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‘I didn’t really do anything, though.’
‘Yes you did,’ says Ralph. ‘You said what you said, held your head up and you looked it all in the eye, even though you were scared. That’s brave, Millie.’
Cate starts crying then. Ralph interjects with a leftover Easter-themed napkin and she takes it. ‘God, Ralph, you are so .?.?.’ Then she grabs the sides of his face and kisses him on the lips.
Ralph looks like he might explode. His whole face looks like a shocked emoji.
I let out a little scream of delight.
‘Well, excuse me?’ says Alexis.
‘Oh. Um. Oh. That w-was .?.?.’ Ralph stutters.
‘A shock?’ laughs Cate.
‘Awesome,’ says Ralph, open-mouthed. ‘Very awesome indeed.’
‘Yeah, well, there’s more where that came from.’ She grins and I burst out laughing.
‘Well, I guess that sort of answers a question I’ve been trying to find a way of asking,’ I say. ‘Although I thought you were already – I don’t know.At it?After the whole .?.?. gallbladder thing.’
Cate cackles. ‘Oh, my gallbladder, the babe magnet.’
Ralph laughs. ‘Well. Let’s just say we’re on a promising trajectory,’ he says, and we all laugh, as the screen in front of us blinks every so often with ‘one new message’ – a stranger sending their secrets out into the world. And it makes me think of my own. How much there is I want to say, and do, and what I should no longer hold back.
*
FLIGHT STATUS – QE4302 – Quebec – departed: 10:44 a.m.
Chapter Thirty-One
Text message from Mum:Dad lands in the morning. Everything is OK. Would be lovely to see you for brunch if you’re around. I love you Millie xxxx
*
When I enter my old childhood home, I’m hit by a warm, cosy smell of nostalgia and safety. Furniture polish, fresh coffee and breakfast cooking. I can hear Mum humming, and muttering under her breath, ‘Now, where has that gone?’
Mum turns, sees me at the kitchen doorway, and she looks like she might burst at the sight of me. ‘Oh, darling. You’re here. Youcame.’
‘Of course I came. Plus, your cooking. I miss your cooking .?.?.’
Mum smiles. ‘I’ve gone a bit overboard. But now you’re here, you can help me. I’ve lost the bacon.’
I laugh, setting my bag and coat on the back of the kitchen chair.
The house is spotless. Mum would’ve planned for this ever since she put the date in the diary. It has the feeling of nostalgia in here. The Christmas tree twinkling through the frosted glass doors leading to the living room. Pringles and chocolates, in neat piles on the side; cupboard-overflow. To think Mum would have been buying ahead, as she always does through November and December, not even knowing if Dad was coming back, if they would be OK .?.?.
‘How does someone lose bacon?’ I ask, fishing through the fridge.
‘God only knows, Millie,’ she says, putting the kettle on. ‘I bought some this morning.’
‘Farm shop?’ I say, taking a seat at the table. Mum and Dad are obsessed with the farm shop.
‘Yep. Two packs. Both— Oh, blimey. They’re here. On the counter. Under this towel.’ She pulls a grimace, then laughs, an embroidered Christmas-pudding tea towel in her hand. ‘Worrying, that is. My poor mind.’ Mum’s excited. But she’s also nervous. She’s like this before one of the books she illustrates is released. Excited it might fly, worried it might not, all of the emotions curdling in one big giant pool of jitters.
Mum chops mushrooms. I make coffee.
‘When’s Dad due?’ I ask.
