by Fiona Lucas
“I suppose that’s reasonable, but . . .”
“But?” Anna prompted, not allowing her surprise at Gayle’s agreement to show.
Gayle looked her straight in the eye. “I suppose I don’t want you to replace him. I don’t want you to forget him.”
Anna leaned forward, tears suddenly hot behind her eyeballs. She wanted to reach for Gayle’s hand but wasn’t sure it would be welcome. “I will never forget Spencer,” she said, then had to pause for a moment until she was able to speak again. “Could you?”
“No!”
“Then why do you assume I will?”
Gayle flashed that fierce but brittle look that Anna was starting to recognize. “But it will be like replacing him if you do find someone new, won’t it? There will be another man beside you at family functions, another man sleeping on his side of the bed.”
“You have a new baby to fuss over and love, to take a gazillion snaps of to fill new photo albums. Does that mean you’ll love the son you lost less?” Gayle pressed her lips together and shook her head. Anna handed her a napkin from the holder on the edge of the table. “And neither will I,” she said, then reached for a napkin herself and blew her nose. “I will always love Spencer. Always!”
Gayle dabbed under her eyes with a corner of the rough tissue. “He’ll always be your first love,” she said nodding, not really asking a question but stating a fact. “And you’ll never love anyone the way you loved him.” She looked at Anna with a mixture of hope and desperation in her eyes. “Because they won’t be Spencer. They won’t be him.”
“No,” Anna said, acknowledging the truth that no one ever would quite be like Spencer, while at the same time her last conversation with Brody came back to haunt her.
I can’t feel about you the way you want me to . . . Because you’re not Spencer . . .
Was that what she really wanted? Always to know the best was behind her? She brushed the thought away and turned back to her mother-in-law.
“If we can, I’d like to put this behind us. And I’d like to remain part of your family because . . .” She breathed in, staving off the tears. “. . . because I love you all, and I know that’s what Spencer would have wanted. But we’ve got to start cutting each other some slack, Gayle. Are you willing to do that, no matter what we’ve said and done in the past? Can we try and start again, let our love for him keep us together instead of pushing us apart?”
At that moment Teresa arrived with a tray of cappuccinos, muttering something about incompetent staff and temperamental coffee machines. She put the tray on the table, sat down and looked first at Anna then at Gayle. “Well?”
Anna looked at her mother-in-law too, aware Gayle had yet to answer her question.
“Yes,” Gayle said. “I can do that. I’d like to do that . . .”
Anna rose and gave her mother-in-law a hug. Gayle, rather than being stiff and cold, softened a little and patted her, just once, on the back. Anna smiled as she pulled away and gave Teresa a sneaky wink. Oh, she had no doubt it wouldn’t be smooth sailing with Gayle here on in, but she’d staked out her boundaries, quite effectively, she thought, and she was pleased about that.
Little Spencer gurgled at that moment, and instead of sitting down again, Anna went to crouch by the side of his stroller. “Hello there, young man,” she said, grabbing his foot lightly and giving it a little wiggle. The baby turned his head and gave her a beaming smile.
For a moment, Anna couldn’t do anything but stare at him. There was a cheekiness in his expression, a twinkle in his eye, that was so familiar. “Oh, my goodness!” she said, turning to Teresa and Gayle. “He really does look like Spencer!”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
She was already waiting for him in the coffee shop when he got there. Brody walked over to her table. She looked up as he drew close. “Hello,” she said.
“Hi.”
“Long time no see.”
He nodded.
“What has it been? Five years?”
“Six, I think.”
Katri motioned for him to sit opposite her. Her blond hair was loose around her shoulders, shorter than he remembered it, but her blue eyes were as sharp and observant as they’d ever been. “You look well,” she said, with her customary forthrightness.
“Thank you.”
“You weren’t in a very good place last time we met.”
“No,” he replied. “I wasn’t. And it only got worse . . .” He went on to tell her his story: the cottage, the isolation, everything.
She let him talk, and when he’d finished, she reached out and touched his arm. “Oh, Brody.” That’s what he’d loved about her once, that alongside the no-nonsense approach to life, she was warm and compassionate.
“But I’m here,” he said, gesturing to the café, which sat on the edge of Richmond Park, and despite the damp Wednesday morning, was half-full. “I’ve been seeing someone—a professional. I realized I needed to let someone help me, that maybe there were some things I could do with talking about.”
Katri put her coffee cup down and gave him a Well, yeah! kind of look. He couldn’t help laughing softly. It was good to remember that it could be this way between them. The last couple of years of their marriage had been filled with tears and arguments, angry silences.
“I’m glad you got in touch,” she said. “Especially about today.”
He nodded. “I wanted to be here. I’ve missed too many years.”
“Yes. I was cross with you about that, but now I’m starting to understand.” She paused for a moment and Brody saw the tiny wobble at the corner of her lips, the slight sheen in her eyes, as she said, “She would have been twelve today. That hardly seems possible, does it?”
He shook his head, unable to answer.
“She would have been all grown-up and at middle school,” Katri continued, smiling, even though a single tear was now running down her cheek. “Taking the bus on her own. Giving us attitude—because I am sure there would have been a whole lot of attitude . . .” She trailed off and swallowed.
