‘Idoworry though. And there you go again. Brushing it off and moving on. You’re so sure of yourself. It’s amazing.’
‘I’m not sure about anything.’ I laughed nervously. If he thought he saw a fearless person when he looked at me, perhaps he needed to get his glasses prescription checked. ‘I’ve lived with my head in the sand for years and now I’ve woken up at twenty-six, nothing is what I thought it was, and I’ve got no idea what to do with my life.’
‘I think that’s normal for everyone at some point.’ He stepped closer and pressed a kiss on my forehead, then backed away. ‘You’ll figure it out. If anyone can, you can. Anything that gets thrown at you, you’re immediately figuring out a way to deal with it.’
‘Like what? The problems with the hotel?’ I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, keeping myself from reaching out for him again.
‘Yeah.’
‘They’re not exactly life-and-death matters. It’s not the same as what you do. When you’re flying you must have to make some big decisions and the pressure must be incredible. I don’t know how you can call yourself a coward.’
He paused and blew out a breath that lifted a few wavy strands of hair from his forehead. ‘I’m too scared to go home.’
‘You haven’t been home since your mum died?’
He shook his head and looked down at the floor. The shadow of my dad’s chair danced on the carpet between us as the lights from the Christmas tree flickered.
‘Your nan…she told me that you were with your mum when she died. Did it happen at home?’ He stayed quiet and I wondered if I’d pushed him enough for one night. He’d gone from not saying anything about his mum earlier in the day, to admitting that he was racked with his grief, full of guilt and fear. Just because I was burning to talk to him about this stuff and trying to help him, didn’t mean he was ready. ‘Do you want me to stop asking or would you like to talk about it?’ Silence still. All the tension back in his body. Maybe I’d been completely selfish going to him in the middle of the night. He was worn out; that much was obvious. ‘I’m sorry. How about I make us a drink and then we can try and get some sleep?’
I filled the kettle up and glanced at him as I fetched a couple of mugs from the cupboard. He suddenly scrubbed his hands down his face.
‘I don’twantto talk about it…but maybe I need to.’
My ribs gave an involuntary squeeze and he went over to the sofa, collapsing heavily in the middle of it. I forgot about the kettle and followed him. My knees were trembling, so I bent them up as I sat down and tucked my ankles underneath me, facing him, even as he closed his eyes and tipped his head back on the sofa. I waited quietly and after a couple of minutes, he started talking:
‘I got back in the middle of the night from a flight and Mum was still up.’ He pressed his forearm over his eyes. ‘She said she’d been dozing in front of a film. But it was so late. Gone three. She shouldn’t have been up and when I was talking to her, she seemed confused. I…I should’ve realised something wasn’t right.’ His fingers curled into a fist. ‘But I went to take a shower and when I came out, she was still downstairs. I told her she needed to go to bed and asked her again if she felt okay. She said her head hurt and when she tried to stand up, she was too dizzy.’
He swallowed a couple of times. I ventured a light touch onto his thigh, and he grabbed at my hand, clamping his fingers around it tight, like he was anchoring himself.
‘I told her we needed to go to the hospital. It wasn’t far to drive but she started to have a…convulsion in the car. I didn’t know whether to stop or keep going. We were so close. I kept driving. By the time we got there, she’d stopped but she wasn’t breathing. I did CPR in the car park…’ He shuddered to a halt and I pressed my other hand on top of his, palm flat over the top of his taut tendons. His chest heaved up and down a couple of times and he lifted his head, dropping his arm from his face and staring at the Christmas tree in the corner. ‘It was a depressed fracture of the skull. We found that out later, but we don’t know how it happened. Stephen said he found my dad’s big metal tool box on the floor in the garage, everything scattered like it had fallen…’ He trailed off and I rose on my knees, leaning towards him, curling his head in towards my chest. An ache was radiating through my bones for him. It was an awful, tragic, nightmare.
‘I’m so sorry that happened. I’m sorry you lost your mum like that. And I’m sorry you had to deal with it by yourself,’ I whispered into the soft curls on his head.
‘I’m not the only one who lost her.’ His voice vibrated through my chest. ‘And I chose not to talk to anyone about it.’
‘You weren’t ready. Sometimes these things take time.’
‘I’ve been hiding.’ That blunt tone was back in his voice, but it was all directed at himself. ‘And now the thought of going home makes me feel physically sick. But the house is going to be sold and Stephen wants me to go back because I need to pick up my stuff. And he thinks I need to say goodbye.’
‘Well, I don’t think he’s wrong but it’s easy for me to say. I never had to deal with what you did. Something so sudden. My dad was sick. And it was horrible to watch him get weaker and lose weight and slow down but in those last days, he was at the hospice and I only visited a couple of times. I got to say goodbye.’ I took a wobbly breath. I’d got to hold my dad’s hand, and even though he had an oxygen mask on, I’d seen him smile at me, his dark eyes on mine, crinkled at the corners, and he’d squeezed my hand. I could still feel that squeeze.
Nick lifted his head and kissed my cheek where a tear had rolled down that I never even noticed falling. ‘I’m sorry, Beth. I’m probably bringing up bad memories for you. I should go.’
‘Don’t you dare. I’m okay.’ I looked over my shoulder at Dad’s chair.
‘How can you stand it though? The reminders everywhere you look?’
‘Because it’s not all bad. I want to remember him… How long did you live in that house?’
‘Most of my life.’
‘There will be so many good memories there too then. You won’t lose them, if you don’t go back. They’re all in here.’ I touched a fingertip to his temple. ‘But you will be stuck thinking of that house as the place you couldn’t go back to. Rather than your family home.’
‘I know. I know.’
‘Where did you grow up?’ I stroked his hair back from his face and as I sank down onto my heels again next to him, he smoothed his hand up my thigh to my hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. The trembling in my legs had now moved up to my stomach.
‘Clapham.’
