This Book Made Me Think of You(22)

“Fuck it. Fine.”

Harper whoops and Tilly walks to the stage.

“Are you sure?” the DJ asks when she gives him her song choice.

“I’m sure.”



* * *



—

A middle-aged man does a surprisingly good Freddie Mercury impression, and there’s an especially enthusiastic performance of Aretha Franklin’s “Respect,” which has Tilly wondering whether the woman singing it has been wanting to get that off her chest for a long time. Eventually it’s Tilly’s turn.

There’s a moment’s quiet as Tilly stands in front of the microphone, a spotlight illuminating her face and shards of light from the disco ball dancing across her body. From here she can see the whole bar and out to the gently swaying palm trees and the sea lapping against the shore. The air is warm and sweet, the moon just coming out and glowing above the inky sea.

Then a song that’s very different from any that have played so far this evening fills the space, the bar quietening at the sound of the haunting opening chords.

Tilly can see people glancing warily at one another as Sinéad O’Connor’s voice floats above their heads from the speakers. She had wanted to make Harper laugh with the choice of a song that is so out of step with the surroundings, but as the words to “Nothing Compares 2 U” appear on the screen for her to follow, it doesn’t seem ironic.

She is aware that she is probably a little drunk but at the same time feels suddenly sober. And she misses Joe with every single cell in her body.

“Nothing compares…nothing compares…” She can see the expressions on people’s faces as they shift uncomfortably in their seats. The DJ looks anxiously at her as though he doesn’t know what to do, and Tilly doesn’t know what to do, either, because she is suddenly halfway through a karaoke song that she knows she can’t finish, a whole bar of people watching her. She takes a faltering breath, trying to hold it together.

“Nothing…” But her voice fails her. She stumbles off the stage, the backing track continuing to play as she runs out of the bar and onto the beach.

“Tilly, wait!”

Her feet sink in the soft sand as she pushes her way through groups of people, stumbling away from the bar and down to the water’s edge. She feels a warmth at her wrist as Harper catches up with her and places her hand on her arm.

“OK, maybe karaoke was a bad idea. I’m sorry. Why don’t we go and have another drink somewhere else?”

“Stop, Harper.”

“I saw this other bar that looked…”

“JUST LET ME BE SAD!”

Even through her tears, Tilly can see the startled, hurt expression on her sister’s face.

“I just want to try and make you feel better.”

“But you can’t make me feel better. Stop telling me to have fun. Stop telling me that it’s going to be OK. It’s not OK. Just let it be not OK. Joe died…”

“I know,” says Harper, her voice cracking now, too, her makeup smudging as she wipes her face with the back of her hand.

“He died, he died, he…” Tilly can’t get her words out anymore. Harper wraps her arms tightly around her. At first Tilly resists, struggling to break free. But Harper doesn’t let go.

“I know,” she whispers into her hair, her breath warm and smelling of coconut and rum. “I’m so sorry, Tilly. I’m so, so sorry.”

And as Harper keeps her arms tight around her, Tilly finally lets herself be held.



* * *



—

The water laps gently back and forth at the shoreline, lights from the bar reflecting on the surface of the water.

“So…” says Harper.

“So…”

They are sitting side by side on the sand, their bare legs stretched out in front of them.

“With hindsight it probably wasn’t the best choice of song.”

She expects her sister to laugh, but instead Harper reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you. I really did think it might help, but seeing you up there on your own like that…I saw how much pain you’re still in. This whole trip I’ve been wanting to cheer you up and make things better. But you’re right, it’s not fair of me to just try to brush that pain away.”

Tilly squeezes her sister’s hand back.

“Thank you. I do appreciate you wanting to help. But I don’t need you always feeling you have to look after me, or cheer me up or push me to move on. I just need you to be with me.”

Harper nods, swallowing hard.

“OK.”

They sit in silence, the sea breeze brushing against their faces.

“Joe would have loved it here,” says Harper.

“He would.”

They stay like that for a while, not talking, just side by side watching the sea. Then Tilly glances back toward the bar, catching a glimmer of light from the disco ball. Viewed from a distance, the bar looks inviting, lit up on the dark beach, buzzing with noise and light and laughter.

“Let’s go back for a bit.”

“Are you sure? I’d be fine to go back to our room and get an early night.”

But Tilly is already standing up, brushing the sand from her dress and reaching her hand down to haul Harper up.