I swallow. Rest my hand against the door frame.
‘It’s just that,’ she continues. ‘Well, she’s not been over and she would usually be the one babysitting and…’
‘Alice is fine. She’s got her head down in that article, that’s all.’
She’s quiet, waiting for more.
‘And… it’s complicated. We had a… disagreement over something. We just needed a bit of space to let things settle.’
‘But you’ll make up?’ There is concern in the edge of her voice.
‘Of course. We always do. Even when I’m right and she’s wrong.’
She snorts.
I tap my finger against the doorframe, decision made.
‘I’ll call her tomorrow. Now get some sleep.’
‘Dad?’ She shifts up.
‘Hmmm?’
‘If you, you know… if you like Alice… not just as a friend? I’d be fine with that. Just so you know.’
My heartbeat pulses in my ears. I don’t have the right words to respond. Instead, I say, ‘Get some sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.’
I try to sleep, but the decision to call Alice and what I need to say to her has me kicking off the covers and heading downstairs.
Two coffees down and a bullet point list of scribbles and… I. Have. No. Frigging. Clue. There’d be no way to pretend after this. No going back. Not if I’m 100per cent honest. I grip the pen and cross out the line where, in a caffeine-fuelled haze, I’dlisted all the things I love about her like some lovesick idiot. Like bloody Michael. His name lands on the table; I almost expect to find him standing behind me, holding a cup of tea and wearing a judgemental expression.
Trying to plan out a whole conversation, when I know the minute I see her I won’t get a coherent sentence out of my mouth, is pointless. Mike never had to do that, did he? No. He had time to think about the things he wanted to say. He could have been a bumbling idiot in the flesh, but she never saw that side of him. She fell in love with his words.
His words.
Words.
Words, I know. Words, I spend my day job teaching.
Am I really going to do this? I turn to a fresh page on my notepad, fingers already popping the top of the pen.
Dear Alice,
I’m trying to remember how this all started. When something shifted. What it was that tipped me from just knowing you, to needing you.
Oh Christ. Looks like I am.
48
ALICE
I slide another ink cartridge into my printer, resting on the bay window next to Spidey the spider plant, who I’m coaxing back to life. I’ve printed out every photo, scanned all of Mike’s letters, as well as pages and pages of notes. All of the originals are safe; I know from past experience, that what I’m about to do will get messy. I’ve put my phone on silent so I don’t stop what I’m doing to check each and every notification is a message from Spence. It sits on my bookshelf, screen blank, no vibration, no sound. The space he wanted is growing wider each day we don’t speak.
Butthisis what I need.
Quiet. Focus.
I drag my hair into a messy bun, shift the coffee table to the edge of the room and pick up the encyclopaedia-sized pile of pages. I need to get this article ready to send. My bank account is almost empty; the savings I’d put aside have dwindled to almost zero. I need to get back on track, repair my career and let the world know about Mike.
