I shake my head. ‘Ollie cut ties with his father years ago. Ryan was dreadful to him – and to Lexie, too.’
Joe’s silent for a moment. ‘This is none of my business – and I mean that. But after what you’ve just told me, I genuinely don’t understand how you can feel any obligation towards Ryan – or why you would even want him in your life.’
His words sting for some reason. ‘He isn’t really in my life.’ But he still takes up far too much of my headspace.
‘It isn’t your fault that he doesn’t have anyone else.’ Joe gazes at me. ‘Everything that’s happening to Ryan, from the sound of it, he’s brought it on himself.’
As I sit there, my feeling of unease intensifies, wave after wave of discomfort coming at me. But I’m under no illusions any more that my loyalties are screwed up, that for years, you and Ollie have been given mixed messages. It’s clear as day. Painfully clear. ‘You’re right.’ My voice is offhand. I get up. ‘Thanks for the wine.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Joe looks taken aback. ‘Sorry if I’ve upset you.’
‘It’s not your fault.’ I pause, trying to find the words. ‘It’s me – I’m ultra-sensitive when it comes to my family. I blame myself still – for so many things.’ I hesitate, because I’ve been outspoken, too. ‘I’m sorry if I was out of line earlier – about Tara.’
‘You weren’t in the slightest.’ Joe pauses. ‘Are you sure you won’t have another glass?’
I hesitate. ‘I’m exhausted. I’m going to turn in.’
He smiles, a little sadly. ‘Good night, Edie.’
In my room, I sit on my bed; after a strange day, I’m glad to be alone. A tear rolls down my cheek as I feel a wave of self-pity. Will I ever stop feeling like this?
No one understands, I remember you saying angrily, your voice filled with frustration. So many things aren’t important – take what’s in the past, for example. You can’t change it, so there’s no point worrying about it. We should put our energy into the future, into making a difference in the world.
Your words are like a breath of fresh air. I know why I blame myself, why I torture myself with guilt. It’s because you’re not here – but I am. It’s the grief I haven’t dealt with. My anger at myself; my desperate need to find a reason for your death.
A reason I can bear, Lexie.
23
BEFORE
Dear Lexie,
It’s so much easier to understand with hindsight. The evidence was there, our history, in black and white. You, determined to be true to everything you believed in.
After that Christmas, when Ollie went back to uni again, I worried about you. Worried that alcohol had a grip on you the way it did Ryan, that you’d inherited his sickness. In the end, I took a trip to the animal shelter, going from stable to stable until I found you sitting in the straw with three tiny piglets that were nestled against you.
‘They’re gorgeous, Lexie. What happened to them?’
‘They’re orphans,’ you said briefly. ‘Their mother gave birth at the slaughterhouse.’
It was a measure of how alien your world was to me – one where slaughterhouses and the rescue of animals were a part of your everyday. ‘How are you?’ But I didn’t need to ask. I could see the toll it was taking on you.
‘Fine.’ But you didn’t meet my eyes. ‘Do you want to come in and cuddle them?’
Tentatively I let myself into the stable with you; crouched on the floor as one of the little piglets shuffled towards me. Climbing onto my lap, it started to suck one of my fingers.
‘We’re bottle feeding,’ you said by way of explanation. ‘In fact, it’s almost time for another feed. Would you like to help?’
‘If you tell me what to do.’ I surveyed the piglets doubtfully. But in reality, it was easy; when you came back with bottles, the piglets knew what to do.
‘What time do you finish tonight?’ I asked you.
‘Late.’ You finished feeding the last piglet. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I was hoping I could take you out for dinner,’ I said. It hadn’t been my plan, but even under the thick sweater, your shapeless jeans, it was obvious that there was nothing of you.
‘You’re worried about me again, aren’t you?’ Your eyes swung around, gazed into mine.
