by Karen Swan
‘So what else? Niagara, paddle-boarding, sailing . . . ?’
Meg inhaled deeply. ‘Uh . . . so, sunbathing in the park, a bit of clothes shopping, mooching in bookshops, brunches . . . Oh! And we had drinks at Soho House!’
Lucy’s eyes narrowed. ‘What? Like in Sex and the City?’
‘Exactly! They’ve got one in Toronto.’
‘But I thought that was a private club?’
‘It is, but Jack’s got a friend who’s a member there.’
‘A friend?’
Meg shrugged dismissively, closing her eyes and angling her face up as she always did to catch the last of the day’s rays. ‘Anyway, enough about me, how’s everything been here? Badger been good?’
‘No trouble.’
‘I just popped in on Dolores.’
She was staying in the hotel, where Barbara could look after her easily as the doctors had put her in charge of Dolores’s medication schedule. ‘Yeah? How did she seem to you?’
Meg opened her eyes and looked up at Lucy, the bright sunlight carving shadows into her hollow cheeks. ‘Weaker. Older. Frailer.’
‘I know,’ Lucy tutted. ‘And she’s in complete denial, of course. Thinks she can go straight back to how things were before, like any normal seventy-three-year-old woman who’s played fisticuffs with a bear. She’s driving Mom nuts.’
Meg gave a shiver as she remembered it in vivid technicolour. Going to the city so soon afterwards – where the most problematic wildlife was racoons raiding the bins – had helped to dim the trauma of the attack, but being back here, smelling the drift of pines on the breeze, hearing the silence, seeing this big sky . . . She remembered how it had felt to look straight into the bear’s eyes. It had felt like falling into a bottomless crevasse. It had felt like the end.
‘But don’t worry, Mom’s on it. She won’t leave the room till Dolores has cleared her plate.’
‘I’ve been so worried about her. I didn’t want to leave her at all but she insisted I go.’
‘Well, it looks like she was right. You seem . . . refreshed? Rejuvenated?’ She arched an eyebrow. ‘Which one do I mean?’
Meg shrugged. ‘No idea. Right now all I feel is tired. Three and a half hours on the plane and two hours back from Calgary . . . ugh. I’m no traveller, that’s for sure. It’s a bath and early to bed for me tonight.’ She tipped her head back and looked up into the sky again. ‘Oh, but I missed seeing this, though,’ she sighed, her eyes lazily tracking a plane that threaded through the clouds like a needle. ‘In Toronto, with all those high-rises, you just saw it in little parcels and portions and chunks.’
‘Well, at least there’s something we do better,’ Lucy said, unable to keep the testiness out of her voice.
Meg looked across at her and reached out a hand to squeeze hers. ‘And of course I missed you guys like mad. How are you and the bub? No further problems I hope . . . ?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘No, we’re all good. We got away scot-free, it seems.’
‘That baby’s a lucky charm,’ Meg smiled. ‘And how’s Tuck?’
Lucy nodded, unable to keep from rolling her eyes. ‘You know Tuck . . .’
‘What’s he doing?’
‘What do you think?’ Lucy groaned, anticipating another lonely night. ‘The submissions deadline is Friday. Ever since he changed the theme of the film, he’s been behind—’
‘Changed the theme? What do you mean?’
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Lucy asked with a sigh. ‘Oh, yes. As if running the company on his own isn’t enough, now he’s decided to change the film altogether. It’s quite unbelievable how many reasons he has for not coming home.’
Meg frowned. ‘Change it how?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. He won’t tell me.’ Lucy shrugged. ‘Honestly, though, you’d think he was working for Attenborough the amount of hours he’s put in on it.’
‘Well, I guess it’s good that he wants to get it right.’ Meg’s voice was muted and they were both quiet for a moment.
‘I think he can’t bear to finish it, that’s the thing,’ Lucy murmured. ‘When he’s in the studio, I think it’s like Mitch is still there – he can see his face, hear his voice. But once this one’s done, there’ll never be . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘There’ll never be any more films of the two of them. The snow will be here before we know it but there won’t be any more camping trips, no more films. Once he finishes this one, that’s it, it’s really over.’
