“From round here?”
“Hard to say. But we were on the beach.”
He groans. “It’s been a while. Probably won’t last.”
I clear my throat. Lower my voice. “I beg to differ. You were... holding hands.”
Zoë whoops. Warren winces. “Sure it was me?”
“Yep.” I finish my croissant and tea, feel delightedly smug in the face of the room’s communal hangover. I slept longer last night than I have in years. “So that’s something to look forward to, isn’t it? Right. Anyone joining me for a run?”
They literally heckle me out of the room.
•••
I take my fitness addiction to the coast path. Feel the burn of elevation in my calves and lungs. The wind is a swinging blade through the air, mud spinning beneath my feet.
My mind drifts to Callie. I picture her eating breakfast, the children in their high chairs. She’s laughing with her husband about something, wiping flecks of food from the twins’ chins. Her face is radiant, warmed by the sun from a nearby window.
My stomach briefly seizes with jealousy that it can’t be me. But then I remember all the reasons why it can’t. At least this way she’s happy, and for now I’ve found a form of balance.
Ultimately, I know, we couldn’t have done that together.
I fill my lungs with frigid Atlantic air, run on.
89.
Callie—six years after
I stare at the invitation in my hand. “I still can’t believe Ben’s getting married.”
“Will it be weird for you?”
I smile, let a twinge of sadness subside. “Grace will have been gone nine years by the wedding. I think that’s possibly weirder, if that makes sense.”
“It does. Mia’s great, though.”
“I love Mia. And Grace would have loved her too.”
Nearly eighteen months old now, Euan and Robyn are propped up between us against the sofa cushions, bewitched by CBeebies. I reach down, absentmindedly stroke Euan’s hair.
“And the wedding looks pretty cool,” Finn says.
It’s a railway-arch venue in Shoreditch, open bar. Mia works in advertising and moves in terrifyingly hip circles.
“I might use the opportunity to see Mum and Dad for a few days while we’re up that way. Give them some quality time with Euan and Robyn.” Mum’s always nagging me to visit more, and they come to Brighton as often as they can.
Finn smiles, scooping Robyn onto his knee and bending to kiss her head. “Great. Your mum will love that.”
I glance down at the invite again. “I’m a bit surprised they’re lettingkids in, actually. They do know children are legally obliged to disrupt the vows?”
“I reckon Esther had a firm word in Ben’s ear.”
I laugh and reach down to stroke Murphy. He’s up against my knee, chin resting on my thigh. “Probably.”
“Never mind the kids, though, I’m not even sure they should be lettingusinto this wedding. Are we cool enough?”
There’s nothing quite like having children for making you feel like a bona fide grown-up. Our breakneck social life, our holidays—those hallmarks of a child-free life—seem almost to have belonged to someone else now.
