Page 41 of Carry Me Home

‘I think they have to be.’

‘That’s very philosophical of you.’

‘The equine dentistry articles. Surprisingly profound.’

I laugh, and it’s wet this time, and I realise there are tears on my face. Not the drowning kind. The release kind. Something moving that was stuck.

‘He would have hated this conversation,’ I say. ‘Peter. He hated talking about feelings. He’d change the subject whenever things got too serious, or make a joke, or suddenly remember something urgent he had to do. He once pretended to get a phone call in the middle of me telling him I loved him. Held his hand up to his ear and everything. No phone. Just his hand.’

‘That sounds exactly right.’

‘You knew him. You know that’s true.’

‘I know.’ Tom’s voice is quiet. Careful in that way he gets when we’re near something that might break. ‘He was good at a lot of things. Sitting with the hard stuff wasn’t one of them.’

‘No.’ I wipe my face with the back of my hand. Chips stirs, settles. ‘He’d have been terrible at grief. If it had been the other way around. If I’d been the one who—’ I stop. ‘Sorry. That’s morbid.’

‘It’s not morbid. It’s just true.’

The silence that follows is different. Heavier. The kind where you can feel the edges of something you’re both choosing not to say.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For answering. For talking. For not trying to fix anything.’

‘I’m not sure I’ve done anything.’

‘You picked up the phone. At half eleven. When you were reading about equine dentistry.’

‘The equine dentistry was very boring.’

‘I’m serious, Tom.’

‘I know you are.’

A pause. When he speaks again, the deflection is gone. Just his voice, quiet and bare. ‘I’m always going to pick up the phone, Nina. You know that.’

The words land somewhere deep. Not my chest. Lower. Somewhere underneath all the architecture I’ve built to keep myself standing – the motion, the café, the smiling, the getting-on-with-it. Somewhere underneath all of that, there’s a floor, and his words land on it.

For a long time, I don’t say anything, and he lets me not say anything, and that’s the thing about Tom – he doesn’t need the silence filled. He just stays in it with me.

‘I should let you sleep,’ I say eventually, even though the thought of hanging up makes something in me contract. ‘You have equine dentistry to finish.’

‘It can wait.’

‘It can’t. The horses of Sea Salt Bay need you at your best.’

‘There are no horses in Sea Salt Bay.’

‘There’s Mrs Pemberton’s pony.’

‘Mrs Pemberton’s pony is in St Agnes. That’s a different village.’

‘Same general area. Same dental needs.’

‘You’re ridiculous.’

‘I’m charming. There’s a difference.’

‘Is there?’