“But to my mother itwasdifferent.
“Little affairs were one thing, but to set up someone in a house? To spend time there regularly? For a year? That …” George swallowed with difficulty. “That meant love.
“I sat on the side of her bed and watched tears soak into her pillow on and on and on.”
Millie wrapped her handover his.
“I couldn’t think of a single thing to do or say. I couldn’t help. I could only watch.” George’s voice was laced with corrosive bitterness. “And then my holidays were up, and I went backto school.
“A month later, Mumwas dead.”
“Oh God.” Millie sat bolt upright. “How?”
George’s voice was hollow. “The doctors said it was influenza. For Christ’s sake, how does anyone die of flu? In May? When they’re a healthy woman of thirty-five?” George asked.
Millie settled against him again. She couldn’t think of a single answer. But then he answered himself.
“They don’t. Not unless theywantto die.”
Snug against his chest, Millie could feel his heart beating against her shoulder blade. Thinking of him as that fourteen-year-old boy twistedher heart.
The vise-like arms prevented her from turning around to comfort him. She rubbed his wrists andforearms.
He’d been carrying this hurt allhis life.
Time passed in silence. Millie couldn’t see George’s watch, but she guessed it was past two in the morning, with his face in the crook of her neck, his strong steady heartbeat against her shoulder blade. A new realization was slowly forming inher mind.
“George?” She made her voice soft and gentle. Her instincts warned her to keep quiet; she ignored them.
“What?” he whispered intoher hair.
“Can you try to forgive your father?”
He froze. He didn’t move a thing, but somehow, he shrank into himself, an imperceptible pull awayfrom her.
She should have kept her thought to herself. but she’d started; she may as well go on. “I’m sure I am speaking out of turn, but—I think your mum wouldn’t have wanted you to carry this pain for the rest of your life. To hold on to this anger.”
There was no doubt now; he had definitely pulled awayfrom her.
She tried to explain it better. “It strikes me you are feeling unnecessary guilt.”
His arms, no longer tight under her breasts, now lay limp onhis knees.
She bit her lip, courage almost deserting her, but she had to say it, because he was clearly suffering unnecessarily. “You can’t go back and rescue your mother.”
With every word, he seemed to freeze further away. What was wrong with her? When someone got themselves into a hole, they really should stop digging. She couldn’t seemto stop.
“George, if time travel were possible, then maybe. Believe me, I’ve wished and wished to take back the ten years I lost with Henry. But none of us can pull this trick. All any of us can do is—” She took a breath to steady her voice. “All we can do is go forward and accept life asit comes—”
She was close to tears. Not because of what she was saying, but because of the sudden chill. What had been a warm, even hot, body behind her was now an impossible distance away. Cool air blew over her back, and the arms on the blanket had dropped to the sides. She could no longer feel his heart beating, the breath going in and out of his chest; she couldn’t even smell his scent. His warm, sexy male scent which had been all around her.
The wind outside had died down, and there was hardly any rain falling, just the occasional ping of a water drop inthe tins.
She tried one last time. “We can only try and forgive ourselves. For the mistakes we made. For being human.”
Nothing.
Silence.
