She starts typing.
“What are you doing?” I ask, alarmed.
“Just updating everyone about our trip to the beach and your apparent new-found obsession with holidays.”
“Kath,” I warn her, hands clenching on the steering wheel. But she’s got me; she knows that I can’t stop her while I’m driving.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to embarrass you in your bro group.” She smirks at me and then spends another few minutes engrossed in my phone whilst I try my hardest to stay concentrated on the road ahead of me. When we pull into the parking lot, I snatch the phone off her, quickly scrolling through the texts and letting out a sigh of relief when I see it’s mainly just her trading jokes and memes back and forth with the guys.
I grab our bags and we make our way down to the sand, setting up towels in the shadiest spot we can find. I’ve only been reading my book for twenty minutes when Kath rolls towards me. Her expression is oddly serious.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” I close my book and turn to face her.
“OK, don’t get upset about what I’m about to say,” she warns, pushing her sunglasses up her nose to rest on her head. “But why don’t you talk about your mum at all?”
My stomach sinks. The few words with Seb this morning were hard enough, I don’t want to do this again.
“Um, what do you mean?”
“I was just thinking that over the past few years I don’t think I’ve ever really heard you talk about her.”
I swallow. This is the problem with having someone who knows you so well. They know you well enough to realise when you’re lying to yourself.
“I just don’t like talking about it.” I avoid her gaze.
“That’s understandable, Sam. There isn’t one way to grieve. Grief doesn’t have an end point. Just because it’s been a few years doesn’t mean that things are miraculously better.”
I swallow hard. Again. Her eyes are full of concern. That deep brown I know so well feels like it is boring its way into my soul.
This is Kath. I can talk to her about this. She’s always helped untangle the things in my head. I dredge up the words, part of me relieved that I’m talking about it, another part screaming at me to be quiet.
“I know we’re a year out, but the coaches keep on talking about how this is the build-up to the Olympics. And all I can think is that she won’t be here to watch it like last time.”
That’s only some of it, but I don’t think I’m ready to face the rest. The thought that if I don’t win, I’ll be letting her down, but if I do win, I’ll have to look out into the crowd from a medal podium and realise she isn’t there.
I know I chose this. But I never chose to do it without my mum by my side. And without my best friend in the same continent.
“God, that’s so hard, Sam.” She holds my gaze. “She’d be so proud of you though. If you ever want to talk about her, you know you can talk to me, right? The fun memories, and the sad feelings. You can have both.”
I roll away from her, staring at the sea. “I just don’t have it worked out enough in my own head to know what to say.”
“You don’t need to have it all worked out and neatly packaged up for me. You can talk about her, and we can process it together. Or you could talk to Josh.”
“But you always know how you feel,” I tell her. Kath’s always so sure of herself that I don’t think she could really understand what goes through my mind in moments like this. How much I doubt myself sometimes. How I spend ages over-analysing everything. The constant thrum of worry I have in almost all situations.
“Nope,” she says. “Sometimes I do, but sometimes it takes me ages. Everyone has insecurities, Sam, or things that they don’t like to talk about. It’s normal. It’s just part of life.”
“Maybe. Anyway, we should go in the sea; you can compare it to the Devon coast.”
“If that’s what you want,” she says after a pause.
But as we wade into the waves I can’t work out what I do and don’t want.
Chapter 28
Nineteen years old