Meg was staring at the ridge line, a wisp of clouds curling off the top. Her jaw was set but her eyes were sad and Lucy could see that fizzing brightness she’d brought back from the big city dissipating like bubbles in the surf. Meg looked over at her, then away again, as though she couldn’t maintain eye contact.
Lucy shifted on her seat, sensing something.
‘I met a guy out there.’ Meg said the words so quietly, at first Lucy wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly, Meg’s eyes trained firmly on Badger who was staring up at her lovingly, her feet still trapped beneath his warm, heavy body.
‘What?’ Lucy gasped, feeling that she might fall off the chair.
‘I slept with him.’ This time Meg looked straight at her as she said it, as though daring Lucy to disbelieve her.
Lucy’s mouth gawped open as the words rebounded around and around in her head and yet still made no sense.
‘His name is Hap—’ When she saw Lucy’s expression at that, she added quickly, ‘It’s a nickname. His real name is . . .’ She frowned. ‘Actually, I don’t remember it but everyone calls him Hap. His surname is Hazard, so . . . haphazard?’
Lucy could only stare at her.
‘Anyway, he’s Jack’s friend, the one who got us into Soho House. He’s the sales director for an ice wine company in BC,’ she continued, looking more and more nervous. ‘He’s nice.’
Meg swallowed and looked away, ruffling Badger’s head – he had come up to sitting again, alerted by the change of tone in her voice – before looking back at her again. ‘Can you say something? Please?’
But Lucy couldn’t find the words.
‘I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
‘Pleased?’ Lucy almost choked on the word. It was like a stone in her throat.
‘Yes. Ronnie said it was the best thing to do. She said it had to happen sooner or later and that it was better sooner.’
‘Oh, she said that, did she?’ Lucy asked, sarcasm dripping from every word. ‘Because she’s the expert in love as well as everything else? She knows what it feels like to lose the most important person in her life, does she?’
Meg swallowed, knowing perfectly well she already did – they were orphans, after all – but not wanting to go there. ‘She didn’t mean it like that.’
‘No? You swan off for a weekend in the city and become, like, this whole other person and just hook up with some smooth wine guy?’ Lucy said disbelievingly. ‘The Meg I know wouldn’t do that! What about Mitch?’
Meg flinched and Lucy thought it was as though she’d been shot every time his name was said.
‘It’s been four months, Meg! Four! That’s nothing. Don’t you think he deserved a little more respect than that?’ Lucy asked angrily.
Tears filled Meg’s eyes and Lucy watched as she inhaled slowly, as though the very air was like razorblades. Four months was nothing. No time. And he was gone now till the end of time. ‘He’s not coming back,’ Meg said quietly, her voice wobbling.
‘No. But don’t forget him too quick, will you?’
Meg was on her feet at that, poor Badger almost leaping into the air. ‘How could you say that to me? You, of all people? You know how much I loved him.’
‘We all loved him!’
‘So?’ Meg cried. ‘It still doesn’t compare! I was going to be his wife! I was going to have his babies, I was going to share his life,’ Meg cried. ‘Not you. Not Tuck. He was mine. I’m the one who lost everything! I know you and Tuck loved him, Lucy – but I loved him mos
t!’
‘Well, now, it doesn’t seem like it, does it?’ Lucy asked, sitting rigidly in her chair, watching as Meg trembled, her arms and legs like bicycle spokes, her eyes too big for her face, fat tears sliding down her cheeks like raindrops on a window.
‘I-I thought . . .’ Meg’s chest filled up with air, huge heaving sobs rolling upwards, coming out in judders. ‘I th-thought y-you’d understand.’
But Lucy folded her arms, aware of the way they sat ridiculously atop her bump and they stared at one another, the sun glinting off Meg’s head like a polished halo.
A minute passed in silence, a world crashed between them.
‘Come on, Badger,’ Meg mumbled finally, picking up her bag and turning away. Badger immediately, unquestioningly trotted at Meg’s feet, not turning back once to look at her, Lucy, the person who had fed, watered, exercised and protected him for four days. But then, did she expect any better? Wasn’t it always the case, Meg came first?
Lucy watched them cross the courtyard, Meg’s shoulders several inches higher than they should have been, before turning out of sight. Lucy stared at the spot where they weren’t for a long time, her body immobile but feeling everything that she so successfully kept hidden from sight beginning to shift. She wasn’t like Meg; she couldn’t wear her emotions, couldn’t show off her victimhood.
