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“Probably. But I don’t know for sure.”
Scraping a chair across the patio slabs, she sits in it looking uncomfortable. “Thing is, I don’t want anyone to get hurt if you decide to bail again.”
My spine tingles. I know there is going to be a chance people will get hurt if I stay. Maybe me.
“Well Isaac’s starting Woodford Green Juniors. It’s an important year, so I won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
“A year? You’ve planned for a year?”
‘Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
She shrugs. “Nothing, I guess. I’m just wondering if a year is going to be long enough to put right all the things you need to.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t the only person to be hurt when you ran away, you need to remember that.”
Who is she talking about? Mum? Dad? It’s way too late for me to make peace with my dad, no matter how much I may want to.
“I’ll sort things with Mum,” I say.
“I’m not talking about your mum, Amber.” She shakes her head, like she’s stopping herself from saying more. “So how old is Isaac then?” She glances into the house where the tv blares a staccato note. It could be Isaac, but then I guess it could also be Mum. Actually, it’s more than likely Mum.
“He’s nine.”
I wait for her to do the maths. It’s impressively quick. Her eyes open even wider than they did at the door earlier.
“It’s not what you think. I was in a bad place when I got to London. I found myself some digs, got a job. I drank a lot, and well, I guess I tried to forget a lot as well. Then a few weeks later I noticed I didn’t feel too great and found out I was sick due to Isaac.”
“What, you were by yourself?” This isn’t the question I’m expecting her to ask, but I’m relieved when she does.
“Yep.” My darkest hours were spent wrestling with myself about the right thing to do. “I never saw his father again to tell him.” This is my standard line. The one I’ve told Isaac. The one I tell myself.
The one that’s based on a truth that blackens my heart.
“Fuck, Amber. You don’t do things by half, do you?”
I take the wine bottle, which looks disappointingly near to empty. “So, what about you and Grant? How long have you been trying?”
Dani’s shoulders slump, her fingers rapping on the edge of her knees. “Three years. We started IVF last year, but still nothing.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again.
“Nah, shit happens.”
I snort some wine. “Does to me.”
She eyes me speculatively over her glass. “You should have come home. We would have helped. You had friends here; a whole life.”
I sag a little, folding into myself like a newspaper tossed in the trash and give a small shake of my head. “I was so angry,” I whisper. “I felt so stupid. I’d been running around telling everyone that…”
“You were eighteen, Amber. We were just bloody kids. Look at us now.”
We stare at one another, I can see changes, but they are surface only. Like looking through a magic mirror, I see Dani the same way I saw her then. Same way I saw Freddy on the doorstep earlier, like opening a doorway to a past that no longer exists.
“I’ll tell you who does have kids!” She leans forward excitedly, breaking the heaviness.
“Who?”
