I see dots, and smile too, knowing he’s typing.
We’ll go somewhere good,he says.A new beginning.
No,I tell him,we’ve had our beginning. This can be our middle.
A long middle, he replies.
Yes,I say.A very long middle.
I like the sound of that.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Claudia
April 2019
A cottage of some sort, Oxfordshire
I’ve driven myself here today, for this last scene.
It’s a beautiful day, clear and bright, sweet with the scent of cut grass, wild meadow flowers, and the first whispering promise of summer to come.
I haven’t seen Nick yet.
He was already in his trailer when I arrived, and I headed straight to mine to get ready. It’s all been a rush as I was late arriving. I brought Lisa and Hannah with me from London – they’re on their Easter holidays – and Mum guilted us into letting Stewart tag along too. (‘Oh, go on, girls, he’ll love a day in the countryside, and he’s so much better behaved these days.’) He’s not better behaved at all, I had my concerns from the start, and sure enough we lost him to a rabbit, for a fraught half hour, when we stopped to walk him at Cherwell Services. He looked pretty downcast when he finally reappeared, his tail literally between his legs, so my guess is the rabbit got the better of him.
Lisa and Hannah have taken him for another walk now to tire him out, and Ana’s here with me, running me through a briefing ahead of the shoot, which will be the very last for this movie. She’s been working flat-out ever since we left Doverley,getting everything else finished: from the boys’ sea swim (‘How was it?’ I asked Nick. ‘Pretty cold,’ he said), to the bittersweet scenes showcasing Iris, Robbie and Tim’s childhood, to the entirely bitter sequences at Bomber Command HQ, re-enacting the death sentence decisions that were taken there. Ana’s kept me updated, but I haven’t considered joining her to watch the filming myself.
I’ve remained in London, resting.
In December, Nick headed back to Montana to spend time with his own family, catch up with old friends, and rest too.
I haven’t seen him since then, but we’ve talked, lots, getting better at it the more we have, finally sharing everything it used to feel so impossible to put words to: no more secrets. The hole our son,Louis, has left in us is no less, but it is something we now carry together.
And I’ve told Nick about what I experienced at Doverley. At no point has he tried to dismiss it, or rationalise any of it away; he’s simply listened,heard, making me feel the very opposite of alone.
We’ve spoken about plenty of other, less weighty, things too. Like, Felix and Emma on their shoot in New Zealand, and how often they’ve kept mentioning each other whenever we’ve caught up with them on the phone. And the repairs Nick’s helped his parents with around the family’s farm; the horses he’s reacquainted himself with, and the long rides he’s taken at dawn. I’ve filled him in on the variety of cooking courses I’ve been doing with Phil – the sourdough, gnocchi, gyoza and macaroons we now know how to make – and my long walks with Stewart, lunches with Imogen, then the trips I’ve made back to Yorkshire to visit Ellen and Tim (still with us; ‘I want to see this picture of yours,’ he keeps insisting), and Georgie as well: the woman who hugged me, and who Ellen gave my number to.
We’ve become close, actually.
Mum was right: it has done us good to talk about everything.
‘You’re looking well,’ says Ana to me now, as we head to my trailer door. ‘Sleep suits you.’
I don’t disagree.
It does suit me.
I’ve been enjoying getting more of it.
Each evening in Highgate, after dinner with my family, I’ve kissed them goodnight, gone up to my room, talked with Nick, and climbed into my old bed, where I’ve slept deeply.
Not dreamlessly.
But I’ve dreamt as me.
And a lot of him.
