Written in the Stars

by Ali Harris

  I should be scared of being out here in this storm but I’m strangely calm. It seems right for us to be here now. Like this was all predestined. This meeting, this moment, this weather so like it was that night. In a strange, sick kind of way, it is perfect.

  Kieran stares out to sea and when he speaks his voice is loud above the wind and rain. ‘I convinced myself I was doing something big and brave and important when I joined the Navy. Something that would make me feel close to my brother. But the truth is that I’ve never stopped drifting. The only place I have ever felt anchored is with you . . .’ He steps towards me, his eyes glistening brightly. ‘I am in love with you, Bea. I always have been.’

  ‘Kieran—’ I begin, but he pulls me to him.

  ‘Come on, Bea, let’s do what the universe has been telling us all this time and be together!’

  A flash lights up his eyes and I turn and see lightning slice the sky down to the sea as if it’s splitting the world in two. Immediately afterwards another forked streak of lightning shoots out, like a serpent’s tongue.

  ‘No, Kieran,’ I say softly, putting my hand against his chest as the mists clear and the world becomes one again. Kieran tilts his head back and stares up at the stars and then down at the sea that claimed his brother.

  ‘We were kids then,’ I tell him. ‘Stupid kids who experienced something wonderful and then something terrible together. It isn’t me you miss, Kieran. It’s not me you’ve come back for. I think you know that . . .’

  ‘I miss him so much, you know, Bea,’ he says quietly. ‘Every single day. It feels like a piece of me is missing and no matter what I do or where I go, I can’t find him. I thought if you and I were together, at least it would make what happened that night make sense. It was all such a waste.’

  I put my arm around him and squeeze him tight as I rest my head against his shoulder.

  ‘I just want to turn back time, Bea. Relive that moment. Press rewind and do everything differently, you know? Make different decisions.’

  And I do know. A calm has settled over the sea and over us. Neither of us will ever get over Elliot’s death. We will always blame ourselves, but being together again would only make it worse. I kiss him on his cheek. We both know this is goodbye.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ I ask, stepping back from him.

  ‘I’m just going to stay here a little while longer,’ he says. His voice is soft, distant, like he is already a long, long way away. Part of me wonders if he has ever really been here. In body, maybe, but not in spirit. That was lost the night he lost his twin.

  It is his brother he’s wanted to be with all these years, not me.

  And it’s Adam I want to be with now.

  It has always been Adam.

  January

  Dear Bea

  A new year is upon us. Despite the bare branches of the trees, the spikes of spring shoots shimmer in the frosty sunlight bringing promise of new life. Holly bushes are heavy with ice-covered berries, glazed like frosted sweets, swathes of early snowdrops carpet the earth, nodding their white, honey-scented heads like brides at the altar. Maybe this isn’ t enough to coax you from the warm comfort of your home but that’s OK. Just as we use this time to reflect on the past year and make resolutions for the one to come, we should reflect upon our garden. We might want to make big changes, like reshaping beds and borders or removing dominant, long-standing features. After all, sometimes a reshuffle is long overdue . . .

  If you decide to make these changes, you may find it hard to see clearly through the wintry mists as they descend upon you. There have been times when I have felt that everything is so dark my life will always be devoid of colour. It is tempting to hibernate, to hide away from the world until you can see the promise of sunshine again. But if you brave the bad weather and you feel like the relentlessly inhospitable wind is pushing you to the edge, trust that there will always be something or someone there to soften your fall.

  Love, Dad x

  Chapter 59

  Bea Hudson is looking back and thinking ahead. May this year brings hope, health and happiness to everyone I love.

  29 likes.

