“I want to wash.”
Simon rolled his eyes and she stuck her tongue out at him, like they were kids again, having the same argument every time. She wanted to wash because she liked to flick water at him. She sighed. If only their parents had been there, Mum watching Coronation Street and Dad attempting to fill in the newspaper crossword, then the picture would’ve been complete.
Once they’d finished, Mattie made tea for the two of them. They went through to the sitting room with their drinks. Sofacushions were askew, and one of the kids had knocked over a spider plant and made a poor job of scooping all the soil back into the pot. “Were we this messy?” asked Simon.
“Yes.”
“Mum and Dad would be proud of us.”
Mattie raised her eyebrows. “How so?”
“Family was so important to them. We’re in our forties, and we’re sitting here out of choice rather than obligation. We’re friends as well as siblings.” Simon grinned. “Despite you blaming me for everything when we were kids.”
Mattie laughed. “You were an annoying brother.”
“And you were a fiery, argumentative, stubborn sister.” He raised his mug. “You’re still all of those things, so I’m not going to ask if you’re doing okay because you’re not, and I can’t be bothered to argue or listen to your usual ‘I’m fine’ bollocks.”
Mattie winced. The tension was back in her head again. She knew she looked dreadful. She’d caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror earlier. Haggard. Sunken eye sockets. Dulled eyes. Pallid skin. Something needed to change. No, not something:someone. She had to change. ”I’m not doing okay,” she said in a small voice. “You’re right.” Her mouth contorted, but it barely formed a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Too late. It’s already gone.” Simon met her gaze with an acuteness she couldn’t remember seeing before. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Work out how to stop self-destructive Mattie before she runs out of control?” she said dryly. “Turkey...broke me. There was Kenya. And before that...” She stuttered to a halt.
“Go on.” Simon’s smile was reassuring.
She tucked her legs up on the sofa. Fuck, saying this out loud was hard. “I haven’t felt right since Mum died.”
Simon rubbed his face. “Dad passing away was hard enough. Losing Mum...” He shook his head. “That was the worst.”
“You managed better than I did.”
“It’s not a pissing contest,” Simon said, but there was no malice or anger in his tone. “I remember the flowers, how damn chilly it was at the crematorium, and people shaking my hand tightly, as if that would convey everything. And it did, in a way, because four years later, I remember those gripping hands more than anything else.”
Now Simon had said it, she remembered that too. Mostly, she’d felt numb. Deaf to the kind words people said and wrote, dumb when it had come to reading the eulogy. Julie had stepped in for both of them. “Seriously, how did you manage?”
“I had Julie and the kids to keep me going.” Simon shrugged. “And I had some sessions with a grief counsellor.”
Her eyes widened. “You?”
“It was Julie’s idea, one of her best.” He gave a wry half-smile. “Not what I called it at the time, mind. We men aren’t exactly versed in talking about or sharing our feelings. Truth be told, I was so low after Dad died, and I don’t think either of us could face me being like that again.”
Mattie’s breath hitched at the thought of Simon allowing himself to be so vulnerable, so exposed. “Did it help?”
“A lot. It helped me understand what I was going through and gave me a safe space to talk through stuff without overwhelming Julie or the kids with it. The therapist taught me various coping strategies, and I did some CBT sessions as well.” Simon shuffled around to face her. “Are your friends worried about you?”
Mattie flicked her gaze up to him and away again when she saw his knitted brow. She nodded.
“So are we,” he said.
She exhaled. “Could...could it help me?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Simon drained his mug of tea. “Call them now while I deal with the racket the kids are causing upstairs.”
Office hours were long past, but Mattie dialled the number for the therapist she’d seen a few times after Kenya.Worldwide Newshad paid for the sessions and insisted they were compulsory. How many had she managed? Five? Six? Somehow, she’d inveigled her way out of being forced to do more. Mattie grimaced. Shona had been right when she’d accused Mattie of taking short cuts. They rarely paid off in the long term. There was no quick fix to her problems and she needed to do things properly this time. She listened to a recorded voice telling her that the practice was now closed but to leave a message and someone would return the call as soon as was practical. “Hi. This is Matilda Elliott calling. I used to be a patient with the practice. I wonder if I could book a new appointment, please?”
There, she’d done it. Nell came to mind. Mattie allowed the image to linger, even though it came with a bucketload of guilt. What kind of woman was she when she hadn’t even let Nell know she was back in the country?A scared, lost woman. She wanted Nell so very, very much. Nell deserved the best, far more than the mess that Mattie was currently in. Maybe, if she could sort herself out, she could become someone who deserved a woman as loving as Nell. But what if she couldn’t? And would Nell be willing to wait for her, even if she couldn’t promise she’d ever be good enough?
Chapter 35
