“Speaking of home stuff, I spoke to Mum the other day.”
I pause midway through tugging up a weed and turn to face the screen. “Really? Like, did she leave a voicemail, or did you actually talk to her?”
“We actually spoke,” he says.
I pull up the weed and chuck it in the bag, using the fork to start digging up the next one, which seems a bit trickier than the others. “What did she say?”
“She was calling about you. She wanted to know if you were okay. Apparently, you haven’t spoken to her since… since it all happened.”
“Or didn’t happen, you mean.” I stab at the soil. “I don’t have much to say to her. But I have sent her a message or two, promising her that I’m fine.”
“Yeah, but she knows you’re not.”
“I am fine.”
“Come on, Freya.” Adrian sighs. “You’re doing amazingly and I’m really proud of you, but you’ve been through a lot. And I know Mum hasn’t exactly been there for us in the past but—”
“You’re on her side now?” I shake my head, finally pulling upthis stubborn bloody weed, shaking the soil off the roots. “What did she say to you to manage that?”
“There are no sides, Freya, and you know that I’m not Mum’s biggest fan. But she sounded genuinely worried, and we’ve both known for a while that she wants to make amends.”
“Her idea of making amends is for us to travel to the Lake District to write poetry with her and Evan. If she wanted to make things better all these years later, she’d have made the effort to come to London once in a while.”
“I don’t think if we went there, we’d be expected to partake in their village poetry club,” Adrian says, chuckling. “We may have to listen to a few verses, but I don’t think it’s mandatory. She says you’re avoiding her calls.”
“She’s correct.”
“Hear me out.” He takes a deep breath and becomes serious for a bit, which is greatly unnatural for him. “The fact that it’s been a few weeks and she’s still hounding you, not to mention me and Dad, just to make sure you’re okay—that has to mean something, right?”
“She’s hounding Dad?”
I feel a lurch of guilt. We don’t really talk about it, but I don’t think Dad ever really got over Mum. He’s never tried dating anyone else and it’s been a long time since she left him for Evan. He says it’s got nothing to do with her, he’s just not interested in the dating game, but we all know how heartbroken he was when she walked out.
Dad wants us to be amicable with Mum. For a while, he’s been saying how important it is that we make amends; he wants his children to have a relationship with their mother. But, even though he claims that he and Mum are on good terms now, he can’t be loving the fact that she’s calling asking about me.
“Dad doesn’t mind,” Adrian says, reading my mind. “He doesn’t want her to bother you if that’s not what you want. Butafter a couple of missed phone calls from her, I decided to pick up and have a chat. She sounds genuinely worried. I think it might be worth calling her. She’s still our mum, you know? She’s really upset that someone did this to you.”
I let out a heavy sigh, wiping my forehead with the back of my glove. “Fine.”
“You’ll call her?”
“I’ll pick up if she calls me.”
“Good enough.” He grins. “I have to head off to breakfast, but let me know how the gardening goes, yeah?”
“Thanks for calling. And, yes, will do.”
“I’m very happy that you’ve found a hobby you’re passionate about. Can I give you a tip?”
“I don’t need any tips.”
“When you touch your face with your garden glove on, you’re going to get mud on your skin.” He waves cheerfully at the camera. “Byeeeee!”
As he hangs up, I peer at the reflection of my face in the blank tablet screen and can see a smear of mud across my forehead from where I wiped it earlier. I roll my eyes in irritation, but I leave it, because it’s not like anyone is going to see it. I stay focused on my weeding and turning the soil, and gradually the border of the patio starts looking much better.
It’s very peaceful here in this little outside space. Matthew and I wasted it. Yeah, it’s small, but with a little work and some bright, colorful flowers and plants, it will be quaint and cheery. We could have sat out here on some nice garden furniture if we’d bothered to buy any and enjoyed our little corner of sunshine. I think I could fit in a couple of chairs and one of those small, round garden tables.
I wonder why Matthew and I never sat out here. I’ve been doing a lot of this: wondering if we’d done things differently, whether the relationship might have worked out. I know that I’msupposed to focus on what’s ahead, not dwell on the past. But in any other area of my life, if something goes wrong, I analyze it, so I know how to do better next time. How to not make the same mistake twice.
