I wander to the edge of the churchyard and spot the hearse still there, unsellable, parked under the chestnut tree, covered in bird shit. I wander down to it and slide my hand inside the passenger window and tear theFOR SALEsign off the windscreen. “Bloody car,” I say under my breath.
And then I stare at it for a moment and I think about the phone mount in the back seat. I walk to the door and open it, fishing around under the driver’s seat and then the passenger’s seat until I find it. I look down at the phone mount still in its box.
I owe my mum a call.
37
After an hourof hand shaking and occasional uncomfortable hugging later, I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the noise and the people and just want to go home for some quiet. I head back to the house and slide into my bedroom—a total catastrophic mess—and stare at it. I didn’t fix this room, did I? It’s the last thing.
Fix many things and he will reveal himself.
I begin to strip my sheets and fold and put away clothing. I toss old makeup into the bin. Then, I push my bed aside and clear out the months of accumulated shit from underneath it. Plastic bags, clothing tags, hair, my old journal, and a garbage bag with clothes that I’d stored for charity weeks ago.
I am frantic in my clearing, stripping. Everything must go. All of it. My bedroom was the last untouched place—my sanctuary, my quiet space to come and think and be.
I am upset about Joe’s Instagram post. It has totally caughtme out. I was so sure that I had made the right decision. So convinced that choosing Ash was right and true, and I feel completely shaken.
Red-faced and crying, I hear my bedroom door open.
“Mara?”
It’s Ash. He’s standing in the doorway, holding shopping bags, which he lets fall immediately.
“What’s wrong?”
He moves quickly to me and pulls me close to him, and I stiffen at his embrace. “Is it Charlie? Did you fight?”
“No, it’s not Charlie,” I say, feeling almost unable to speak. “I’m unraveling. Can we do my room? I mean, can I do it? I need to do it myself.”
“What’s going on, Mara? What happened?”
“Nothing,” I say. I want him to go away. I don’t want him to see me like this. I need space, time, isolation. I need only myself right now so I can figure out what is going on.
Ash pulls back and looks at me, holding my arms so he can study my face.
“Do you want me to go and get the paint?”
“Yes,” I say.
“You want to do your room now?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. I can’t look at him.
“Okay, let me put these groceries away, while you clear your things, and then I’ll come and help move the furniture to the middle of the room—”
“I can do it myself,” I say. “I just need the paint.”
“But you don’t have to,” he says, and I look at his face. He looks genuinely worried. “I’m here. I can help you.”
“I don’t want any help,” I say. “Ihave to do it.”
“Mara, will you look at me?” he says sharply. I feel the shift in tension in the room. I force myself to look him in the eyes.
“Sorry, I just realized with all the people coming, and such a tiny house, I needed to do my room.”
“You’re lying,” he says. “What happened with Charlie?”
“It’s not Charlie,” I say, feeling immediately defensive.
