Page 97 of You Were Always the One

Oh fuck. Poor Holly. ‘I’m so sorry, Holls. I really am.’ My heart goes out to her. ‘Where are you?’

‘At the hospital.’ She sounds utterly lost. ‘Rita has my car. I need to get home to tell my kids.’

I’m already out of bed, pulling on my clothes. ‘Can you send me your location? There are several car parks. I’ll come and get you.’

I’m thankful for the early hours, that the roads are empty, grateful that the temperature has lifted enough that the ice has thawed. After all the trips to see Fraser here, I know the way like the back of my hand. When I reach the car park where Holly is, I see her straight away. A small, forlorn figure, sitting alone on a bench under a street lamp.

I stop my car in front of her; then, getting out, I go over and sit next to her, putting my arm around her. She leans against me and I feel her body start to shake.

‘I’ve got you, Holls,’ I whisper. Then I just hold her, because there isn’t anything to say, and because it isn’t OK, when you lose someone you love. No matter what has gone before, they are a part of your history. There are also her children to think about.

‘It was peaceful,’ she says through her tears. ‘I don’t think he was suffering.’

‘I’m glad about that.’ I hold her closer. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘I don’t know what I am.’ She raises her head, and her eyes are enormous as she looks at me. ‘Thank you. For coming here.’

‘You don’t have to thank me.’ As I meet her eyes, I have an uncontrollable urge to wipe away her tears, to take away the hurt. To make everything OK in her world.

‘Could you take me home?’ she asks.

‘I thought I heard you go out in the night,’ my mother says as she makes coffee the following morning.

‘Holly called me,’ I say.

‘In the middle of the night? Whatever for?’ she says.

‘Her husband died.’ I’m silent, thinking of how lost she seemed. Of the way she crept into the house when I dropped her home, so as not to wake her children.

‘Goodness. Poor Holly. Was it a shock?’ My mother looks taken aback.

‘He had brain cancer. But she thought he had a few more weeks.’

‘Is that where you went? Does she need you there now?’ my mother says.

I pause, thoughtful. ‘I think right now, Holly needs space.’ I suddenly have an urge to see my son. ‘I’m going to see Emma.’

I drive along the same roads as last night, more slowly this time, deep in thought. Wondering how it feels to lose someone you used to love, even if they were someone you knew had cheated on you. Talk about complicated.

Reaching Emma’s, I park outside, then spring up the steps and knock. For a minute or so, nothing happens. Then the door opens and Emma is standing there.

‘Rigby.’ She’s in her pyjamas and dressing gown. ‘What are you doing here?’ She frowns. ‘Do you have any idea how early it is? Especially on a Sunday?’

‘Sorry. I hadn’t realised. I was hoping I could see Fraser.’ There’s a part of me that needs to balance out Miles’s death; to connect with the other end of this spectrum of life on which we are all at different stages.

She relents. ‘I suppose you can come in.’

In their sitting room, Archie’s lounging on the sofa, also in his pyjamas. Sunlight streams through the windows and there are flowers in a vase on the table, in pride of place, next to the Murano lamp. ‘Looks nice,’ I say to Emma, watching as she rolls her eyes. Then, ‘Sorry to turn up like this,’ I say apologetically to Archie.

‘No worries, mate. This little fella’s been up for hours,’ he says good-naturedly.

It’s then I notice Archie’s holding something – or rather, someone. My tiny son in seemingly enormous clothes. ‘Can I hold him?’

As gently as I can, I take him from Archie, holding him as though he’s the most precious thing in the world. But to me, he is, as I sit very carefully in one of the armchairs. ‘Hello,’ I say gently. ‘It’s me. Daddy.’ Then as I gaze at him, I’m overcome with emotion. When you think how miraculous birth is, how mysterious, how inevitable death is, it makes me wonder why we worry about half the things we fill our heads with.

As a tear sploshes onto Fraser, I look around for Emma. ‘Could you take him for a mo?’ To my embarrassment, another tear plops onto my jeans.

‘Are you OK, Rigby?’ Emma sounds concerned.