This Book Made Me Think of You(65)

Tilly takes a spoonful, the cold, wet oats clogging her mouth.

“I’m not getting summer berries. I taste desperation.”

Rachel drops her porridge pot down on the ground, lifting her knees up to her chest and rocking back and forth. “ARGH! I HATE CAMPING! This is bloody awful!”

“I thought you didn’t mind camping! You said it would be an adventure.”

“I was lying. Who actually likes camping? Bloody sadists, that’s who. No offense to Joe…”

“Then why did you offer to come with me?”

Rachel stops rocking.

“It seemed important to you. I worried you might regret it if you didn’t go.”

“I could have gone on my own. You didn’t have to come with me.”

“And now I’m seriously questioning my choices…” Rachel replies, teeth chattering.

Tilly is shivering and damp, and her mouth tastes of cold oats. Something inside her snaps. “So why did you, Rachel?” Tilly shouts. “I didn’t force you! Why did you want to come with me if you hate camping so bloody much?”

“Why do you think?” Rachel shouts back. “The same reason I wanted to take the Esmerelda Love job. Because I wanted to spend time with you! Because I wanted to make up for…”

“For the fact that when Joe got sick you completely disappeared?”

They stare at each other across the tent. Tilly can’t quite believe she’s said it. Their faces are both flushed from the cold, hair bedraggled and wet. Rachel dips her head, fiddling with the zip on her sleeping bag.

“I was shit, I know.”

Tilly freezes, her head snapping to look at Rachel, who is cowered in her sleeping bag, chin tilted. After so long tiptoeing around the issue, Tilly hadn’t expected to actually have this conversation. But their problems now feel impossible to ignore, sitting like a third person in the confines of the tent.

“What happened, Rachel?”

Rachel lets out a breath, and her voice is softer when she replies. “I don’t think I ever told you that my dad died when I was a teenager.”

The words hit Tilly hard in the chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Rachel shrugs. “How could you have? I didn’t tell you.”

“But I could have asked. You always talked about your mum and stepdad, so I just assumed you weren’t close with your biological dad.”

“We were close. He was my favorite person. But he died when I was nineteen. From pancreatic cancer.”

“Shit.”

A silence hangs between them for a moment, broken only by the rain on the tent roof.

“So when Joe got his diagnosis, I knew what was ahead for you both, and I just didn’t know how to be around you, knowing what I knew. It was like I could see you were heading for this awful car crash and there was nothing I could do to stop it. But the one thing I could do was not be there to see it happen.”

Things shift around inside Tilly’s brain, new understanding landing like a light being switched on in a darkened room.

“Rachel…I’m sorry. If I’d known…”

“Then you would have been sensitive about it, I know you would have been. But I never told you. And even if I had, it doesn’t make how I acted any better. Regardless of my own shit, I should have been there for you. I’m so sorry, Tilly. I wish I could have been a better friend.”

Tilly’s grief has always felt so earth-shattering, so new. And yet looking at Rachel, she realizes that all around her there are people carrying their own losses, their own scars, even if you can’t always see them. She thinks of the Paris Grief Gang and her conversations with Alfie and of everything Rachel has just told her.

“You’re here now. In this soggy tent in the rain with me. I think that makes you a pretty great friend.”

She reaches across and pulls Rachel into a damp but tight hug, aware of how bad they both smell but just going with it. Rachel’s chin is still resting on Tilly’s shoulder when she lets out a groan. “Oh no.”

“What is it?”

Rachel tilts her head, looking up at the roof of the tent, which still shudders with the force of the rain.

“I need a wee.”



* * *



—

Good morning. How’s camping going? Hope you managed with the tent OK. x Alfie, camping is awful.

??

We’ve had so much rain. And wind. EVERYTHING I own is wet.

Oh no! Are you OK?? x

I’m alive.

That bad then? I’m sorry, I feel like I did the hard sell on camping.

There have been some good moments. We’ve seen some amazing wildlife and it’s incredibly beautiful here. But I’ll be glad to get back to somewhere that is DRY.

When do you get back?

Rachel is heading off tomorrow afternoon to meet family. I’m on a flight that gets me back to Stansted around six. I’m going to look a right state on the tube, covered in mud and smelling like bog.

I’ve smelled worse things on the Underground.

Ha! That’s a point. I’m afraid your camping gear might not be in the best state when I get it back, I’m sorry.

That’s OK, it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re OK.

I’m OK. Might be getting gangrene. But I’m OK.