“Kate?” Joe inclines his head toward me. “Care to explain?”
OK, he’s really asked for it.
“It means the patient will live,” I say flatly, and Lacey clasps her hands together. “Her life has been saved. Her grandchildren will walk with her in the park again. She’ll feel the rays of sunshine on her face. And we couldn’t ask more than that, because that’s why we’re doctors. That’s why.” I look heroically into the distance. “For that life. For that sunshine.”
I glance at Joe, who silently applauds, a smile on his face.
“Oh, I think you medical professionals are amazing!” says Lacey mistily. “You should get medals!”
“I think Kate should get something, certainly,” says Joe sardonically. “Walk you to the gate, Kate?”
“Lovely. Bye again,” I say to Lacey, and start striding away through the long grass. “Thanks a lot,” I murmur, as soon as I’m sure we’re out of earshot. “I really enjoy improvising medical details, how did you guess?”
“Oh, I had a hunch…Nice speech, by the way,” replies Joe, his mouth twitching with amusement. “You should consider a career change.”
“Maybe I should.”
The twist of his mouth suddenly reminds me of that time I dressed up in a white coat, stethoscope, and not much else, to surprise him for his birthday. It’s been so painful to remember our past that I’ve almost blanked the fun times. But now the happier memories are returning, like nerves tingling back to life.
We walk silently till we reach the gate into the garden, where I automatically shrink into the laurel hedge, peering ahead for observers.
“So, what are you going to do?” says Joe.
I look past him for a few silent moments at my beloved Greenoaks. At the distinctive turret. The stained-glass window. The “ugly” brickwork that nobody loves but me. It’s now or never, Joe said, and he was right. Greenoaks is going out of my life. Forever. And I’m not sure I’ve ever quite faced up to that. Not like I’m facing up to it now.
“I want to say goodbye to Greenoaks,” I hear myself saying. “That’s what I want to do. Go back in while everyone’s at the brunch and walk around and just…say goodbye.”
I’ll look for my dolls as I go. But somehow my heart has shifted focus. My dolls might turn up in a box. Greenoaks will never turn up in a box. Temi was right: I need to take a moment. Be with it. Feel it.
“Good idea.” Joe’s eyes crinkle sympathetically. “You want some company? Can I help?”
“I don’t need any company, thanks.” I squeeze his hand. “But you could help by going to the brunch? Keep them all distracted outside. Buy me some time.”
“You got it.” He kisses me. “You got it.”
I’m going to say goodbye in my own way, on my own terms. As I circle the drive, breathing in the familiar scents of plants and wood and earth, I feel resolute. I’m going to walk through the front door, my head high, proud and strong, just like Joe said.
By now I’m about twenty feet from the house and I square up to the front door, facing it head-on. I feel like a gymnast preparing to approach a tricky vault. Deep breath…rise up on the toes…go.
Lightly but briskly, I walk toward the front door of my childhood home for the last time. I must take this moment in. I must remember the details. The light glinting on the windows. The way the wind moves through the trees. The—
Hang on.
There’s such an almighty gale of laughter from the brunch table that I can’t help stopping dead. Curse my family. Why do they always have to get inside my head? What are they laughing about? How come they’re having a good time?
As I listen to the sound of chattering voices and the occasional clinking of silverware against china, curiosity is overcoming me. I want to see the brunch table, I realize. And the brunch outfits. And the brunch food. And who’s sitting next to whom. And basically…everything.
I’ll just have the quickest of tiny peeks. And then I’ll walk through the front door, proud and strong. Yes.
I edge round the house, then duck down low and crawl through the rosebushes until I can spy the table. It does look lovely, all white and silver, the bunting fluttering in the breeze, almost like some sort of outdoor wedding. I always used to think I’d have my wedding reception here, I remember, with a swell of sadness. If I ever had one.
Anyway. Crack on.
I edge still closer, running my eyes along the guests. Krista is in a low-cut printed silk frock which displays her tanned boobs as though they’re a museum exhibit on a plinth. Lacey’s in her pale-pink dress. Bean is in a strappy floral print with a wide-brimmed straw hat to protect her face, and she’s smiling but anxious-looking. Humph is in a cool black linen suit which I expect his nutritionist ex-girlfriend chose for him. Gus seems kind of exhilarated, and I wonder how many drinks he’s had. Joe’s face is guarded behind his shades, and he’s sipping what appears to be fizzy water. Dad is sitting at the end of the table, as well dressed and debonair as ever, wearing one of his inscrutable smiles.