I swallow. Not now. I can’t do this now.
‘Later, Mum. Please.’
Then I turn and run. I can hear her voice floating after me, but I close my ears. I want to scream and shout and throw myself on the floor in a ball and I still can’t cry.
On automatic pilot, I queue up at the bus stop and wait my turn to board the bus to the beach.
Chapter Nineteen
I’m reading through my handout for the umpteenth time, trying to practise in my head how I’m going to deliver it to the nine people that are attending my inaugural photography evening.
‘Are you all ready?’ Milo is standing in the café doorway. ‘I’ve parked up the van where we said, next to the barbecue so the food and drink are all together.’
‘No. I’m wishing I’d never got myself into this.’ I avoid his eye contact and shuffle my stack of handouts.
‘Don’t be daft. That’s nerves.’ He takes the top sheet of paper out of my hand and scans it.
I’ve a heading for each one of the points we’re going to cover and a paragraph with some explanation for each one.
-Playing with reflections
-Include a focal point
-Burst mode to catch action
-Keep your eyes down. What treasure is under your feet?
-Vibrant colour or monochrome. What works best?
-Using the weather to your best advantage
‘These look great. I quite fancy joining in with you, but then you’d end up with no food.’
I pick up my spare handouts and count them before putting them down again. ‘Do you think it’s OK?’
‘Stop worrying. You’re going to be amazing.’ He gives me a smile. ‘I’m going to set up. Take a breath. It’ll be a brilliant evening.’ He pulls me into a hug. ‘And if everything goes pear-shaped, the food will still be delicious. So, you don’t have to worry about that.’ He gives me a cheeky wink and he looks so like his brother it hurts.
‘Ha. Ha.’ I push him towards the door. ‘I’ll help you get set up. Come on.’
We move a couple of the picnic tables to create more of a flow. I would have moved more, but they weigh a tonne. Milo starts to set up the barbecue. I dusted it off and cleaned it yesterday, so it’s ready to go.
‘How’s Jackson?’ I ask, holding open a bag of charcoal so he can scoop it out. It’s been over a week since I was at their house. I’d hoped Jackson would come to me, but there’s been nothing. No texts or phone calls. The longer the gap grows, the harder it is to think about making the first move. This is the first time I’ve had the courage to even ask Milo about him.
‘He’s still not been in contact then?’
I shake my head.
‘He’s a fucking idiot,’ says Milo, under his breath as he evens out the coals. ‘I thought he would have, Ellie. I’m sorry.’
I wave my hand as if it doesn’t matter and try to ignore thefact it’s tearing me apart inside. ‘It’s fine. But is he OK? After your mum spoke to him?’
Milo swings his gaze towards the sea and pauses for a second. ‘Honestly. He’s still not quite himself and I don’t know how to help him. He needs to learn how to talk and not bottle things up.’ He sighs and returns his attention to the firelighters.
‘How’s your mum?’
This time, he looks directly at me when he answers. ‘She looks tired, but I don’t think she’s in too much pain. I don’t know how much longer we can cope at home, and that’s something else Jackson has to face. We’re going to visit the hospice tomorrow afternoon. Mum wants to.’ He turns back to the barbecue, effectively closing the conversation.
I take the hint and walk away from him back to the café.
