Emily, sitting in her shop, was distracted, unable to concentrate on work. Kate was out with Luke. On their non-date. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did.
It had been a tough day. Lena was fretful. Noah was sulking. Abby had come by earlier looking for a sympathetic ear, regaling her with pregnancy woes until Emily wanted to put her hands over her ears. Eventually, she’d confessed the real reason for her visit – she was worried about Dan. He’d been weird lately, too quiet, not himself. Emily didn’t know what to tell her; it was anyone’s guess what was going on with Dan. It troubled her a little; Dan was the easygoing one, the Cotton sibling with his life on track. He was usually pretty uncomplicated.
Exhausted, feeling fretful herself, Emily drove home. At Bluebell Bank she curled in an armchair in the living room. Strangely she felt more alone than ever. Her brothers were concerned with their own things; Kate’s presence only magnified her absence now; Lena was upstairs and so remote, so removed.
She let the room darken round her, gave up trying to read and let herself think about Luke, remembering a moment she so heartily wished she could erase.
A moment that could have cost her Kate’s friendship, and still might.
Kate and Luke were together right now, reminiscing, talking over old times, and it felt so precarious – an inevitable slide towards the confession that would implicate Emily. She ought to be the one to tell Kate, but how could she, when everything that had come after, her silence for all those years, would seem so deliberate? Traitorous and catastrophic.
She hadn’t meant it to happen. She told herself that over and over, as though it made it better somehow: her lack of intent, no malice aforethought. Luke was gone so swiftly from Kate’s life, a clean slicing break for him. But not for Kate, and Emily held the key to the knowledge Kate still sought.
Emily set her book aside, the spine splayed on the carpet. She had never revealed the truth. As the years passed, and put time between her and that night, between Kate and Luke, she lost the sharp edge of panic that had been her companion – fear that Kate would discover the truth and Emily would lose her.
Kate got over Luke, or it had seemed she had. Emily reassured herself so, though there hadn’t really been anyone of any significance for Kate all through university; a few flings and liaisons that fizzled quickly, but nothing that mattered. That was partly why Emily had been so relieved by the Facebook photos of Ben; they looked so happy and in love with their idyllic holidays and glamorous lifestyle. Surely, she had thought, it was safe now to bring Kate home, when Luke was but a distant memory.
But, no. Apparently not. Emily only had to glimpse the starry look in Kate’s eyes, the softening of her features when his name was mentioned to know that Luke still mattered: a lot.
And so, therefore, did Emily’s shame. Was she betraying Kate still, with every word she didn’t say?
She and Luke hadn’t spoken until the other day in the hardware store – when she had wished him a million miles away; not here, standing before Kate in all his glory. Yes, it was dangerous indeed; past mistakes had the power to destroy everything. Even the beauty of her new shop, and the frissons she felt when an innocuous little text message arrived from Mike, couldn’t comfort her.
When Kate returned, she found Emily sitting in the darkened living room ruminating, her book abandoned on the floor. Lena was long abed; she had been so lost to Emily this evening, no attempts to coax her into lucidity with the help of the memory book had been fruitful. Which was a shame, because Emily could have done with the distraction.
Kate set her bag on the floor and went around switching on the lamps as she regaled Emily with the details. ‘He took you to St Ninian’s Cave to watch the sunset?’ Emily hardly sounded surprised.
Kate flopped in a chair. ‘Yes.’
‘But he didn’t kiss you?’
‘No, but I didn’t want him to kiss me. It would have ruined it. He knew that.’
‘You didn’t want him to kiss you?’
‘Now you’re just repeating things, Emily.’ Kate was weary and ready to be alone with her thoughts. ‘No, I didn’t want him to kiss me. It would have been all wrong, as if he only took me there because he wanted to kiss me, or to get me into bed.’
Emily turned to Kate, wide-eyed.’ You want to go to bed with him?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You’re the one that mentioned Luke and bed in the same sentence. I’m just pointing that out.’
Kate managed a smile. ‘How old are we? Don’t you think we’re past all this over-analysing every second of a date?’
‘Hah, so it was a date, I knew it.’ Emily sat up.
Kate sighed and conceded. ‘OK, maybe. He’s coming to the shop tomorrow to help us out and have a scout around for any other structural stuff needs doing. And he’s going to take me sailing soon.’ Emily was silent, musing. Kate needed her approval. ‘I know it’s strange, but be happy for me. Please.’
