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‘We have more than enough,’ Gavin says. ‘Don’t we, Charlie?’
I think of the oversized turkey that needs to go in the oven. ‘It would be lovely if you could stay, Jack,’ I say.
Jack smiles and I watch as his eyes find Heather’s.
‘It would be nice,’ Heather says.
‘Okay,’ Jack says. ‘Thank you.’
‘Is that a present?’ Molly says, pointing to the beautifully wrapped box behind Jack’s back.
‘It is,’ Jack says, taking his hands and the gift out from behind his back.
‘Is it for meee?’ Molly asks.
‘Molly,’ I say, sternly. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘Actually it’s for Heather.’
My heart sinks. I don’t think Heather is in any mood for gifts, but she takes a couple of steps forward and says. ‘For me?’
I step aside and make room for Jack and Heather to stand face to face.
‘Yes,’ Jack says. ‘But it’s not from me.’
There’s silence. Even Molly is standing still and quiet as we watch Jack and Heather share a moment.
‘It’s from Kayla.’
FIFTY-NINE
HEATHER
I’m sitting on the couch, next to Jack. There’s no talking but it’s not weird or uncomfortable. When I appeared to be frozen to the spot after Jack passed me the box, Charlotte guided us from the hall into the sitting room. Gavin is sitting in the armchair nearby, bouncing Molly on his knee. And Charlotte is pretending to be busy tidying up wrapping paper that Molly has left strewn under the tree and all over the floor.
The fairy lights twinkle on the tree and the shiny, metallic wrapping paper in my hand picks up their pretty reflection. My hands are shaking as my fingers curl around the small neatly wrapped box. I’ve almost dropped it more than once. There’s a tag dangling from the centre of the red bow and it simply says,Love from, Kaylain her beautiful swirly handwriting. I read over the three simple words countless times, tracing the letters with my finger tip.
‘Open it, open it, open it,’ Molly says, finally losing patience.
‘Shh, Molly,’ Gavin says. ‘Let Heather take her time.’
Gavin’s words contradict the longing in his eyes. He’s as desperate to see what’s inside as much as his giddy four-year-old is. And I want to see inside, too. Very much. But every time I reach for the red bow, ready to pull it open, I stop. I’m so overly aware that this is the lastgift I will ever open from Kayla. The last time I will ever read a gift tag written in her handwriting. The last time I will ever wonder what gift she has picked out for me. The last surprise.
‘Would you like a moment on your own?’ Charlotte asks, standing up with a mound of torn and crinkly wrapping paper in her arms.
‘No,’ I gasp. ‘Don’t leave. Please.’
Jack places his hand on my knee and lets me know that he isn’t going anywhere.
I take a deep breath and tug on the ribbon, rip open the paper carefully and lift the lid on the box I find inside.
‘It’s a key chain,’ I say, confused.
‘It is,’ Jack says.
I lift the rectangular silver keychain out and read the inscription on the front. ‘Kayla’s place,’ I say.
Jack nods as if I’m supposed to understand what this means. ‘There’s more,’ he says, pointing at the box, encouraging me to look again.
