But she knows now what she needs to do. So she doesn’t look back.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
On the first Sunday in July, Mia is waiting for her outside her mum’s house. She’s dressed in denim dungarees, her freckles more prominent, the way they always are in the sun. She smiles at Lissa, lifting her free hand, the other holding a bag of groceries. It’s too hot, really, for a roast today, but tradition prevails.
‘You look awful,’ Mia says by way of greeting when Lissa reaches the front door.
‘Why thanks, great to see you too.’ She actually tried to make herself looklessawful this morning – put on a nice dress, dabbed concealer under her eyes. No fooling her cousin, apparently.
Mia looks her up and down. ‘I take it the weekend away did not go well.’
Lissa grimaces despite herself. She got back from Cornwall nearly two weeks ago now. Ash had come after her on the beach, but she’d insisted on driving home first thing in the morning. Bar the journey to the hospital, following the ambulance, all those years ago, it had been the worst car journey of her life. She kept nearly crying, he kept asking what was wrong, she kept being unable to explain. It ended with a stiff goodbye – and she hasn’t heard from him since. As much as she’s told herself that that’s for the best, that she’s done the right thing, she hasn’t been able to make herselffeelit.
She’s not been sleeping well since, either – she keeps being dragged into nightmares every time she closes her eyes, worse than they’ve ever been before. And they’re not just about drowning this time. She sees her deaths – and his – on repeat each time she closes her eyes. She’s called in sick at work for over a week, sending Darcy vague explanations.
She misses him. They’ve gone longer than this without speaking, but she misses theideaof him, misses texting him, misses wondering when she might be able to see him again. Maybe that shows that she caught it just in time to stop the mistakes of the past repeating themselves.
Although there’s still a part of her wondering why. Why are they destined to meet, to fall in love, to die, over and over? Is this really about punishment? Or is the universe trying to tell them something?
‘Shall we?’ Lissa asks, gesturing at the house. Mia scrutinises her, then nods, apparently accepting that she doesn’t want to talk about it.
The house smells different as they head inside. Something lemony lingers on the air. It seems tidier, too – like there is less clutter.
They find Esme in the kitchen. She smells of that same lemon scent. She’s been cleaning, Lissa realises. And outside the back door, the garden is different too. The lawn seems, if not freshly mown, then at least mown in the last few weeks.
‘Girls!’ she exclaims. ‘Lovely to see you!’ Like it’s a surprise that they’re here as opposed to a long-standing arrangement.
Lissa clocks fresh brushstrokes of paint on a section of the kitchen wall. Teal, light blue, green, over the old whitewash. Is her mum thinking ofredecorating? She sees Mia notice it too, though after a quick exchange of glances they both look away, like it’s something wild they don’t want to confront directly, for fear of scaring it.
They cover the usual bases as they cook – their jobs, the nice weather. As they are getting everything together, Esme announces that they ought to eat outside.
‘It’s such a nice day. And I’ve bought a new garden table.’ She gestures out the back door to where there is indeed a new patio table, complete with chairs. It’s simple – white plastic – but still, this has got to be the first new thing she has bought for the house in years.
‘Sure,’ Lissa says. It’s a little odd, perhaps, to eat a roast outdoors in summer, but what the hell? She thinks of Ash – maybe she’s inherited a bit of hiswhy notattitude. Then she forces herselfnotto think of him, because it only makes her sad. And leads her back to the question of why – why does she find him in every lifetime, only to lose him?
‘Fab.’Fab?Lissa can’t stop another exchange of looks with Mia at this. She doesn’t think she’s heard her mum sayfabin her entire life. ‘Mia, do you mind taking the plates out?’
‘Of course.’ Mia takes the offered plates before stepping out into the garden.
Lissa goes to get cutlery, but her mum stops her. ‘Lissa, wait. I …’ She bites her lip, her gaze darting out to the garden and back again. She lifts her hands to flatten her hair. Nerves, Lissa realises – and feels her own coil in her gut at whatever she’s about to say.
‘Lissa,’ Esme begins again, her tone almost formal. ‘I need to apologise to you.’
‘For what, exactly?’ Lissa asks.
Esme shifts from foot to foot, smooths down the front of her skirt with her palms. ‘I …’ She swallows. ‘I shouldn’t have blamed you.’ Her words are quiet but steady.
Lissa stills – and it’s as if the kitchen itself stills with her. This is not supposed to happen on these visits. They never talk about it. She tries to think of something to say, comes up blank. All she can remember is the last time her mum had a bad turn.
It’s your fault.
‘I couldn’t cope,’ her mum continues, looking down at her feet, encased in white pumps. ‘You know that, of course. But I … I couldn’t face the fact that it wasmyfault. I was the mother, the responsible one. But I …’ She sucks in a breath. ‘You were there.’
‘I know.’ Lissa’s throat is tight as she gets the words out.
‘No, that’s not what I …’ Esme blows out an audible breath. ‘Your dad, he blamed me. And I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t face it.’ Her eyes, so like Lissa’s, flick up now. ‘But I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have made you live with it. I should have been the parent.’ She closes her eyes briefly. ‘I suppose, losing Chloe, it was like I lost that part of me too.’
She’s practised this. It doesn’t have the polished air of most rehearsed speeches, but Lissa can tell she’s been building up to it. For how long? she wonders. And still she can think of nothing to say.
