought for us, made sure we survived. I knew nothing about how to do anything before you. So it’s my turn to fight. You’re going to get your dream job, and I’m going to go back to my commissions and we will live simpler lives, if that’s what makes you happy.’
‘And your parents?’
‘I told them they can come and visit us in whatever hovel we’re living in.’ He squeezed my hand, hope in his eyes. ‘You still don’t believe me? Okay, one more magic trick.’
Out of another pocket he produced my engagement ring. My original one. The opal set in silver that he bought from Camden market and gave me that morning on Primrose Hill. I had missed that opal ring, the one I’d been so proud to wear until Miranda convinced him it wasn’t appropriate, and got him to replace it. The diamond had never felt right.
‘You never tricked me into loving you, Taz. It was never a bargain I made. It was something that happened beyond my control, just because you’re you. I
don’t regret anything. I never did.’
There would be conversations to have, ruffled parental feathers to smooth, arguments and silliness. But I put out my hand and let him take off that ridiculous ring, replacing it with the one I’d always loved.
‘So what now?’ I asked him, an echo of that same question he’d asked me all those years before. ‘Where do we go?’
He smiled at me, interlocking his fingers with mine. ‘Anywhere we want.’
Epilogue
People called us ‘brave’ for changing our lives, but it was with that air of derision and concern, like when people ask if you’ve got a pension and why you’re not preparing for the future. Like you’re behind at being an adult.
We didn’t care. The real people stuck around. Angela was excited for us, and it was true how few real friends we had in that group beyond her. She helped us with her connections, and Dan started doing his murals again. Within a couple of months we were travelling around the world, going from place to place so he could paint feature walls and unique designs.
I acted as his booking agent, protecting his art just like I’d always done. But I’d also been training as a counsellor. After a few months of therapy, I felt lighter. Jenny, my therapist, wasn’t like those pinch-faced school counsellors, and I didn’t have that fear that I was going to be seen as I really was. There was no one to take me away from, no one to run from. No need to trick me. Jenny reminded me of Kit in many ways, shrewd and forthright, which was exactly what I needed. When she suggested I consider training to counsel people myself, it felt like the right fit. An extension of working on the grief helpline. No need to tell stories, just listen and say the right words that made them feel safe, unlock those inner worlds. Use my persuasive powers for good. Funnel the grief into something else, slowing the rush down to a trickle, until the river was manageable.
We lived an amazing life, travelling through European cities, road tripping through America. We collected stories, made friends with strangers, curled up in basic hotel rooms at the end of each night (or fancy ones provided by Dan’s work if I had been very good at negotiating). We often wondered what our teenage selves would have thought of this life, and agreed they’d be so impressed.
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