Page 74 of You Were Always the One

‘I’m not sure I do any more.’ She pulls a face. ‘I’m starting to like this much better.’

By the time we get home, Miles has already gone to bed. Max and Grace go to put the TV on, while Rita opens a bottle of wine.

‘I really like her,’ she says, referring to Charley.

‘She’s amazing,’ I say. ‘She was sick when I met her. I don’t think anyone was expecting the recovery she’s made.’

‘Is she out of the woods?’ Rita asks more soberly.

‘No – but she’s doing OK,’ I say. ‘She is living proof that the unexpected can happen.’

‘The kids seem good,’ Rita says quietly.

‘They are great, aren’t they? Today was exactly what they needed,’ I tell her.

‘It’s what you needed, too.’ She watches me. ‘So what about Jake?’

‘What about him?’ My cheeks grow hot. ‘He’s a really nice guy. But that’s all.’

‘And Riggs? Have you heard from him?’ she asks.

I shake my head. ‘Not since the day before he left.’ There’s a lump in my throat. ‘As far as I know, he’s in France by now.’ Who knows when, or if, I’ll see him again. ‘It’s a good thing,’ I say. ‘I have enough going on here at the moment.’

‘So what’s the deal with Miles right now?’ she asks. ‘You’re not at each other’s throats.’

I roll my eyes at her. ‘We were incredibly grown-up and called a truce,’ I say, with as much dignity as I can muster.

She bursts out laughing. ‘Only you would do something like that,’ she says. ‘If it were me, I’d want to kill him.’

‘Oh, I did want to, believe me,’ I say. ‘But since we’ve found out what he’s up against, it makes everything look different.’ I look at Rita, suddenly serious. ‘We’re family – and if he and I were to break up, he’d have no one. I couldn’t do that to him.’

‘It would hardly be your fault,’ Rita says.

‘I know.’ I hesitate; then, getting up, I go to close the kitchen door, before sitting down again, then looking at my friend. ‘He’s dying, Rita.’ My eyes fill with tears. ‘I haven’t said this to anyone else, but I’ve had patients with brain cancer. And I know Miles is having treatment, but there’s no way of knowing how much time it’s going to buy him. I don’t want to look back and wish I’d been there for him. Isn’t it better?’ I gaze at Rita. ‘Not just for him, but for all of us, if he’s here, at home, with his family?’

She reaches across the table and takes one of my hands in hers. ‘Of course it is,’ she whispers. ‘If you can bear it.’

‘I can.’ I know I can. ‘I can make this next part easier for him. And in a way, that makes it easier for the kids.’

‘I get that,’ Rita says softly. ‘I’d still want to kill him, though.’

But I know she doesn’t mean it.

She picks up the bottle. ‘More wine?’

I observe the changing patterns of our lives. Pockets of normality, between which Miles’s illness inevitably dominates. For Max and Grace’s sakes, I do my best to keep everything just the same.

‘You can’t, though, can you?’ Rita says when I try to explain it to her. ‘This is so far removed from normal, Holls.’

‘Normal has changed,’ I say. ‘This is how we are now. A family with cancer.’

Rita’s silent for a moment. ‘I guess you are.’

Rita stays until early Monday morning, leaving just before the kids go to school and promising to come back soon. Then shortly after the kids leave, I’m thrust back into the reality of Miles’s illness when I hear a thud from upstairs.

So far, his symptoms have been minimal. But maybe it’s just that they’ve crept up slowly, so that I haven’t noticed. When I run upstairs, I find Miles sitting on the floor.

‘One of my bloody legs gave way.’ He sounds angry, but there’s fear in his eyes.