From the first mouthful Tilly knows she will never eat pesto from a jar again.
‘Wow, this is delicious,’ says Tiff. ‘We thought about havingpasta at our wedding but my mum said you couldn’t serve pasta at a wedding, didn’t she, Tim?’
Tim looks up, mouth full of pasta, and nods.
‘When did you get married?’ Tilly asks, scooping another heap of pasta on to her fork.
‘A month ago,’ says Tiff, fiddling with her large sapphire and diamond engagement ring and shiny platinum wedding band.
‘I can’t believe it’s already been a month!’ says Tim.
‘We got married back home in Colorado but we’re travelling through Europe for our honeymoon. Are either of you two married?’
Under the table Tilly’s thumb reaches instinctively for her ring finger, only to remember that she took her wedding ring off for the pasta making and forgot to put it on again after her siesta. When she glances up, Harper is looking at her, a strained expression on her face.
‘No, we’re not,’ Tilly says quickly. ‘Now, tell us more about your wedding.’
As Tiff and Tim launch into a detailed description of the floral arrangements and what everyone wore, Tilly nods along, trying her best to look interested. Harper nudges Tilly’s knee with her own beneath the table.
The rest of the evening passes smoothly, wine bottles passed back and forth and home-made raspberry and pistachio semifreddo carried out once the pasta plates have all been scraped clean.
Throughout the meal Tilly sneaks glances at her sister. She chats animatedly with the others in the group, telling them about her job and the article she is writing about experiential holidays. To anyone else she must appear her usual chatty self. But Tilly isn’t just anyone; she’s her sister. And now she knows to look for them, all the signs are clear that there’s something going on.
31
On the morning of Joe’s death anniversary, Tilly wakes at sunrise after a bad dream. In it, she and Joe have been fighting.
‘You’ve never understood … Did you stop for one moment to think what I might want…’
Sweat clings to her hair. The house is silent, her room still dark. She immediately knows two things: that she won’t be able to get back to sleep, and that she needs to get out of the house. Right now. Perhaps she will be able to breathe outside.
The valley and hills surrounding the farmhouse are bathed in a peach glow, the sky a hazy lilac. She sets off at a quick walk, her trainers scuffing against the dry, dusty earth. The smell of lavender rises on the air as she makes her way through the kitchen garden, heading to a track that cuts through the sunflower fields to the nearest village. When she reaches the border where the farm becomes countryside her walk becomes a jog.
With each footstep an image from the dream flashes through her mind.
A table laid for Thanksgiving dinner.
Joe’s face, forehead creased as his eyes meet hers.
Her running alone through a garden, needing to get away …
She tries her best to push the images aside but she can’t stop going over them. Because it isn’t just a dream. It’s a memory.
When her chest starts to ache, she pauses to rest on a half-tumbledown stone wall facing a field of sunflowers, stretching as far as she can see. Bees hum and a gentle breeze catches the strands of her hair, carrying with it the scent of citrus.
‘Joe,’ she says in a choked voice. ‘How has it been a year? A whole year without you. How is that possible? It still doesn’t make any sense. I keep expecting you to turn up, like it’s all been some terrible mistake. I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could talk to you about those fights …’
In an instant she is back in the dream, in Connecticut at the house where Joe grew up.
The table is laid, with mashed potatoes and green beans, a turkey and a pumpkin pie resting in the centre. Joe is leading her to the table, squeezing her hand. In her pocket she can feel the rub of the engagement ring that she has resisted wearing since arriving, so that Joe can have this moment, surprising his family with their happy news. As they take their seats he looks at her and grins.
‘Mom, Dad, everyone, we’ve got some great news to tell you. We’re getting married.’
He nods at Tilly and she slips the ring out of her pocket and on to her finger, flexing her hand so they can all see the proof winking in the light.
Ellen looks at them, a frown creasing her forehead.
‘Really?’
