I press my hands into the warm dry earth.
‘I’m sorry,’ I blurt out eventually. ‘I’m sorry for calling you a self-satisfied bitch. I was so annoyed at you that day. And while you were sometimes – let’s be honest – a bit of a bitch, you were never, ever self-satisfied. Which must have taken incredible willpower considering you were the best person on planet earth.’ I pluck a strand of grass from the ground and run it through my finger and thumb, twisting it up into a little ball. ‘I’m sorry that we argued. I’m sorry I didn’t stop you from getting in your car when you were angry and distracted. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to turn up here. Just … I’m sorry.’
I get an image of her face, sharp discerning eyes twinkling with humour. I know exactly what her reply to my apology would be.
If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to wallop you.
‘Sorry for saying sorry,’ I murmur with a laugh, using the heel of my hand to wipe my cheek. ‘And just in case me snotting all over you didn’t make it clear enough – I miss you. God, I miss you, Jo. I miss you singing jingles in the mornings and never needing a coffee to get going. I miss us getting the giggles over things no one else in the world would possibly find funny. I miss listening in to other people’s conversations in cafés with you, especially if there was a hint of drama. I miss how pumped up you got when you saw a dog with an underbite, and how you always said thank you to the bus driver, even though that’s not the done thing in London. I miss how every single experience in life, from a party, to queuing at the supermarket, to watching theregional news on a Tuesday night felt more exciting when you were there. Like the fact that you had chosen to be there made the whole thing worthwhile. I miss you looking at me like I made you feel that way too. I miss you showing me how to be braver. Leading the way, believing in me enough for the both of us.’ My breath hitches. I look down at her name etched in the stone and my bottom lip trembles.
Josie Bickerstaff
Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend
‘Fuck.’ I stifle a sob. ‘I’m going to try to do that for myself now. Be braver. Give it some oomph. I’ve been testing it out a little recently and you were right. Being brave is really hard. But every time I do it, I feel a tiny bit more like myself. Just like you said I would. I want to be the Gertie you saw in me. I’mgoingto be the Gertie you saw in me. I promise. No more burrowing away. No more settling for the sake of peace. I hope you get to see me trying, Jo. Wherever you are.’
As the tears stream down my increasingly sunburnt face, I close my eyes and allow myself to fully long for my sister. To sit with my grief. Give it space. Let it roam into every corner of me.
Ouch.
I manage about thirty seconds before I have to shove the feeling away.
Thirty seconds is something.
Thirty seconds is a start.
I climb to my feet, brushing the brittle grass off myknees and peering up at the sun from beneath my hand. ‘I should go,’ I say with a sigh. ‘I’m getting crispy. Plus, River’s waiting. I’ll tell you all about River next week. I’d say you wouldn’t believe it, but I know you probably would have. The word “impossible” was never in your vocabulary. All right then.’ I lift my hand in a wave. ‘I love you, Jo. And I miss you. See you soon.’
I lean the chamomile bunch neatly at the foot of her grave. And as I head back towards River a warm, pleasing sensation dances lightly through my chest.
I think it’s relief.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
‘Bloody hell,’ I say as we turn onto my road. ‘What’s Henry doing here?’
He’s waiting on the doorstep, handsome as ever in a crisp white shirt and neat grey trousers. Sunglasses on, hair arranged just so, shirtsleeves pushed up to show off those knockout forearms.
‘You want me to get rid of him?’ River asks, opening the car door. ‘’Cos I’d be more than happy to—’
‘No, no. It’s fine. I’m okay. Weirdly okay, actually. Quite neutral, in fact.’
‘Hi Henry,’ I say neutrally when we reach the front door. ‘Can I help you on this fine morning?’
Okay, maybe not so neutral.
Henry takes off his sunglasses and looks River up and down with a smirk. ‘You two living together now? That was quick, Gertie, I have to say.’
‘Why are you here?’
Henry holds up his hands. ‘I just came to see if you were doing okay. I’m glad to see that you clearly are.’
‘Is that all?’
Henry shoves his hands into his pockets. ‘Look, I’m sorry for not telling you about Marisol, okay? It’s just … Youturned up at the party at the last minute and Marisol had been invited independently of me. Let’s face it, Gertie, you’ve hardly a history of being able to control your emotions. I didn’t want it to ruin Jim’s birthday, and that’s why I didn’t tell you. But I wasgoingto, of course.’
‘You’ve got some nerve,’ River growls, and I realise I haven’t heard him use that angry tone of voice since the first day he arrived. ‘I’ve met some assholes in my time, but you take the cake. The biscuit.’
Henry rolls his eyes. ‘Perhaps we can talk somewhere private, Gert? This is all becoming a littleLove Island, don’t you think?’