But she was alone now. There was no one here; there hardly ever was. And as the sun finally dipped behind the mountains, casting her into shadow, her tears came too, every bit as hot and every bit as raw.
Wednesday 9 August 2017
From: Jonas Solberg
Meg? Are you there?
Chapter Twenty-three
Monday 23 October 2017
‘Brrrr,’ Meg shivered, pushing the door closed with her bottom and trapping the outside out. She could barely see over the boxes stacked in her arms, her chin holding them in place. ‘It’s freezing out there. It won’t be long now till the snow comes. Did you see the clouds over Rundle?’
She stopped as she bent her knees in a deep squat and dropped the boxes – the new-season snow boots – carefully in a tower on the floor, beside the other eight stacks. They’d all need to be barcoded and priced and then arranged by style number and then size, out back. She was going to be so busy today. ‘I bet—’
She stopped talking as she caught sight of Dolores’s expression. Even sitting in a chair with a tartan blanket on her lap – doctor’s orders – she looked fearsome. ‘You just missed a call, missy.’
Her breath caught. Jonas? ‘Oh?’
‘Steven Pritchard at Kate Spade?’
Meg swallowed. Oh, God. She had all but put that out of her mind. Lucy’s words during their fight all those weeks ago had struck bone and she’d taken a conscious step back from everything Toronto had promised – carefree youth, a career, romance, smashed avocadoes . . . Because Lucy had been right – what had she been thinking, imagining that the way to move on from Mitch was with another man? Imagining she could land a job like that? Her brief flash of self-belief had been nothing but a momentary lapse into madness and she had stepped back from everyone and everything. She hadn’t returned the texts sent by Hap, the emails sent by Jonas, or the messages left by Kate Spade’s office on her landline, hoping they’d get the hint sooner or later. Clearly, for the lot of them, it was going to be later. ‘Look – it isn’t what you think, OK? I didn’t approach them. I didn’t even want to be involved. Someone else put my name forward a while ago. It’s nothing.’
‘How is it nothing? They’re saying they want you to fly to New York to meet them. Something about a redesign?’
Meg shook her head and looked away, feeling as though a weight was pressing down on her chest. ‘I’ll call them back. I’ll tell them I’m not interested.’
‘You’re too late. I already told them,’ Dolores said, not blinking once. ‘That you’re going.’
It was a moment before Meg realized what she’d said. ‘What?’
‘They’ve booked you a flight for Wednesday of next week and they’re going to put you up in some fancy-pants hotel overnight.’
‘Dolores! What did you do that for?’ Meg shrieked.
‘Because you wouldn’t! You’re so determined to come back here and just . . . fester. I don’t know what’s happened to you, girl? When you got off the coach from Toronto, you were like one of those Disney cartoon animals – all bright eyes and a bushy tail. You were telling me how you were going to start this . . . boarding thing on the lakes every day and start travelling more, go and see Ronnie for long weekends . . . But I don’t know what it is with you, you step back into this town and it’s like your lights go out. And all that ambition, all those plans to do something with your life, they just fall away.’
Meg steadied her breath, remembering still all too vividly, word for word, the fight with Lucy. ‘Dolores, I know you’re only trying to do what’s best but I don’t know how many more times I can say it. I’m happy here. I love working with you—’
‘Pfffft,’ Dolores scoffed.
‘I do!’
Dolores stared at her, long and hard. ‘You know you mean the world to me, Meg,’ she said, watching her closely.
‘I know,’ Meg said quietly.
‘And I hope it wouldn’t disrespect your own dear mother if I said you’re the daughter I never had. But if you’re not careful, one day you’re going to turn around and realize you’ve become me! Stuck in this town, wasting your life. And I don’t want that for you.’
‘But what if I do?’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ the older woman said, pursing her lips together.
Meg sighed and punched the keyboard irritably, bringing up her emails. There was one from Jonas – another one. She’d lost count of how many he’d written now and she wished he’d stop – she hadn’t replied, not once, since he’d landed. She couldn’t explain it. She didn’t know why it felt different to correspond with him now he was back on the planet – perhaps space had been the necessary distance she’d needed to feel able to talk honestly and intimately with a person she’d never met. But now that she’d seen his face, now that he was back, now that meeting up was a possibility . . . Now that Lucy had spoken the brutal truth . . .
