‘You do the honours, Cee.’
She unclasps the lid. All three of them stare down into its powdery grey contents. It doesn’t take too much imagination for the dog walker to connect the dots.
‘Does Dad know we’re doing this?’ Augie asks.
‘He doesn’t know much of anything any more,’ Cee answers.
‘Just think of this as us liberating her,’ Clara says.
A long silence. Three half-smiles.
‘I can’t believe it’s taken us so long,’ Cee says.
‘Why here?’ Augie asks. ‘Did it mean something to her?’
Both sisters look at him.
‘She took us up here once,’ Clara says. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘No,’ Augie says, quietly. ‘She doesn’t seem the type.’
Cee nods. ‘People can surprise you.’
The siblings share a look, and they huddle together. Then they move away, for privacy, to find the perfect spot. The walker watches from a distance, hears Augie says, bye, Mum. He sees them throw their mother to the wind.
Up here, the kids are taking it in turns to climb the stone plinth. Each boy takes his place, one after the other, and roars as loudly as he can, desperate to outdo the brother before. The girl shakes her head at them. But when it’s her turn, she still begins her scrabble to the top.
The grown-ups have returned, dusting off their hands, wiping their eyes.
‘That looks like fun,’ says Augie, nodding at the children.
Then he takes a long, deep breath, and lets out an evenlonger, impossibly loud howl. The sound echoes, and he ululates the dying notes to make himself sound as wolf-like as possible. The sisters look shocked. The kids are loving it. The walker’s dog is howling in imitation, and the walker himself can’t help but crack a smile.
Augie grins. ‘Your turn, Cee.’
Cee doesn’t look keen. She adjusts her hat, her ponytail, lets out a half-hearted ‘Aaaah.’ Her brother says that won’t cut it. So she grits her teeth, clenches her fists, summons a noise from the base of her diaphragm and bellows, deeply, loudly, a commanding sound that carries. It shuts the boys up. Augie grins. Clara is shaking her head. But the little ginger girl is on top of the plinth now, is holding her eye.
She smiles. She roars like a wild thing. And so her mother roars, too.
an old friend
They’ve known each other for years. And though they haven’t seen each other in months, she knows immediately that it’s him. He always knocks instead of using the doorbell, and even through the fogged glass of the front door, he’s taller than the frame itself.
‘We’ve missed you,’ Maisie says, as she opens the door.
‘I know,’ Seb replies, and he hugs her, so tightly he almost crushes her. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been here.’
Seb says he’s going to stick around, this time. Does Maisie believe him? Her only clue to his recent whereabouts has been the international dial tone on their twice-weekly calls. It doesn’t matter. What matters is tomorrow, the steady step that comes after this one. Finn has taken an interest in his dad’s old team, and next weekend Seb will take him to his first game. When she pictures them in the stands together, Maisie imagines an empty seat next to them. This won’t be the case. The world moves on, with or without her.
‘Thanks for doing this,’ Maisie says, still muffled by his hug.
‘Let’s get it over with,’ says Seb.
Finn is at school, Priya at nursery. The house is empty.On their way up the stairs, Maisie grills Seb on the past few months. While he’s been away, he’s organised constant care packages of sweets and toys for the kids, bouquets of flowers and boxes of doughnuts for Maisie. All ordered online, distinctly lacking in a physical presence. She much prefers this. Talking in person. Finding him decidedly, refreshingly, open.
‘You know where I was,’ Seb says. ‘You must have known.’
‘Sri Lanka,’ she says. ‘The dogs.’
