‘Yes.’ I blow the air out through my cheeks. ‘I thought I was the only one with Mum and Dad abandonment-relatedheadfuckitis.’
‘Nope.’ Alex grins. ‘Metoo!’
‘Well, it’s better you realise it’s wrong now before starting afamily…’
‘I know. I think that’s what made me decide. She’s packing her stuff uprightnow.’
‘Oh my goodness. Was sheupset?’
Alex looks thoughtful. ‘She seemed more upset when I confessed that I didn’t really likeThe Big Bang Theoryas much as I had beenmakingout.’
‘Alex!’
Iknewit!
He grimaces. ‘I know. Then seeing you head off to Manhattan on your own. It just made me think… what’s outthere?’
‘A lot,’ I say, my head flashing with images of New York making my chest pang in a weird way. ‘So, so much, Alex.’ I stand up and pour us both a glass of water from the jug at the end of Birdie’s bed. ‘I guess I won’t have to move into the box room then,’ I remark, taking a sip of water. Last week I would have been thrilled about that. But it seems so small-fry now. Who cares about a box room? I feel like a differentpersonnow.
Alex takes his glass from me. ‘Well that’s the thing, Olive… I… I was thinking that maybe we should sell thehouse.’
My eyes widen. Gosh. This is the last thing I expected Alex to say. The house in Saddleworth is our sanctuary. The last remaining evidence of the life we had before our family fell apart. It’s our home. The thought of no longer living there, of no longer sleeping in my childhood bedroom is… no longer as scary as I always thought itwouldbe.
I plonk back down onto the chair, a sense of freedom floats over me. Sell the house? Alex doesn’t even have to convince me. I’m as sure as I’ve ever been about anything that it’s the right thingtodo.
It’s time tomoveon.
* * *
After Alex leavesto start making plans for his life without Donna, I spend the morning sitting with Birdie, willing her to be okay. I switch between crying so much that one of the nurses pops her head round the door to see what the wailing noise is, to singing songs from our university days, telling her jokes and relaying all my tales from Manhattan. I re-read her letter a million times. I read it to myself, I read it out loud, I read it so many times that I soon know it off byheart.
My phone continues to beep like crazy with texts from Colin who has become somewhat creepy in his efforts to find out if I am okay, and if I have received his memes, both of which seem of equal importance to him. I spend thirty minutes crafting a text that tells him I’m not looking to embark on anything romantic right now because I have other priorities, but that I hope we can be friends. I feel guilty as I press send but, even if Birdie was completely well, now that I know what real, whole-hearted attraction feels like, even if it was with somebody I’ll never see again, I know that that’s not what I felt for Colin. Despite hissideburns.
He doesn’ttextback.
I try not to think too much about Seth either. Now that I’m here, back in real life, it seems daft that we should stay in touch. I texted him back to say thank you for his nice message about Birdie, but otherwise I’ve left well alone. What would be the point? Nothing could ever come of it. We’re on opposite sides of the world, for goodness sake. And right now, I don’t have space to be thinking about anything other thanBirdie.
At lunchtime, one of the nurses enters the room to tend to Birdie, changing her tubes and sheets, making sure she is clean and in a fresh gown. As she potters about the room, preparing everything, I burst into tears again. I can’t help it. This isdevastating.
‘You might as well go for a coffee,’ the nurse says kindly, ‘I’ll be about an hour or so and we don’t usually allow visitors in the room at thispoint.’
‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing I can dotohelp?’
‘No, love. You get gone. You might want to get home for ashower?’
She says it kindly, but she’s right. I must stink. I’m in the same clothes I’ve been wearing since myflight.
Alex took my cases back to the house this morning, so I grab my bumbag and head home to getcleanedup.
* * *
After a long,hot shower, I get dressed into jeans and a soft green jumper, pack a bag with some water, face wipes and a nice hand cream for Birdie and head back to the hospital. On the bus there, in my foggy, jet-lagged state, it occurs to me that it’s Monday already. Which means last night would have been Seth’s first show as a cast member onSunday Night Live. I shouldn’t watch it. I definitely shouldn’t watch it. It’ll make me miss him and I don’t want to miss him, Ican’tmiss him. Hmmm. Maybe I could just watch the first fiveminutes…
I pull out my phone and my earbuds and search the internet for somewhere I can stream theepisode.
As the bus trundles along the streets of Greater Manchester, five minutes turns into a lot longer as I watch Seth, handsome and self-assured, introduced as the newest cast member of one of the biggest shows in theworld.
I smile and chuckle lightly as he appears as an overly positive old guy on a broken funfair carousel ride and then in the next sketch as an Italian teenager in an arthouse black and white film. He doesn’t mess up once! He doesn’t flake out, he doesn’t even look slightly nervous! He looks like he belongs on thatstage.