Her eyes scanned the message quickly. It was brief, and to the point, almost as though he’d known she’d be reading it in the middle of an argument.
Dog-Dog-Ellie,
In one your first emails, you asked what I missed about being on Earth.
But do you know what I miss, now, about being in space?
Talking to you.
J.
Meg felt a cold wind blow through her – fear and panic intermingling. What did it mean? Was it a goodbye? Was he reaching out or giving up?
She turned her back and stared at the towers of shoeboxes, desperate to do something, anything that might stop the black feeling of desolation that was beginning to spread through her. She reached for the barcode scanner kept under the till, and started scanning.
Dolores, watching her agitation, tipped her head to the side. ‘When are you going to tell me what happened with Lucy?’
‘Nothing’s happened with Lucy,’ she mumbled.
‘Do you think I’m blind? She hasn’t been round here once in all the time you’ve been back. All the cookies are still in the jar, for one thing!’ She folded her hands over her lap. ‘What did she say to you? Come on, out with it – although I think I can probably imagine.’
Meg winced, knowing full well she really couldn’t. What would Dolores think if she knew Meg had moved on to another man so quickly? She’d be as disgusted as Lucy had been. More so, probably. ‘I really would rather not talk about it right now.’
Dolores watched her, her handsome face softening as she watched Meg point and beep with studied intensity. ‘I’ve never known you two to go so long without speaking. She’s your best friend.’
‘Was,’ Meg said hotly. ‘Friends don’t . . . they don’t . . .’ But she couldn’t get
the words out, couldn’t bear to remember how it had felt to be accused of betraying Mitch, to be moved down the line and demoted in the long queue of those who had loved him most, because she had tried to take a step forwards.
‘Look, I know she can be . . . prickly, but it’s been a tough pregnancy and the baby’s due in just over a month. She needs you.’
‘She’s got Tuck,’ Meg muttered, although they all knew that was scant consolation indeed. How many times had she seen his car still parked outside the Banff Centre editing studios when she’d been driving through town late at night, the only one left in the lot as he locked himself inside a soundproofed room with a film that was fast becoming a paean to lost lives – his own, as well as Mitch’s?
She changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on what kind of husband Lucy was saddled with; at least she had one. ‘What’s the name of that person who called? I’ll ring back and tell them to cancel the ticket.’
A beat pulsed. ‘I don’t remember.’
Meg arched an eyebrow. ‘Well, can you at least give me the number?’
Dolores shook her head. ‘I didn’t think to take it.’ She tapped her head. ‘My mind isn’t what it was, you know.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Meg muttered with a sigh. ‘If you think I believe that for one second—’
‘What can I say?’ Dolores shrugged stubbornly, rearranging the rug around her legs. ‘Ask the doctors. I’m an old woman.’
Tuesday 31 October 2017
Meg stood in the empty room, looking around with aching arms and a stiff neck, her dungarees on and her hair held back with a torn-up shirt. If she didn’t know otherwise, she’d have thought the bears had got into the cabin, it looked so wrecked; the curtains were off the windows, the rugs pulled up and the paint-splattered floors ready for sanding. Most of the furniture she owned was piled in a heap on the grass with a tarp pulled tightly across it, and she had been sending nightly prayers to the weather gods not to send in either the rain or snow for at least another two days. And she was getting away with it – just; although it was hardly the time of year to decide to redecorate, she hadn’t been up to doing this before now. Her instinct had been to preserve every last atom of the life she’d shared with Mitch, to make a museum of their home, to mummify the past. But with the Kate Spade interview looming ever larger on her horizon – she was flying out to New York tomorrow – and since Dolores had sabotaged her every attempt to duck, dive, weave and bob away from this opportunity, she’d been forced to acknowledge the fact that actually, she was really rather excited. She’d been designing non-stop for almost a week now, having taken time off at Dolores’s urgings to put together a book to show the Kate Spade people, and now she could hardly stop. Ideas were everywhere, inspiration in every glance, and the fizz she’d felt in Toronto was back again. She wanted to create, to play, to indulge, to be free – and Lucy’s righteous anger was becoming more and more distant as the silence between them continued to spread like blood in the snow.