“I mean this with all the love in the world, mate,” he said, pinching his brow sympathetically, “you look pretty cracked to me.”
I both knew he was right and hated him for saying it at the same time. Because even if he had a solution, it didn’t change the fact that I was the one keeping all the balls in the air in that moment. And I was worried that even the slightest suggestion of passing some or all of them off would make the whole lot come crashing down.
Anil and I made plans for him to come over again on Monday. He’d send me some articles to read the following day, and then we could talk about what the middle ground options were. But for now, he said I should focus on having a restful weekend, as much as that was actually possible.
I waved from the front door as he climbed into his van, then poked my head back inside to confirm that Ethel was still happily sat in front of the television. Then, instead of shutting the door, I went to sit on the front bench.
I didn’t really believe Mum and Dad were smiling down on me or anything like that, of course. The only reason I felt close to them sitting there was because I’d seen their ashes go into the hole where we’d planted the tree. I tried to channel my inner Amy and suspend my disbelief long enough to think they might be able to hear me if I spoke, but I felt nothing.
I wanted to tell them how badly I needed them. How much I wished they were here so I could keep my crappy little car instead of buying a van, or spend my money on something stupid instead of worrying about paying for Ethel’s care, or go on holiday with my girlfriend’s family without a care in the world.
But unlike usual, when I tried to speak, I couldn’t make my mouth form the words. I was too tired, and I was more certain than ever that there was nobody there. And maybe Anil was right and I had options, but as much as he wanted me to rest, none of those options were going to let me take the evening off. So I stood up and went inside so I could start on our brain-healthy dinner.
Chapter32
Amy
As much as I hated to admit it, I knew that the key to my survival would be to take a page out of Phil’s playbook and compartmentalise. I spent the rest of the week after our breakup wallowing, fuelled by a great playlist Jack sent me, and it got to the point where I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror anymore. Every time I did I saw the pink walls of my childhood bedroom and the matching pink of my skin from where I’d rubbed my eyes raw trying to wipe away my tears. Tears I was crying over Philip fucking Owen, just like I had when I was a teenager, and up until that night five years ago when I’d decided I wouldn’t let him matter to me anymore. If I’d done it then, I could do it again, right? Even if I did struggle to summon the resentment I knew would help me move on.
I definitely didn’t struggle to resent him, however, when I finally had to break the news to Mum and Dad. I was nervous about telling Dad, as my trial period was part of why Phil and I had entered into this whole ridiculous thing to begin with, but in a rare demonstration of empathy, he just wrapped me in a hug and told me Phil was an idiot.
Mum, on the other hand, I was more worried about. When Chris and I had broken up, she’d been beside herself for months. I now suspected that was only half about the breakup and half about me being far away from her whilst I went through it, but still. By Jack’s account, it had been an overreaction either way.
But as I stood over her in the garden and told her as she harvested tomatoes, she seemed wholly unbothered.
“You two will work things out, I’m sure.”
My brow pinched together, half in a frown and half in a squint as I shielded my eyes from the bright sun.
“No, Mum, you don’t get it. It wasn’t a fight. He broke up with me.”
I had half a mind to tell her we hadn’t even actually been together for most of our supposed relationship, but even now, even after everything Phil had done, I didn’t want to undermine what we’d had. Even then, there had been something.
I watched as Mum leaned over her raised beds, pushing one plant out of the way to get to another. Was it just me, or was she smiling? She was certainly relaxed, anyway, as she plucked a perfectly ripe heirloom tomato from its vine. She was so nonchalant that I couldn’t do anything but laugh.
“How can you be so calm about this?” I asked, crossing my arms, incredulous. “Last year you were tearing up the front garden beds because you were so upset on my behalf.”
“Yes, well, that was rather silly of me, wasn’t it.”
“Sure,” I said, “but aren’t you angry now?” I certainly was– in fact, I was angry enough for both of us.
Mum must have heard the edge in my words, because she finally stopped harvesting. She brushed her dirt-covered hands off on her dungarees and stood.
“Do you want me to be angry?” she asked, her gaze inscrutable behind her sunglasses. “Because if you need to feel justified in your anger, I’ve got a few summer squashes that need pulling. I could put on a real show of it.”
I stared at her open-mouthed, feeling a traitorous heat behind my eyes.
“Do you really not care about this?” I asked, my lip quivering. Mum’s face softened instantly, and she brought a hand up to my face. She pulled off her glasses, and I could see that her own eyes were indeed wide with concern.
“Of course I do, Amy,” she said, and I pressed into her hand, the tears slipping from my eyes and running down my face, no doubt mixing with the dirt on Mum’s fingers and making mud on my cheek. But I didn’t care.
“I care that you’re hurting, darling,” she said. “But last year, you didn’t have us. I wasn’t upset that you and Chris broke up. I was upset that I couldn’t be there for you. That none of us could. I know you had your friends. But they weren’t good to you. That was clear from the day you moved there.”
“Was it?” I asked, huffing a laugh. “Because I didn’t know until everything fell apart.”
Mum removed her hand and grasped both of mine in hers. “The point is, I love you. And of course I was sad for you. But more than that, I was scared for you.”
Her voice quivered slightly at this admission, and my own frown deepened.
