We hear her before we can see her, and then two figures hove into sight on the beach, one tall, one tiny. She races up to us and throws her arms around my leg, begging to be lifted up to see the ’rora through the camera’s viewfinder.
‘Camryn Genevieve! You’re meant to be in bed!’ I say.
Hugh shrugs and smiles. ‘What can you do? Aurora-chaser like Mum and big brother.’
Our lives aren’t perfect, even under the southern lights. You can’t bring together two adults and a child with shattering grief as a backstory and expect a smooth ride. We still make mistakes. We have rows. Hugh’s new role with the University of Tasmania still gets stressful. I still write first drafts that convince me I have no idea what I’m doing, even several published books in.
But there’s something about Camryn. She took three broken people and stitched us together as a family. She’s one of the golden threads running through each of our lives. Hope, in human form.
‘When is Ruby getting here?’ Charlie asks.
Our second golden thread.
‘She’s just got to get final clearance from her doctor,’ I explain. ‘She’s so close to having the baby now! But she and Hannah have everything crossed they’ll make it.’
Charlie twists his face in concentration and starts counting things on his fingers. ‘My step-nephew?’
I laugh. ‘It’s a complicated family, isn’t it, Uncle Charlie-to-be!’
Ruby might have been the image of her mother, but I never knew Genevieve. The more I’d got to know her, the more of Hugh I imagined I saw in her. The way she raked her hand through her hair in frustration. The extraordinary patience. The habit of taking the long packets of sugar in coffee shops and meticulously evening the distribution of the contents.
‘Why don’t you have a DNA test?’ I’d coaxed him one Christmas. ‘Just to set your mind at ease, once and for all.’
He’d resisted the idea for months. I know it was self-protection. What if he got his hopes up, and she wasn’t his? ‘We love her as if she’s mine, Kate. What would it achieve?’
But something about Ruby expecting a child had tipped him over. The idea of never knowing whether or not this baby was his genetic grandchild would have eaten him up – and eaten up his mother, too. She was positively agog at the idea of a great-grandchild.
And of course the result was just the miracle Hugh always deserved, so now we’re officially a complex family of five, and I have a step-grandchild on the way at forty-four and couldn’t be more there for it.
‘Are you free for a conference dinner on 16 September?’ Hugh asks, as Camryn squirms out of my arms and back into his. ‘Black tie thing. I’m looking for a date.’
‘I don’t know, that’s months away!’ I look back into the viewfinder and take a shot. ‘I guess so? Where is it?’
‘Dublin,’ he says in a tone so deadpan he might as well have said it’s on in the local scout hall. ‘Thought you might be homesick.’
I forget the aurora and look at my husband, with stars in my eyes and memories of that beautiful Northern Rivers hinterland, the weekend we found our way to each other. He’s a little bit older and a little bit greyer than when we first met eight years ago, and so am I, but we know that every extra year is a privilege denied to the two we’ll always love.
‘Hugh,’ Charlie interrupts, his voice suddenly wavering with nerves.
We both look at him as he pulls some dog-eared papers from the Minecraft backpack he’s been carrying around with him everywhere lately. He passes the paperwork to Hugh, and I notice his little hand shaking.
‘What’s this, mate?’ Hugh says, activating the torch on his phone to illuminate the words. As he reads, he lights up with an expression more beautiful than any I’ve seen pass across his face in all the time I’ve known him.
‘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.