Page 72 of One Last Gift

Claire stopped twisting her wineglass and clasped her hands together in her lap. “I wasn’t there for you, or Tom, the way I should have been when you were growing up.”

“Don’t be silly,” Cassie said immediately. “We were perfectly well looked after.”

“Yes, yes, I don’t mean physically. I mean emotionally. I know that I never got close to either of you, in the way I should have. But it was just…so hard.” She took a deep breath. “I was a year younger than you are now, when Abi died.”

Cassie felt a jolt. So young. Or, at least, she still felt young. Young, and a bit of a mess, certainly not ready for kids yet.

“And then I had two children to look after, children who reminded me of my sister and I…well, I broke a bit, I guess. I couldn’t talk about it, didn’t feel like I could admit some of the dark thoughts I was having, so I closed off. I know that. I couldn’t stop it, but I knew it was happening.”

Cassie didn’t know what to say. She watched Claire’s face, lined now, and tried to remember the younger version of her. She didn’t really remember Claire as a person when she first went to live with her. She’d only been five, and all she really remembered was crying, screaming, hiding from Claire when she was called because she wanted her mum, not her aunt. And Tom. Always in her memories, there was Tom, comforting her.

“Abi…” Claire carried on. “You won’t remember this, it was a long time ago, but we were close.”

No, Cassie thought, she didn’t remember. She barely remembered anything before her parents died, and it was something that she hated. The fact that she didn’t know them, couldn’t visualize them as real people.

“We argued, a lot. But we were close. And when she died…” Claire pressed her palms into her lap. “Well. It meant that I wasn’t there for you as I should’ve been, and then by the time I’d sorted my own emotions out, it was too late and I didn’t know how to connect with you. Either of you.” She looked across the street, to the shop Linda and Hazel had disappeared into. “Thank God for Linda. She picked up the slack.”

Cassie tried to figure out what to say. “Look, it’s not one-sided. We—I—didn’t try to connect with you either. I didn’t want to,” she added quietly, hating to admit it. “You weren’t Mum, and even though you never tried to replace her I still wanted her, not you.” That was the way it had always been with her and Claire—their shared history of grief and trauma driving them apart, rather than pulling them together.

“I didn’t try to replace her, but I didn’t keep her memory alive for you either,” Claire said, a hint of bitterness, of self-loathing, perhaps, creeping into her voice.

“I wish I could’ve known them,” Cassie said on a sigh.

Claire’s eyes were overly bright, shining with tears. “I wish you could have, too.” She smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “I was so excited about being an aunt. I helped pick the name Cassie, you know. Tom, well, that was your dad’s choice from the beginning, so your mum got to pick yours. She wanted Christina, at first.”

“Christina?” Cassie asked incredulously.

Claire laughed. “I know.”

“So I have you to thank for my name?”

“I guess you do.” She paused, then picked up her wine, took a sip. “Your dad, he was the kindest person I knew. My boyfriend broke up with me—this was before you were born—and Abi and me, we went out to get drunk and shake it off. But Abi, she passed out early on, so David stayed up with me instead. He was so tired. I still remember it. He was studying for his master’s at the time, I think—they both were. But he stayed up with me, talking all night, until I fell asleep.”

“Really?” She hadn’t heard that story before. She knew her parents had met at university, that they’d gone on to do their master’s in conservation together, because Linda had told her, but she had never really thought of Claire being on the scene too. Which was ridiculous, now she thought about it.

“Yeah. And your mum…Well, she was my best friend.” Her expression flashed and Cassie saw the pain, still there after all this time. “I saw a lot of that in you and Tom. It was wrong of me, but it’s part of what made it so difficult to be there the way I should’ve. Because the two of you, when you were together, reminded me of Abi and me as kids.”

Cassie let her emotions wash through her, didn’t try to block them. She was learning that grief was circular, never really going away, coming around and around again. But each time, she was getting more and more able to deal with it.

“Abi…” Claire continued, apparently on a roll, “she was so full of life, so daring. Always wanting to try new things.”

“Like Tom,” Cassie said automatically, because this part she knew—Tom had inherited her mum’s bravery, her zest for life. She’d heard it so many times, from various people. Tom himself had taken that on board, too.

Claire frowned a little at Cassie. “Like Tom, yes, but…She was like you, too. Or you’re like her, I should say. You know she was worried about marrying your dad?”

Cassie felt a little jolt. “What?”

Claire nodded. “She was so scared about falling in love. You saying that to Hazel, about her never giving men a chance? Well, that was Abi. She almost didn’t go through with it.”

“What, really?” She didn’t know how she felt about that—both that her mum had been scared and that she’d maybe not wanted to marry her dad.

Claire smiled softly. “Yes. But she loved your dad, so much. She was just worried it might be too much.”

Claire took a sip of her wine, and Cassie let that resonate. Scared of loving too much. Sam’s face flashed in her mind, even as she tried to push it away.

“And she was scared of swimming, as a child.”

A memory came, of her mum clapping as Cassie floated in a pool, armbands on. It was hazy, but it was there. So maybe it wasn’t all gone—there were bits of her parents she still held with her.