‘I … I don’t think it’s such a good idea, Kate. I don’t want you to be hurt again. And what about Ben?’
Kate nodded. ‘I’ll call him tomorrow. This has dragged on long enough. We both know it’s over. It won’t break his heart or anything, our relationship wasn’t like that. You mustn’t worry about me, Em. I won’t be hurt. I’m not even sure this is a thing between Luke and me, but, if it is, we’re adults now, it’s different. Now, I’m tired. Time for bed.’
*
Emily looked up at the square of navy through the skylight window in the bathroom, water cascading over her body. Soothing. She stuck her head under the stream and cupped her hands, throwing handfuls of water over her face, gasping as she came up for air.
The stars were visible, pinpricks of silver in the velvet black. She finished showering and stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around herself, trying to shake her cloak of melancholy. This time of night was hers and hers alone: just the ritual creaking of the old house and the pattering of Bracken’s claws on the kitchen floor as he settled to sleep.
As she showered she was thinking about the Book Nook and how far they had come, pushing the less comfortable thoughts of Kate and Luke aside. The barn looked great, and Emily felt equal now to the task of running this business.
She had no cravings for the smooth gravel of Joe’s voice in her ear, but her healing still felt fragile – she couldn’t afford to lose Kate again now.
Emily was nervous, feeling everything moving beyond her control.
She put on pyjama bottoms and a grey T-shirt, towelled her hair and brushed it, letting it fall in damp ringlets down her back. Then she left the bathroom and decided to go downstairs for a last cup of tea before bed.
Lena was standing in the hall, startling Emily in the dark. A thin, knobbly, white-haired ghost looming at her from the shadows. Wearing an old shirt of her late husband’s, her bare, skinny legs all bone and flabby muscle beneath.
‘What are you doing?’ Emily asked, sharper than she had intended. There was a bowl of dog biscuits in Lena’s hand.
Lena looked up, with bristling impatience. ‘I’m feeding the dog, what does it look like?’
Emily debated whether or not to let it go. A second dinner in the middle of the night this once wouldn’t hurt Bracken much, but it felt like the start of something, a slope gathering momentum: slide and slither and slip and before she knew it she’d be hiding medication and sharp objects, bathing her grandmother and feeding her like a baby. A wave of depression washed over Emily. She thought of the endless lists, the name-tag photo-montage, the childlike petulance when Lena didn’t get her own way, how she had to hide cigarettes from her because Lena – who had given up smoking years ago – would never remember she’d lit one, leave them burning ominously in any room of the house.
A swirl of panic began at her core: it would be incontinence and insults, irrational behaviour and forgetting the very basics of how to live: Lena’s ignominious future.
Was there any less dignified an end for someone of such … stature, such vitality?
A lump rose in her throat. ‘Lena,’ she said softly, reaching for the bowl. ‘You already fed him.’
Lena’s face creased with confusion. ‘No, I didn’t. I’m quite sure I …’
‘You did. I saw you. After dinner.’
Lena’s face collapsed in dismay. ‘Oh. Yes.’
She didn’t remember. ‘It’s OK,’ Emily said. ‘It’s not a big deal. We’ll put up a schedule in the kitchen, on the pinboard. A space for each day and we can just tick it whenever we feed him, to stop us getting mixed up.’
Lena nodded, but she was uncomforted by the pretence. She looked at the bowl Emily had taken from her. ‘Yes,’ she said in a hollow-sounding voice. ‘Good idea.’ She glanced down at her strange attire, with cheerful bluster to match Emily’s. ‘Is it bedtime? Yes? Right, I’ll be off. Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘’Night,’ Emily murmured, watching her go. At her feet Bracken whined disconsolately, not understanding. Emily scratched his matted ears. ‘I’m sorry boy,’ she whispered, and bent down to hide her tears in the dog’s fur. It was a thousand little deaths, this illness: a long, protracted grief.
She went to her bedroom and sat in the darkness, took out her mobile and weighed it in her hand. She wouldn’t call him. She didn’t think she would call him – she didn’t want to call him.
A text message. Mike:
1984 or Brave New World?
He had been doing this for days – texting her book titles and making her choose. ‘For my files,’ he’d joked. ‘You can tell a lot about a person from their book preferences.’
Emily texted back:
1984 is better, Brave New World is scarier
Cop out, Mike replied. Choose.
I’ll have to think about it and let you know.
Can I come by the shop tomorrow after work and get your answer over a pint?
Emily considered for only a second, made herself wait another minute, then responded.
Yes.