‘He’s been out there a lot ever since …’
It feels suddenly unbearable to be in this house with thiswoman, their past tensions and their shared loss making the air thick and oppressive. How will they get through the next few days together? And does Tilly really have the strength for it?
Then Ellen turns around on the spot, a smile pinned to her face.
‘I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. I’ll leave you to rest. We’ll eat at seven.’
When Ellen closes the door behind her, Tilly has the distinct feeling that she’s been banished to her room.
Over dinner Ellen gives no sign of bringing up the talk she mentioned in her messages. They stick to safe subjects: the grandchildren, the recent weather, which neighbours have repainted their houses, and Tilly’s recent travels.
There’s a moment when Ellen is serving Tilly a second helping of pot roast and it strikes her that Ellen’s eyes are the exact same shade of blue as Joe’s, and something inside her softens, wanting to reach out for her hand. But she holds back, Ellen deftly moving the conversation to her upcoming hiking holiday with friends, never betraying any real emotion.
Hank goes up to bed early, kissing Ellen on the cheek and giving Tilly’s shoulder a squeeze, his expression weary.
Tilly and Ellen are left alone, cleaning up together mostly in silence.
‘Well, goodnight, then,’ Tilly says once the dishwasher is loaded and the table is clear, the dogs snoring in their baskets in the corner.
Ellen runs a tea towel through her hand. ‘Tilly, I …’
‘Yes?’
She meets Ellen’s eye, and for a moment her mother-in-law’s expression softens. But then she stiffens again, folding the tea towel neatly and hanging it over the handle of the cooker.
‘Goodnight. Hank and I tend to go out early for a hikein the mornings. I know that’s not really your thing. So help yourself to breakfast.’
It’s only when Tilly is about to turn off her light after reading a couple of chapters ofLetter from New Yorkthat she realizes she has left her phone downstairs. She pushes the cover off and leaves the room, stepping into the darkened hallway.
She pauses when she sees a light on in Joe’s childhood room. With careful footsteps she edges towards the light. The door is still ajar and through the gap she can see Ellen, sat on the bed with a framed photo in her hand. Her eyes are red and Tilly is about to turn away when the floorboard creaks and Ellen looks up, her expression momentarily unguarded. Her mouth opens as she spots Tilly.
‘Oh,’ she sniffs, lifting a hand to her face.
‘Sorry, I was just getting my phone from downstairs.’
‘OK,’ Ellen says quietly, her gaze returning to the photo.
Tilly hesitates.
‘I always liked that photo.’
Ellen looks up again at the sound of Tilly’s voice. The picture shows the whole Carter family stood beside the family boat when Joe must have been around twelve.
‘Joe had a framed copy on his desk.’
Ellen’s eyebrows raise, her head tilting slightly. ‘He did?’
‘He had loads of photos of you, all around the house. He missed you.’
‘We missed him,’ Ellen says with another sniff. ‘Wemisshim.’
‘I know. I do too.’ So much that it feels as if her heart is being crushed inside her chest.
If Joe were here they probably would have all stayed up late, drinking and talking, because Joe always found a way to smooth things over, even if there had been disagreements. He did it that Thanksgiving, persuading everyone to go foran impromptu and freezing dip in the lake, which broke the tension and ended with everyone huddled around the fire in their PJs drinking hot chocolate. But Tilly is no Joe and she hesitates in the doorway, unsure whether to stay or leave.
Ellen takes a deep, faltering breath. She places the frame carefully back on the nightstand and smooths down the covers, straightening the threadbare toy dog resting on the pillow.
‘I’m thinking of turning this into a craft room. I probably should have done it a long time ago, really. It’s been years since he left home but I suppose I kept it like this in case …’