  New Year’s Day at the Hudsons’ is exactly as it always is. Overblown, inflated, obese in its spread and yet anorexic in its atmosphere. The dining room is cavernous and cold. The four of us are seated around a giant table that has been lavishly decorated with their best silver and china, and large sprigs of spiky greenery. A sparsely decorated spruce stands in the corner on some sort of plinth, like a piece of art rather than a piece of nature. A chandelier dangles precariously low over the centre of the table, reflecting our faces back at us a hundredfold as if trying desperately to make us feel that there are more of us in this enormous dining room. I so wanted to make today a happy occasion and start the year in the right way. Christmas was . . . disappointing. Adam worked so late on Christmas Eve that we didn’t make it to Loni’s for the usual family festivities. He told me to go on my own because he didn’t want to spend hours in the car when he only had two days off, but I couldn’t imagine being there without him. I can’t go home because I’m still scared of seeing Kieran. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I haven’t forgotten the way he turned up at my wedding, or the Facebook message he sent. Anyway I didn’t want to be apart from Adam when I felt like I’d barely seen him all year. So we stayed at the flat, just the two of us, with our little, last-minute tree and the lavish presents, using them to make up for what was lacking in our marriage. We’d gone shopping on Boxing Day because it was something to do, and it meant we didn’t have to be alone in the flat, trying to paper over the cracks of our relationsip with festive wrapping. And now we’re here.

  I look at the giant bird in the middle of the table and the elegant trimmings around it, and take in the fact that the four of us are sitting here in silence. For a moment I’m struck by a longing to be at Loni’s. There were times when I was growing up I wished there were fewer people around, that the house was quieter, calmer, more contained. I felt like Loni was filling every square inch of space to fill the void that had been left by Dad and I resented her for it because no one could ever replace him. I thought that being with a complete family on special occasions like this would show me exactly what I’d been missing. But now I realise that all it’s doing is making me appreciate what I have. Yes, Loni is unconventional, yes, our family gatherings are wildly different, but at least they are fun, informal, happy. Loni’s energy is always spent trying to making other people happy – including me: it’s been like a life’s work for her.

  And the funny thing is, I realise I have never asked her if she is happy herself.

  Suddenly I have an explosion of images in my mind of New Year’s Days past, one after another. I smile as I see Loni, when we were kids, dragging me and Cal into a conga round the house, Cal in his little superhero outfit, both of us squealing with laughter and feeling like the joy of the party the night before was spilling into another day. There was the New Year’s Day in Thailand with Loni when we were teenagers, and the one when she allowed Cal and me to have a house party with our friends.

  Now here I am celebrating with my new family, the complete, ‘perfect’ family I’ve always wanted. Except they’re not so perfect. I’m beginning to think there’s no such thing.

  ‘For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful . . .’ Marion says piously. I’m not religious but I close my eyes and think of Loni and Cal and say a silent prayer of thanks. Then I vow to myself to go home and see them.

  Adam’s mum claps her hands and smiles. ‘It is customary for George to say a few things before we begin New Year’s lunch. George?’

  ‘Thanks, Marion, I do indeed want to mark this special day with a few choice words that will best summarise our year.’ Marion nods and adjusts her neckscarf as George stands up, looks at us all, clears his throat then raises his glass and bellows, ‘Bottoms up!’

  I stifle a laugh as Marion gazes at him furiously. ‘That’s it?
Seriously, George, that is all you have to say about a year that saw our only son do such a marvellous, life-changing thing as’ – Adam takes my hand as if to acknowledge what Marion is about to say – ‘become MD?’ I keep the smile on my face, waiting for her to mention me, us, our marriage.

  She doesn’t.

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake, Marion, can we eat some of this food?’ George refills his glass, downs half of it and stands up to carve the bird as we watch silently. I think of Loni’s New Year’s Day Ritual Carving Ceremony with longing. Everyone around the table cuts a slice and makes a wish for the person next to them. I realise what a wonderful uplifting way it is to connect everyone and start the meal.

  ‘So, Adam,’ Marion says. ‘Do fill us in on what’s been going on at wor—’

  ‘Shall we each make a wish first?’ I ask, cutting in with a bright smile as everyone looks at me blankly. ‘No? OK, cracker then?’ I say weakly, lifting a posh Fortnum & Mason’s number. I’m desperate to make some noise, to break the cycle of conversation, to make them all act differently, think differently. To stop them treading so carefully down the line they’ve drawn. The one that keeps them all at arm’s length from each other, that favours reserve over emotion, that erects perfect façades to disguise messy emotions, a line that always falls on the side of work, not life. Not love.

