Darling, Daddy died last night . . .
‘The time to push you away was right at the start, Kate. It’s been overtaken by events.’
So many events. Each of them awful. Can you base a relationship on suffering and support?
‘It feels straightforward in my body,’ I say.
‘You don’t have to worry about your body.’
Thank God.
‘It’s your head I’m concerned about. And mine.’
And well might he be concerned, because my head has declared a state of emergency. Sirens. Flashing lights. Red flags. Warnings of danger being broadcast through every channel.
We’ve got tonight and tomorrow. Then the spell of this place will be broken and we go home. Me, to a house I’ve already decided to sell.
‘I need to move,’ I explain. ‘Charlie and I need a fresh start, and not just another house in the same city.’
‘You need the beach.’
‘Yes. And to quit my job – no offence, Hugh – and let the equity from the house support me for a bit while I rent and write my book. Without the book, I don’t think I can truly move forward with my life.’
I’m pacing the sand now, threatening to hyperventilate. Is this a midlife crisis? Surely I’m too young. Or maybe the crisis already passed and this is what happens after it.
I don’t know how anyone processes grief without expressing it in words. I don’t know if Hugh ever really has. To have spent so long running from anything that felt too similar to what he lost – that’s unhealthy. Unless he fixes himself, there’s a risk he’ll break my heart, and his. We can’t afford that. I am not his medicine any more than he is mine.
‘Kate, you’re making me nervous.’
‘You won’t ever feel completely mine,’ I explain. ‘I will never be completely yours. How does that even work?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What if the secret you’re keeping suffocates us?’
‘I don’t know what to do about that,’ he confesses. ‘I don’t know how we can take this to the next step, Kate, for so many reasons. I only know I want to.’
This has crept up on me. Looking back now, I can see all the signs I missed.
‘I don’t want to get ahead of myself but what if we fall in love?’ I ask, even though it terrifies me to express it. ‘How do I know you won’t get spooked?’
How do I know I won’t?
‘This one I do know,’ he answers steadily. ‘You can trust me not to leave.’
‘Are you sure?’
He looks more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him. ‘The time for me to run away from you before that happens is long gone.’
38
The next morning, after the storm, I’m up early and take myself back to the beach to call Grace.
Charlie’s face fills the screen. Even seeing him fills me with doubt. I’m not just risking my own heart with Hugh. I’m risking his.
‘Mumma, Auntie Grace is outside talking to Justin,’ Charlie reports, walking over to the window. ‘He came over for pizza last night and we built a Minecraft city, and Auntie Grace thought everything he said was so funny. She giggled the whole night.’
‘Is that so?’ I ask. This is a hopeful sign!
‘I miss you, Mummy. You look different.’
I am different. So much has changed, I’m scared he won’t even recognise me by tonight when we get home.
‘I miss you too, beautiful boy. Be good, and I’ll bring you something special from the beach.’ Must remember to collect some shells. Or is that illegal? I never know.
I look at my phone after he goes, hoping it will spring forward some advice, just as Mum calls. As soon as I see her face, I start to cry.
‘Oh, darling! What is it? It’s Hugh, isn’t it? I knew it.’
She knew?
‘Oh, come on, Katherine. Surely everyone could see it? I’m amazed it’s taken you this long!’
This long? It’s only four years since Cam got sick. Three years since we last had any semblance of togetherness. Two years since he died. I’m still so caught up in my marriage, I wasn’t looking for this. And for Hugh to have been in plain sight all this time . . .
‘Cam told me this day would come. Practically begged me to reach this point and let myself feel something for someone else. He said I’d want to run for the hills, and he’s right. Mum, I dragged him over a line and I want to bolt!’
Hugh is worried he said too much last night about their secret. He’s scared we went too far with our one and a half kisses. Granted, the second instalment was quite something. My insides plummet whenever I think of it.
He’d tried to hold my hand on the walk back to the house from the beach and I’d brushed him off. Terrified of what it could lead to. I feel wretched about it now. It was me who dragged him over the line in the first place, and now he’s giving me the space I insinuated I needed, and it feels like we’re a million miles apart. Right beside each other.
‘What is the nature of your relationship?’ Mum asks, as if this is a police interview.
Lord. It’s complicated. Is that a legitimate answer or is that only for social media?
‘We kissed,’ I confide, aware that this is probably not the level of detail she requires. Nevertheless, she looks delighted. ‘Last night. Once. Well, twice. More like one-and-a-half times . . .’
‘So, you are in a relationship?’
I can see her mind gallivanting straight to pew decorations, bombonieras and a mother-of-the-bride fascinator.
‘Mum, look. We’re not Amish. You can kiss people and not be together. You yourself told me to have a fling with a vagabond, remember?’
‘Yes, but obviously I meant Hugh. Why do you think Grace and I staged this intervention?’
This what?
‘The second we found out the flights were grounded we leapt into action. There really is only so much unresolved sexual tension the rest of us can tiptoe around, Katherine. And who could have predicted the collateral impact for Grace? Ooh, it is thrilling!’
What collateral impact? Is this about Justin? Mum’s going full Mrs Bennet about both of us.
‘Hugh is my best friend,’ I say. It’s news to me. And would be news to Grace, not that I’d ever tell her. He can’t replace her, of course, but he’s seen me through so much of the big stuff, right up close, it’s unexpectedly obvious that’s exactly what he is: my best and closest friend. When I try to imagine the last four years without him, I can’t fathom how I’d have survived a single day.
‘About last night . . .’ I start to tell him, back at the house. He’s standing in the kitchen, in dark blue check flannelette pyjama bottoms and a white singlet, looking like he’s barely slept. Sidenote: he is delectable. The singlet clings to washboard abs that I’m staggered he’s kept hidden under business suits all these years. Quite frankly, he’s ‘fit AF’， as Sophie would say. And he’s looking at me through the rising steam of the kettle like he’s thoroughly DTF in this moment – a proposal my own body would accept and pass without amendment if I let it.
‘Don’t apologise, Kate. I get it.’