The Last Love Note(99)
‘Adopting a step-child,’ he says aloud, his voice cracking, as Charlie flings himself at him for a tight hug.
It blows my mind, in the very best way. Hugh passes me the papers so he can hug Charlie properly, and I notice Charlie has stuck a fluorescent yellow sticky note on top of the government printout.
‘I don’t think Dad would mind,’ it says.
The tears are free-flowing now, all round. It’s not just Charlie’s unexpected request and everything it means to Hugh. It’s the fact that he’s building such an accurate understanding of the incredible man his father was.
The four of us stand together now, awestruck by the colours turning up the light in the darkness. And when I finally take a moment to glance from the aurora to my little Plan B family, I’m overcome with a strong sense of Cam’s nearness.
I’ve learned that love outlives death. It holds steady through despair. It won’t fade, even as time elapses and distance increases and your world shifts. Cam’s ongoing presence in my life is as fragile as the transient beams of light that dance across the sky. And as powerful. It reminds me that life is short, love is grand and Kate & Cam’s Excellent Adventure is timeless.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
When my husband died from a heart attack in 2016, I wrote his eulogy in disjointed notes on my phone at 3am. The task felt bigger than language itself. These acknowledgements seem almost as difficult, because it’s not just about the book. It’s about everything that happened in the six years leading up to it, and I’d need another 90,000 words to adequately express my gratitude for the outpouring of support we received. My heartfelt thanks to everyone who held us in your arms during our tragedy. You saved us.
Writing a deeply personal story and sharing it with the world is daunting. While much of Kate’s experience is not my own (I have not found my Hugh), the grief is mine. From the moment I met Ali Watts at Penguin Random House, I knew my words were safe. Ali, your compassion and empathy was as valuable as your brilliant professional advice. Your excitement over this story was infectious. You believed in it – and in me – from the start, and it wouldn’t be half the book it is without your editorial eye. I am a better writer because of you.
Amanda Martin, your experienced editing, seamless project management and endless, gentle encouragement has made the path to publication a truly magical one. You have a collaborative, beautiful way about your work, and there wasn’t a moment when I felt the story slipping from my ownership, yet your genius is all over it.
Nikki Townsend, thank you for the stunning cover design and for capturing the spirit of the story so perfectly. Jessica Malpass, thank you for handling the publicity for the book with such enthusiasm and sensitivity. Vanessa Lanaway, thank you for proofreading when I could no longer see the words. Rebecca Cowie, thanks for the whirlwind tour of Canberra bookshops and for easing my path locally.
To my gem of an agent, Anjanette Fennell, you’ve made my publishing dreams a reality, and I’ll always be grateful for the enduring friendship that has grown out of our work together.
Gaetane Burkolter, you’re my ‘story whisperer’ and first-draft editor. You help me bring alive the skeleton of every new book. Bec Sparrow, your endorsement of this book means so much.
Amanda Whitley, Beatrice Smith and all at HerCanberra, you gave my grief writing a soft place to land.
Kat, Ree, Annette, Kate, Mel, Annemarie, Cath, Fionna, Karen, Karen, Linley, Michele, Nina, Beth – your early feedback gave me much-needed confidence. The Tuesday night writing group, and Ness, Sal, Heidi, Tania and Emma Z – your creativity influences mine.
Matt and the TNC team, you’re a fantastic support. Jeff’s colleagues and Barbara, heartfelt thanks for Jacksonville and New York.
Trevor, Elena and Liza, thank you for your compassionate welcome into the club none of us wanted to join. Ann, thank you for lending me one of your heartbreaking stories; Megan, thank for all of our chats about widowhood over the years. I have too many widowed friends to mention individually, but I love and admire you all.
My writerly besties, Nina Campbell and Rachael Morgan, together with Anjanette you’ve done more than you’ll ever know in helping me reach for the stars.
Clair and Harry, thanks for all the lawn mowing while I write, and for rescuing us in myriad other ways. You’re the real ‘hot neighbours’. And April, thank you for your sparkling enthusiasm.
Alison A, for the joy with which you greet each new chapter; Ali, Al and Lynd, for the enduring love since we were teenagers, and for reading every word for over thirty years. Sal, for all the lasagne, the gardening and the professional advice you’ve given so generously – and for the late-night hot chocolates when it all got too much. And for picking me up every time – all of you.
Audrey, for every time I’ve interrupted our work with plot problems, for every draft you’ve read and every word of encouragement you’ve given me, I thank you from the deepest part of my heart. You are extraordinary.
Paul, Abbey and Lucy, thanks for believing in me, loving me and putting up with me and my distractedness.
Sarah, thank you for #KTF and for telling me honestly when it’s not good enough. You’re always right and you make me a better writer, sister and person.
Victoria and Duncan, Jake and Meg – I will always love you, and not just because you’re an ongoing part of Jeff in my world. Rex and Julian – thank you for being the light in our lives. He would have adored you in ways the world has never seen.