‘You’ve been lucky, you know,’ I tell him. ‘You also have every reason to stop, now.’
‘As you know, it isn’t that easy,’ he says. ‘If it was, I would have done it years ago.’
‘Then get help, Ryan. It’s there if you want it.’
The brief exchange is exasperating, lowering. Part of me wants to scream at him that life is precious; he’s wasting his.
Two weeks after the funeral, Joe comes down for the weekend. But as I watch from an upstairs window as he unloads a couple of suitcases from his car, it looks as though he’s planning to stay much longer.
Suddenly I realise the moment I’ve been putting off has come. Going downstairs, I find him in the kitchen. ‘Hi,’ I say tentatively.
‘Edie.’ His face is pale as he looks at me. ‘I’ve come to stay for a bit. I’m sorry – I should have called you to let you know.’
I’m shaking my head. ‘It’s your house.’ I pause. ‘Can I make you a cup of tea?’
‘I’d love one.’ Going over to the table, he pulls out a chair and sits down. ‘God, it’s like an escape when I come back here.’
‘It’s home, isn’t it?’ I say, putting a mug of tea in front of him, then sitting down opposite. ‘Are things no better with Tara?’
‘She’s moved out.’ He sighs. ‘She told me she was leaving before the funeral. We’re selling the house. I wanted to get away – hence I’m here.’
It’s the biggest reminder yet that this isn’t my home any more. ‘I’m sorry. You’ll need some space.’ I pause. ‘I’ve been looking at properties. I’ve found a cottage I like. I think I’m going to put an offer in.’
He looks taken aback. ‘Please don’t do it on my account,’ he says. ‘There really isn’t any rush.’
‘I’m going to have to at some point,’ I say gently.
‘Can we talk about this another time?’ Joe looks weary.
‘Of course.’ I hesitate. ‘I’m going to go shopping. How about I cook us something later?’
When I come back, as I put the shopping away, Joe comes in. He’s changed into jeans and a well-worn sweater, his hair still damp from a shower.
‘I got some fish,’ I tell him.
‘Great,’ he says. ‘I was going to open some wine. Keep me company?’ he adds.
I hesitate. ‘Why not?’ I watch him go over to one of the cupboards and get out a couple of glasses and a corkscrew. ‘Are you OK?’ I ask gently.
‘Surprisingly, I am.’ He takes them over to the table. ‘The stuff with Tara is horrible, if I’m honest. But I’m lucky to have this place. And at least my grandmother won’t have to see my marriage implode.’ Opening a bottle, he pours a couple of glasses.
‘I think she’d guessed something wasn’t right.’ I take the glass he passes to me. ‘She didn’t miss much.’
‘She didn’t miss anything.’ Joe raises his glass. ‘Grandma, wherever you are, thank you – for everything.’
‘Ditto, Mary,’ I say quietly, then take a sip of the wine. Putting my glass down, I look at Joe. ‘So what happens now?’
‘I’ve taken some time off work,’ he says. ‘I’m wondering if maybe it’s time I took a break – I mean, more than a couple of weeks. I’ve taken on a locum to fill in at the practice, while I figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.’ He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dramatic, doesn’t it?’
‘To be honest, I’ve been thinking the same,’ I tell him. ‘I love the wedding flower business Lucy and I have. But I have the feeling there’s more I want to do with my life.’
‘You could convert the stable and live in it? Or sell it?’ he suggests. ‘Maybe this is what happens with middle-age,’ he half-jokes. ‘We finally realise we don’t have forever. It kind of focuses the mind, doesn’t it?’
‘I think death does that, too,’ I say quietly. ‘There’s no bigger reminder that none of us are immortal.’ I watch him frown slightly. ‘Maybe you could think of something to do with this place. Not just the house, but the garden, too. It’s in pretty good shape now,’ I say.
‘There isn’t just the garden, you know. Grandma owned some fields, too – about thirty acres – and some woodland.’ He nods towards the window. ‘Beyond the garden.’
‘I had no idea.’ I’m astonished.