  I glance at Adam and wave the cracker under his nose but he ignores it so I put it back on the table, lift my glass and take a long swig. If I can’t beat George, I may as well join him.

  After lunch we retreat with brandies into what Marion calls the ‘salon’ which is weird because a) they are not French and b) there are no visible sinks or other hairdressing implements in the room. Despite her name for it, this is a surprisingly homely room and the one I feel the most comfortable in. It has a big open fire – this time with logs flickering away merrily – that reminds me of home. I sneakily stand next to it before sitting down. What occurs to me as Marion joins me on the sofa is that even though Adam and I both come from a family of three, Adam’s family seems so much smaller than mine.

  ‘So Bea,’ Marion says conversationally, legs crossed at an angle to face me, head tilted to indicate interest. ‘Tell me, girl to girl, wife to wife. You must miss Adam terribly when he’s away, hmm?’

  I take a sip of my drink. It burns my throat. ‘Of course,’ I reply hoarsely. ‘Every day. But I know it won’t be for long . . .’

  ‘Oh!’ Marion claps her hands and smiles at me whilst somehow managing to not look pleased at all. ‘So you’re happy to move to New York now that Adam’s role means moving there permanently?’

  Suddenly the room shrinks, conversation stops and everything seems to go into slow motion.

  ‘Mu-um!’ Adam exclaims. ‘I haven’t told Bea yet.’

  He sits forward on his sofa and stretches out his hand to me, like a policeman trying to entice someone, about to jump, back from a sky-rise window ledge. ‘Bea, I was going to talk to you when we had a quiet moment but I haven’t had a chance . . .’

  Marion folds her arms and stares at us, as if she’s preparing to watch a tennis match.

  Adam glares at her. ‘Can we have some privacy, please?’

  ‘Oh darling, if we stay we might be able to help you sort this little misunderstanding out,’ she says, resting a hand on his arm. He instantly shakes it off.

  ‘I think you’ve done enough,’ he says warningly.

  ‘I’m just trying to help—’

  ‘Please will you just stop interfering!’

  I’ve never heard Adam talk to his mother like that. George has already retreated from the room but Marion is standing with her mouth open.

  ‘Oh that’s charming. Well, Adam, if you don’t want to have perfectly valid parental guidance from your mother and father who have done nothing but love and guide you throughout your life, then that’s absolutely fine,’ she says, then flounces out of the room.

  I see that Adam is shaking and I want to go over but I can’t move. I’m in shock.

  A silence descends as we’re left alone.

  ‘That went well,’ he murmurs. Then he looks at me. ‘Bea, I’m so sorry, I promise I was going to tell you . . .’ he says, stepping towards me.

  ‘Tell. That’s an interesting word,’ I reply evenly. ‘When were you going to tell me, Adam? Because you clearly didn’t intend to ask me.’

  ‘I was just waiting for the right time.’

  ‘How long have you known?’ I ask.

  He doesn’t answer straight away. He just rubs his forehead and slumps down on the sofa. ‘Not long.’

  ‘How long?’ My voice is calm, smooth, even though I’m a bubbling volcano of emotion.

  ‘Dad told me when he made me MD that it would involve a move out there.’

  I stare at him incredulously but he won’t meet my eyes. ‘That was six months ago! Why didn’t you tell me then?’

  He doesn’t look at me, he can’t. His grey eyes are fixed on the floor. ‘I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I thought the less time you had to think about it, the easier it would be for you. I know how anxious you get.’

  ‘So when were you going to tell me?’ I press, a dangerous edge to my voice.

  He doesn’t move for a moment and then he pulls an envelope out of his pocket. It’s gift-wrapped, with my name on it. He hands it to me and I look up at him before I rip off the paper furiously. Inside are two plane tickets, for the 5th of January.