“I have no doubt,” Brody said.
Katri nodded, then straightened herself. “Peter is coming with me to the cemetery. I hope you don’t mind.”
“No. He should be there with you.” Katri’s new husband had seen her through the last few anniversaries of Lena’s death, through the birthday visits to the grave every January twelfth that Brody had missed, and Brody was grateful to him for that. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be part of this one. “But I think I might wait until you’ve finished before I go to the grave. I need to go alone.”
She nodded. “Maybe next year.”
“Yes, maybe.”
She shifted in her chair, preparing to stand up, and Brody cleared his throat. “I wanted to say . . .”
She stopped moving, looked at him. He held her gaze.
“I wanted to say that I’m sorry. Sorry that I pushed you away. Sorry that I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
Katri was not the sentimental sort, but her eyes filled. “Thank you,” she said. “I think I needed to hear that. But it’s okay, really. I know you tried.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Once or twice.” She sighed. “But it was so horribly painful to even go there—for both of us. Eventually, you just couldn’t face it anymore.”
Brody frowned. “I don’t remember that. I just remember being very, very angry.”
Katri laughed gently. “Oh, yes. You were definitely angry.”
“When I think back to that time, all I can picture is being stuck behind this huge invisible wall, me on one side, everyone else on the other.”
She nodded. “But it’s down now?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “In the process.”
“I’m glad.”
Something behind him caught her eye and she turned to see a man standing outside the coffee shop, looking in their direction. That must be Peter. “You’re happy?” he asked.
Katri smiled a
nd nodded. “I am.”
“Good.”
She stood and grabbed her handbag but paused to put an arm around him and kissed him softly on the cheek before she left. “I’ll text you when we leave.”
He nodded, and when the door had closed behind her, he went to order a coffee and sat back down. He had a bag with him, and he placed it on the table. Inside was a small wooden box. He lifted it out and removed a delicately carved figure from the packing material inside.
He’d wanted to make one of Lena, how he remembered her, with her bright smile and her inquisitive blue eyes, just like her mother’s, but he hadn’t been able to. Maybe one day, but not yet. So he’d made Pip instead. She stared up at him from the tabletop, sword in hand, feet planted wide. She looked ready for anything.
He’d almost finished his coffee when his phone beeped, signaling the arrival of the text message he’d been waiting for from Katri. He slugged back the dregs, put Pip back in her box and left the coffee shop, walking the short distance to the cemetery on the edge of the park.
It was picturesque, as cemeteries go, full of old gnarled trees and lichen-covered headstones. He followed the path round to a particularly pretty part of the gardens, where the graves were smaller, where there were more flowers and photographs and teddy bears. Brody lifted a bunch of yellow and white daisies from his bag and placed them at the foot of a small white marble headstone.
Sorry it’s been a while, girl. Sorry, I haven’t been to see you. I did my best, but it wasn’t enough, I know that. All I can say is that I’m here now.
He stood there, saying nothing, doing nothing, as the rain began to fall harder. He listened to the drops hit the leaves above his head, drowned out occasionally by the pitiful barking of a dog somewhere in the distance. When he was ready, he got the figure of Pip out of the box and laid it down beside the flowers. She would have a friend here now. Someone to keep her company.
Brody stood again. There was no happiness here, no joy to be found. He doubted he’d ever feel complete peace about what happened, but something was shifting, releasing. In that imaginary place he’d avoided for so long—his woodland glade with the pond—a tiny single shoot began to poke through the scorched earth. He took one last look at the words on the headstone, heaved a sigh and walked away. He had one more appointment in London before he headed home, something he knew he needed to do, but really wasn’t looking forward to.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Anna finished the vegetable chili she’d made for herself, setting her bowl down on the coffee table in front of her. It hadn’t tasted as good as she’d wanted it to. But that had been the theme of the day, she supposed. She’d also had a big meeting at BlockTime, something she’d been looking forward to all throughout Christmas. It was really going to happen. She’d given her notice at Sundridge Plumbing and Heating to go to work for them, to oversee both the office and the development of her app. And for almost double her current salary. It was all a bit mind-boggling.
Even though Anna knew this was really huge, that this was a massive step forward, she couldn’t quite seem to get excited about it the way she wanted to. For the last two weeks, ever since New Year’s Eve, it had felt as if something was dragging her down, making her heavy and listless.
She had just got up to go and deliver her plate to the dishwasher when her phone rang. It was Gabi. “You must promise not to judge me . . .” she began.
Anna closed her eyes. “Oh, Gabs . . . What have you done now?”
“I . . . um . . . I phoned Lee’s number a few nights ago.”
Anna’s eyelids snapped open. “Oh, Gabi! You didn’t! That is a really, really bad—”
“No, Anna. Wait! I didn’t call Lee—I called his number. It was late at night and I felt lonely and so I . . . I did what you did.”
“You did what I did?”
“Yes. I called the number, even though I guessed it might have been given to someone new. I thought about what you did and thought that maybe . . . somehow . . . the magic would work for me too. So I waited until midnight and I dialed.”
