I remember, Nora says.
There’d always be people that would sign up to jump and just stand there, he says, looking over the edge. Psyching themselves up. Counting down, overthinking it. I saw it time and again, Nora; none of them ever jumped. It was the ones who walked straight to the edge who actually bungeed.
Silence, between them, as she listens.
It’s what I did, when I left, Bren says; pushing this thingaround, between them, as if it’s a leftover bite of something they’ve shared, but not finished. And I didn’t regret it, he tells her, I still don’t. I don’t regret not hanging around, wearing a black suit and tie, shaking people’s hands who I’d never met and would never meet again, eating fucking cheese and pineapple on a stick.
It is the first time he has referenced his dad’s funeral, aloud.
Not just to Nora. To anyone.
I didn’t overthink it, he says. I just jumped.
Nora stays quiet, aware, it seems, of how raw this is. How new for him, despite the time that has passed.
Is that what you’re angry about? Bren asks her, remembering her hushed voice in the living room, only hours before.So furious with you, Bren.
One of the things, she says. He has to swap hands, because of the cold; put the other in his pocket. The moon is out, too, amid the stars. A silver-white eyelash in the sky.
Well, for the record, Bren tells her, in case she doesn’t remember: I left because I had to. Because if I thought about it, I never would.
He keeps walking, moon-shadows across the path.
But I did miss you, too, he says. So much, that it was easier to pretend that I didn’t.
A small sound, down the phone, but it’s just her breath. Relief, or confirmation; something thawing between them, as she says yeah. Like a question, or like she knew. She doesn’t embellish, or go into her other reasons for being angry, so Bren doesn’t go into his.
Nora? he says, and she says yes?
How is it that you’re calling me, at this time of night?
With Robin, presumably, close by.
He hears a rustling then, it is loud, disruptive, like she’s flipping a mattress on the other end of the bloody line, butshe’s probably just drawing a blanket around herself, shifting deeper into an armchair.
Because I reallywouldlike you at my wedding, she says, her voice soft. But before I get attached to the idea, I need to know that you won’t get on a plane, Bren, just before the ceremony, or something. Because I want to let all this – weirdness, between us – go, now that you’re home, but I don’t think I can take youbungee-ingout of my life again.
I won’t, he says.
You promise?
I’ll let you track my location, if you like, he says. As long as I can track you back. Kind of weird, otherwise.
I don’t need to track you, Bren.
You sure? It’ll be a hoot, I reckon. Watch me go from my mum’s garden to the corner shop to my bedroom and back. Wild.
He hears her breathe out again. Feels a lightness in himself, as she does; as she says fine, and they both tap their phones in silence, locations accepted on their screens.
So now we’ve cleared that up, she says, my next question is a big one.
You’re not going to ask for my karaoke song, are you?
Laughing, she says no. She’s asking if he’ll be her best man.
The canal ends. He’s on a country road, now. No cars, or buses. Just them.
Robin suggested it but I don’t know why I didn’t think of it, she says, and the words spill out, like she wants to say them before she can change her mind. And it’s also my way of saying I’m sohappy, Bren, that you came home. That you’re here for this. Which I’ve not been all that clear about, I don’t think. So far.
