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‘S’okay,’ I reply genuinely.
Nate swallows, and against the stillness of the night, I can actually hear the bubble of air he gulps down.
‘Do you think she ever considered publishing it?’ Nate asks softly, changing the subject back to my grandmother’s book.
‘Maybe,’ I say.
‘Do you think it’s good enough to publish?’ Nate asks. ‘Maybe we could look into it. It would be a fantastic tribute to Annie. You know, to see her name in print. Bestselling book by Annie Talbot. It has a ring to it, doesn’t it?’
‘It’s exciting to think about, that’s for sure…’ I pause, thinking. ‘But… I dunno. I don’t think that’s why she wrote it. I think she just wanted to remember. Words paint a picture, don’t they? I think writing this book was Nana’s way of making sure the memories never faded. And it worked. She remembers. When I read it, she smiles. You should see her, Nate. She’s so happy when she’s listening to the words. I mean, she really, really smiles, and sometimes I get so caught up in the story that when I look over at her, I almost forget that she’s sick.’
‘That’s great, Holly. I’m glad you’re getting to spend this time together. It must be very special.’
‘Yeah, it is,’ I admit, choking back tears. ‘But then I remember, you see. I notice how pale she is. And how thin. I remember she’s dying. It’s so hard to watch her slip away, Nate. It’s too hard.’
Nate reaches across my chest with his free hand. He slides his fingers under my chin to tilt my head back so my eyes have no choice but to find his even in the near darkness.
‘I wish I could do something, Hols,’ Nate says. ‘I feel so damn helpless.’
Moonlight shines through the worn-out patches of the heavy curtains and allows me to see the subtle tears that glisten like raindrops across Nate’s eyes. I wonder if he’s talking about not being able to save my grandmother or if he’s talking about our baby. I think he means both.
‘She’s going to die soon, Nate,’ I sob. ‘We’re all so damn helpless; just cooped up in this old house waiting. I hate it. I hate how I feel.’
I finally allow myself to cry. My whole upper body shakes as tear-soaked breaths drag my shoulders up and down roughly.
Nate doesn’t say a word. He sits with his arms around me, rocking back and forth as much as the tiny bed will allow us. Finally, I drift in and out of fitful sleep. Every now and then I wake with a fright because for a second, I forget where I am, but then Nate’s arms tighten around me and comfort me back to sleep.
It’s not long before Nate and I are both so cramped and uncomfortable that various parts of our bodies have gone numb. We finally decide to throw the duvet onto the floor and sleep on that. I fumble my way to the wardrobe with my arms stretched out in front of me like a zombie trying to find my way in the darkness. I drag a couple of woolly blankets off the top shelf and toss them to Nate who tries his best to create a makeshift bed in the centre of the floor. I’m just about to praise his handiwork when I crack my toe on the corner of the wardrobe as I turn around.
‘Bollocks,’ I cry. I grab my foot in my hand to hop up and down on the spot, trying not to scream and wake the whole house.
‘You okay?’ Nate asks, but I hear the snorty laugh that he’s trying to hold in.
‘It hurts,’ I bark, still hopping.
‘Come here,’ Nate says. ‘I’ll rub it for you.’
I slowly drop to the floor and tuck myself under that blanket that, despite the darkness, I know is yellow-and-red patchwork. I remember it from all the picnics we had in the garden over the years. Nana was obsessed with picnics when we were kids. I used to wonder why she loved them so much even in the autumn. I understand now. They reminded her of Sketch.
‘Jesus, these things are like ice,’ Nate moans, finding my feet.
‘I’m cold,’ I say.
Nate massages my calves and ankles, and I inhale gently, realising my body is just as exhausted as my heart.
‘You know, Hols,’ Nate whispers as his fingers softly circle my ankle bone. ‘I wish I could turn back time and do the last two weeks over. I’d be better. I’d do better. I’d be there for you.’
‘You are here for me now,’ I say, dragging the back of my hand under my nose as I sniffle roughly.
‘I never should have gone to Ibiza,’ Nate admits softly.
‘No.’ I swallow. ‘You shouldn’t have.’
‘I couldn’t cope, Hols. Especially when you shut me out. Ah shit, this is coming out all wrong,’ Nate says, exhausted. ‘I just mean… I thought you wanted space. I guess I wanted space too.’
‘Ibiza is thousands of miles away. That’s a lot of space.’ I shake my head. ‘You could have just gone to the pub for a couple of pints like a normal person. That would have been space too, you know.’
‘I know. I know. Ibiza was a stupid idea. I got it all wrong. I fucked up, Hols. I feel like the biggest bastard on the planet right now.’