  ‘Four days?’ I say quietly, my voice shaking. ‘You were going to give me four days’ notice to completely uproot my life and move to a different country? To leave the first job I’ve ever had that’s made me happy? To say goodbye to my family and my friends? And you thought that would be easier how exactly?’

  ‘I didn’t think it would be easy.’ Adam looks up at me beseechingly. ‘But I also knew you wouldn’t cope with the alternative. I knew you’d just refuse to go. You’ve always hated making decisions, you haven’t ever been able to cope with change. Our relationship has always worked by me organising everything, making the decision and then presenting you with a fait accompli . . .’

  ‘Like when you arranged for my current job to land on my lap at Eagle’s?’ It is a cruel jibe and he gazes at me reproachfully. He looks in pieces. Have I done this to him?

  ‘I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy, Bea,’ he says wearily. ‘You know that I’d do anything for you but sometimes I don’t get to make decisions because I don’t have a choice.’ He bangs his fist on the arm of the sofa and then raises it to his forehead, closing his eyes as if to calm himself down. ‘I have to move to New York, Dad made that clear, or I’m out of a job, out of the company and out of his favour.’ He continues sorrowfully, ‘I thought it’d be good for us, Bea. A fresh start . . .’ For a moment he looks so confused and hurt, so uncharacteristically vulnerable that I want to melt into his arms, to tell him that I trust him and that I’d go to the ends of the earth with him. But I can’t. He must see me wavering, however, because he takes that moment to get off the sofa.

  ‘You’d love it out there, Bea, I know you would,’ he says, approaching me with his arms outstretched.

  ‘I know how much you miss Milly,’ he says animatedly, ‘and I know how many opportunities you’d find for yourself out there . . .’

  ‘Work Adam’ has taken over now, the guy who is used to problem-solving, leading people, making creative decisions, selling a product to people. I realise how much of Work Adam I’ve had at home recently. And it occurs to me that I don’t like that version of him very much. ‘I know you’d love the city too,’ he continues seamlessly. It’s like he’s doing one of his pitches. ‘I know how much you’d love Central Park – there’s even a Greenwich Village, Bea! You’ve always said you miss living there – now you can but in New York! And really, be honest, is there anything keeping you here?’

  ‘How about my job?’ I look at him in disbelief, my frustration growing at the fact that he doesn’t see the problem. He c
an’t see that I can’t just up and leave. I don’t want to . . .

  ‘You can do the same job in New York!’ he exclaims. ‘You can work on the new office out there. I could talk to James, see if you can work on the project out there—’

  ‘Stop trying to control everything!’ I yell and he steps back as if thrust by the blast of a cannonball. I put my hands up at my temples to drown out the noise of my fears. ‘Just STOP IT!’ I begin to cry. ‘You think you can fix everything, don’t you? You thought you could fix me, well you can’t! So why don’t you just go, go to New York, leave like everyone else always does. It looks like you’ve been building up to it from the moment we got married.’ He comes across the room, tries to envelop me in his arms but I push him away like I’ve been trying to do for years. The barriers are up and the fears I’ve been trying so hard to ignore flood out in force. I knew I didn’t deserve to be happy. Adam is too good for me. Adam steps back and walks over to the fireplace and leans his forehead against it.

  ‘I’m not trying to fix you, Bea,’ he says quietly. ‘I love you. But I – I also know that because of what you’ve been through . . . in the past . . . with, you know, your . . . illness, that you’re scared, no you’re fucking petrified of taking a risk and jumping into the unknown. But I’m here for you, Bea. I’ll always be here for you . . . no matter how much you try to push me away.’

  He breaks off and I close my eyes and take deep yogic breaths like Loni taught me, trying to contain the panic and confusion I feel. Everything is crashing down around me. Everything I thought I had built. I’m standing on the edge of that pier again and I can feel myself wanting to disappear beneath the icy cold waves. I open my eyes and look at him as if for the first time.

  ‘I won’t let you fall.’ Adam comes forward, reaching out to me again. ‘You can trust me.’