Until midnight? Anna slapped her palm to her forehead. Oh, dear. Gabi really had got sucked in by this idea, hadn’t she? “And . . . ? What happened?”
Gabi exhaled. “Someone answered.”
“They did?”
“Yes. And we talked. He gets insomnia too. Like me, he’s lonely . . . His wife died. And can you believe he lives in Sevenoaks? That’s only ten miles away!”
This is why she needed to start work at BlockTime as soon as possible and develop that app, Anna thought, to find a safe way for people to meet. Suddenly, she saw very clearly why Gabi had been so wary of Brody in the beginning. “Are you going to keep talking to him?”
“Um . . . I already did . . .” Anna could imagine Gabi wincing as she told her this. “He’s calling this evening because I promised to do some shopping for him.”
“Oh, Gabs . . . Don’t spend any money on this guy! You hardly know him.”
Instead of being affronted, Gabi started to laugh.
“What’s funny?” Anna asked, not sure if she was irritated or confused or a little bit of both.
“He’s not going to scam me!” Gabi replied. “I’m sending him a book of crossword puzzles. He had a hip operation and needs something to do.”
A likely story, Anna thought.
Gabi giggled again. “He’s eighty-three, Anna . . . and very sweet.”
“Eighty-three,” Anna echoed, and then she began to laugh too. Well, there wasn’t much else she could do, could she? She was definitely in no place to judge.
“We’re helping each other,” Gabi added. “Even if he’s not what I expected.”
“That’s wonderful,” Anna said, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized how true that was. Gabi was living proof her app idea could work, even if Gabi had gone about it in her own unique way.
“Also,” Gabi added more seriously, “he keeps talking about his ‘rather nice’ grandson, and I—”
Suddenly, everything went quiet. “Gabi? Gabs?” Anna said, her volume rising. “What’s going on?”
“Turn the TV on! Turn it on right now! BBC One.”
“But . . . What’s this got to do with—”
“Just do it, Anna!”
Anna picked up the remote and jabbed a button to turn it on to the right channel. All she saw were the regular presenters of one of those early evening entertainment shows with features and news snippets, guests and occasionally a live band. A reporter was doing one of those interviews when an actor or singer had something to promote, the kind filmed not in the studio but in a stylish yet anonymous hotel room.
“Why have you told me to—?” Anna began to say to Gabi and then fell silent as the screen switched to a shot of the interviewee and she saw exactly why Gabi had . . .
It was Brody.
Brody was being interviewed in the stylish yet anonymous hotel room.
Anna sat back down on the sofa with a thump. It was similar to that immediate reaction she’d had seeing him at the top of the Shard, only this time it was more like falling, as if the floor had disappeared and the air beneath her was just about to let go and allow her to plummet downward. It was the strangest sensation.
Anna blinked, unable to tear her eyes away from the screen. The reporter had been doing some preamble, saying something about the well-known children’s author revealing the reasons behind his disappearance from public life.
“So, you’re back,” the reporter said. “And so is Pip! I hear you’re working on the final installment of the series and there are murmurings the book will be available to buy next year.”
“Yes, as long as people are still interested in reading it,” he said, and he didn’t actually smile, but something in his eyes made it seem as if he had. Anna practically stopped breathing.
“I’m sure they are,” the interviewer said.
Anna had always liked the woman before but now she wasn’t so sure. She wa
sn’t just interviewing Brody, she was fawning all over him! Look at her, flipping her hair . . .
“What’s taken you so long to get around to writing the final installment in the series?”
“Almost a decade of writers’ block will do it,” he replied.
The shot cut to the reporter, looking thoughtful. “And what brought an end to that?”
“I met someone,” Brody replied, then paused. Anna’s heart began to hammer painfully. “Someone who reminded me how brave and resilient and adaptable human beings can be, how just when we think our story is over, there might still be an unexpected twist, giving us a different ending.”
The reporter liked this. “A happy ending?” she asked, leaning in.
Brody shook his head, in the manner of someone refusing to be drawn. “And that’s what Pip needed too . . . A different ending. I’d written myself into a corner, leaving her stuck in a dark and lonely place, but it suddenly became clear what the solution was—she needed someone else to help her climb out of it. I think we could all do with a little help like that from time to time.”
He and the interviewer began to discuss the reasons he’d stopped writing—the accident and the disintegration of his marriage. Anna stared in fascination. It was so strange to hear that voice and at the same time to see him moving, his expression changing. It made everything seem vaguely unreal. The topic then moved on to the panic and agoraphobia that had marred his life. Anna felt so selfish for having missed it. She’d known there was something wrong . . .
“That’s why I wanted to come forward after keeping silent for so long,” he said. “So many people suffer with anxiety and panic in secret. I was too ashamed of what was happening to me to tell anyone, so I struggled alone, and things just got worse and worse. It’s important to talk about mental health issues, so that people can understand that they’re not alone, that they’re not irrevocably broken. That there is hope. But like Pip, I couldn’t do it on my own. I needed a helping hand.”
“Are you currently receiving treatment for your anxiety?”
Brody nodded. “For more than six months now.”