Surprised, I lower my cup. He’s never told me that before. But maybe, deep down, I already knew.
‘She was braver than me, you see. Sometimes, staying means holding out for changes that will never come. Accepting something that is irretrievably broken, and losing yourself inthe process. Sometimes, the healthier thing is to walk away. Sometimes, you leave with love.’
I stare at him, blinking back a hot rush of tears. ‘Dad. You think I should leave?’
He takes a long time to answer me. ‘I know how much you want to start a family.’
I’ve never made a secret of it: that, to me, a future without kids would be like a picture with no pigment. Not wholly incomplete, but a sense of something missing, always.
I stare into the fire, watching the flames lick and leap. ‘It feels so complicated now. Having kids would feel... like a risk.’
Dad nods, then leans forward to take my hand. He smells of spice and vanilla, the same brand of soap bar he has used his whole life. ‘Then the only question you have to answer is: do you want to be a mother more than you want to be with Josh?’
19.
Rachel
March 2001
People have always thought it’s strange, that Josh and I share a birthday – as if there is something a tiny bit incestuous about it. But when we met, the coincidence felt fateful.
Ingrid disagreed, of course. ‘Two Geminis? That’s going to bewaytoo much.’
‘Too much of what?’
‘Each other,’ she said.
But it never was.
Three months before the day Josh and I are due to turn thirty-one, we are sitting at the bar in the pub at the end of our road when he turns to me and says, ‘Rach, we should talk about what happens. If I... don’t end up making it.’ He pulls a small leather-bound notebook from the inside pocket of his coat, pushing it across the bar towards me. ‘All the important information’s in here. Life insurance, my pension, the relevant stuff about my books, what I want for my funeral—’
‘Josh,don’t,’ I say sharply.
Abruptly, he stops speaking, but I do not move to fill the silence. I just take a long swig from my wine glass, and then another, trying to ignore the way my heart is racing.
Eventually, he says softly, ‘I just want to make sure you’ll be okay. I want you to be prepared. I wouldn’t want it to... break you.’
I turn to face him, heat speeding to my eyes. ‘What are you talking about? Of course it would fucking break me.’
In the gloom of the pub, his gaze meets mine. For a moment we just stare at each other, the shock of our situation reverberating through us all over again.
‘You think if you die,’ I say, ‘I’m going to be worried about finances and logistics and fuckingpaperwork?’
I notice the barman lingering. He’s pretending to dry glasses, but keeps glancing at us, obviously trying to work out who’s done what.
Josh shakes his head. ‘I only wanted to tell you where all the information is. Just in case.’
I grab his hand and grip it, so he knows there is no chance I’m letting him go anywhere. ‘We have to stay positive.’
‘I’m trying,’ he says.
I feel myself soften. The line between dismissal and reassurance is so thin it is sometimes invisible. ‘I know. I’m sorry. I know you are.’
Light glances off the watch on his wrist, my gift to him for his thirtieth last year. A Cartier in steel, the most extravagant present I have ever bought anyone. I saved for months, putting aside as much extra cash as I could from working overtime.
Perhaps, on some level, I was trying to say,This is how much I believe you’re going to make it.
For months now, I have been trying not to dwell too hard on the conversation I had with Dad in his living room last year. I forced my focus away from it, because I had no choice. The only thing I’ve been able to think about is seeing Josh through to his birthday, in three months’ time.
