I think it will always sting, that she no longer shares these life changes with me first. That any updates I get are watered-down, second-hand. That I’m not the one she goes to raise a glass with now.
Gently, I ask how her mother died.
‘Officially? Pneumonia. But she had dementia. She got it young, apparently. She wasn’t even seventy.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say, even though I have felt pretty hostile towards Rachel’s mother for most of my adult life. But my sympathies are really for Rachel. For the way I know that information will have made her feel.
‘I went and stood outside the church earlier.’
‘How come?’
‘Um, honestly? I don’t know. Closure, maybe.’
‘And did you get it?’
She wraps her hands around her cup. She seems to be sobering up a little. ‘I’m not actually sure. What does closure feel like?’
I just laugh, and shake my head.
‘Hey, you still wear your watch,’ she whispers.
I look down at it, turn my wrist gently over. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘And your ring.’ She raises her eyes to mine. They are still a little weighty from the alcohol.
She’s never brought it up before. I suppose she might have wanted to, and not known how. But I don’t reply, because there is not really a sentence on earth that could cover it.
Fortunately, she doesn’t press me. ‘The funeral reminded me how weird life is. You know: one minute you’re drinking tequila. The next, you’ve got dementia, and then you’re in a coffin. And people will cry for a bit, but then the world moves on. Which made me think...’
She is holding my gaze. My breath kicks in my chest.
‘I mean, take now, for example. I’m thirty-six, and you’re twenty-nine. That’s not really such a big deal, is it?’
‘Rach—’
‘So maybe you and I should just spend the next few years... not worrying about the future till it comes.Ifit even comes. Life is for living, right?’
It’s so strange, to hear Rachel talking like this, saying all the same things I was, five years ago. It’s very unlike her. But a lot has changed since we broke up. And that’s what funerals do for you, I guess.
In the next moment, I feel the press of her palm against my face. Gently turning my head to hers, leaning in to kiss me.
With an almighty effort I push her gently away, get to my feet. ‘Rach, we can’t. I can’t.’
She blinks up at me. ‘But you said before—’
‘That was before. This is now, and you’re... really drunk.’
‘I’ve had coffee,’ she protests, as if this is any sort of legitimate argument. But she says it with such sincerity that I almost laugh.
I look down at her, heart cartwheeling. ‘I don’t ever want to be something you regret in the morning, Rach.’
She tugs her knees into her chest and rests her chin on them, says nothing.
‘Sorry,’ she whispers, after a while. ‘That was lame of me.’
I sit back down, rock gently into her.Don’t worry about it.
A few moments pass.
