‘I forgot that he was training to be an architect,’ I say. ‘Wehad a whole conversation about it at one of his and Dan’s house parties.’
The washing machine starts to beep again and Finn reaches past me to turn it off.
‘Thank you,’ I say, squeezing his arm and prompting him to look at me. ‘You’ve really given me something to think about.’
Something positive for a change.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It’s Saturday, one week later, and I’m at work, glad to have a distraction from the swiftly approaching anniversary of my parents’ deaths.
I’m cooking Sunday lunch tomorrow to mark the occasion and I’d hoped that the experience I’d gained might mean that Michael and I would be able to relax together and share some fond memories of Mum and Dad.
But then he went and invited Shirley, as well as Timothy, a friend he met years ago at a social club for people with special educational needs. My parents used to take him three times a week, but he hasn’t wanted to go since we lost them. He’s still in touch with a couple of his friends, though, and of them, Timothy is the closest.
Tomorrow is going to be tough no matter what, but it will be even tougher if I have to entertain people I hardly know, though I’m glad Michael is reaching out to his friends. I just want to climb into bed and spend the whole day with my head under the covers. I’ll be relieved when it’s over.
Sometimes I wonder how Michael is experiencing his grief. He cried when Mum and Dad died, and I’ve seen him cry many times since, but he seems to bounce back from bouts of sadness very quickly, so his periods of anguish seem shorter and more transient. He lives in the present, concerninghimself mostly with what’s happening today or tomorrow or next week. He looks forwards, not backwards, and he has an enviable ability to leave the past more or less in the past.
But occasionally he’ll say something which reminds me that of course, he’s hurting too.
This evening, as I was leaving the cottage, he told me that he misses the Austin Healey.
It was the classic car our parents were driving when they were killed.
His statement knocked the air out of my lungs. Even now, as I think about it, I’m fighting back tears.
‘Why don’t you call it a night, love,’ Chas says to me, rubbing my back. ‘Go on, we can manage here.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m blinking rapidly as I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
Mixamatosis are performing their last song and the space around the stage is packed. Finn is somewhere in the middle of the crowd, watching them.
I try to swallow the lump in my throat as I push my way to the front door. I’m halfway down the steps before the despair welling up inside my chest becomes all-consuming. I want to go home, but I can’t.Myhome, I mean. I don’t want to return to Michael’s.
On impulse, I veer right towards the beach, the sounds of Seaglass carrying through the night air behind me. A cheer goes up as the last song comes to a raucous end, and a few moments later, the stereo begins to pump out another rock song.
My phone vibrates in my bag.
‘Where did you go?’ Finn asks when I answer it, his voice muffled by the bass thumping around him.
‘I’m at the beach,’ I reply.
He ends the call and I turn around, watching with tears in my eyes as he jogs down the stairs and strides in my direction.
‘It’s the anniversary of their deaths tomorrow,’ I tell him in a choked voice as he reaches me, pulling me to his chest.
He cradles the back of my head with his hand and holds me close as I cry.
‘I told you not to be nice to me,’ I mumble against him after a while.
‘Shut up,’ he mutters, releasing me.
We walk in silence towards the shoreline.
‘How’s Michael feeling about tomorrow?’ he asks.
‘It’s hard to know. He answers “fine” to everything. Well, no, sometimes he’ll tell me that he’s “not great”, but in the past “not great” has meant that he’s in terrible pain and needs to be hospitalised for a chest infection, so that says it all, really.’
