I steal a kiss goodbye and wave as he runs off towards a small group of boys, but instead of stopping, he runs straight past, making a beeline for a tiny blonde girl with glasses and a unicorn lunchbox.
‘That must be Paige, then,’ Ed says with a little chuckle. ‘Haha. Good lad.’
‘It’s kind of adorable,’ I reply. ‘I like her glasses. I wonder if we’d have been friends in primary school?’
‘Doubtful,’ he replies. ‘Not with those shoes.’
As the school bell rings, the kids all disappear inside, except for one or two latecomers bolting down the pavement at high speed.
‘I said I’d pick up some bread and flowers,’ I tell Ed. ‘Do you mind?’
‘Not at all,’ he replies. ‘I might grab a coffee. I still haven’t quite woken up yet. Wonder if the bakery still serves that rocket fuel they try to pass off as caffeine.’
Fifteen minutes later, we’re armed with two crusty loaves, two potent coffees and a bouquet of purple freesias and white roses. We walk back towards the house, passing by the churchyard. But unlike at Christmas, our conversation is cordial. There’s no anger, no blame, and any sadness we’re feeling today isn’t caused by the other.
‘Thanks for last night,’ I say. ‘You’ve been so, so brilliant. I feel terrible for saying this, what with Gubba being ill, but I’ve almost enjoyed it.’
‘Enjoyed what?’
‘Making breakfast, taking Tom to school, buying coffee, being with you,’ I reply. ‘It almost feels, well, normal.’
‘It’s not terrible,’ he says, as he keeps pace with me. ‘It’s understandable. It’s not been the most pleasant time recently. A bit of normal is welcome.’
As we reach the house, I stop at the gate, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. ‘Think Mum has called already? It’s after nine.’
‘Most likely,’ Ed replies. ‘She’s not the type.’
‘Yeah,’ I agree. ‘She’s probably on the phone as we speak. You know, if Gubba’s really not well, I’ll have to stay down here for a bit. Help out.’
‘I know,’ he answers. ‘I can go home and bring you whatever you need or even get some time off and be here with you, if that will help?’
His face looks so earnest, so kind. I can’t help but place my hand on his cheek.
‘Ed, you have a job to get back to. After everything, please don’t feel obligated—’
‘Kate, I’m here for as long as you need me.’
‘Ed, I. . .’ I try to reply but the words catch the back of my throat. There’s so much I need to say to him, so much I regret, but at this moment, I can’t find the words. So instead, I just take his hand in mine as we walk through the front door.
Ed
I can hear Paula talking in the living room as we step inside. I pause, trying to gauge her tone, but it’s hard to tell with the living-room door shut. She’s not crying, which I’m taking as a positive sign, but maybe we’ve already missed that part. Kate and I carry the bread, flowers, and empty coffee cups to the kitchen before joining her mum and Gary.
Kate isn’t as hesitant as me, almost bursting through the door like the FBI.
‘Did you speak to the doctor?’ she asks. ‘Is Gubba all right? Wait. . . why have you got your coat on? What did the doctor say?’
‘Calm down, love. She’s going to be OK,’ Paula informs us. ‘They’re keeping her in for a day or two, but her doctor says she’s much brighter this morning. It is pneumonia, but it’s treatable and she’s already responding well.’
‘Oh, thank god,’ Kate exclaims, bringing her mum in for a hug. ‘Fuck, I was so worried.’
‘Me too,’ Paula replies. ‘Me too. But she’s a fighter.’
‘That’s brilliant news,’ I say. ‘You must be so relieved.’ I sit on the edge of the couch, feeling slightly redundant. Gary isn’t a particularly tactile individual, so hugging him would be beyond awkward, and I don’t want to just throw myself on to Kate andher mum, like it’s some kind of grief scrum.
It’s touching, though, watching Kate and her mum together. I can almost see their worry evaporate as they comfort each other. Despite their disagreements, it’s obvious they love each other; but I don’t think there’s a woman more loved than Marian Adams, and I hope that Gubba knows this.
‘We’re popping over to her place to get her some bits and pieces,’ Gary tells me, his practical mode never switched to off. ‘Apparently, she’s been asking for her glasses and her phone.’
