Chapter Twenty Four
It was the day when everything began to feel just a little bit better.
For the first time since my fall, I managed to successfully cross the bedroom without relying on the crutch Josh had made for me, and without wobbling.
The weather was finally beginning to improve. Beyond the curtainless window, sunlight was bouncing so brightly off the snow I’d have slipped on sunglasses – if I’d thought to pack them. The boughs of the surrounding trees were still heavy with frost, but with the morning sun glinting through the branches, they no longer looked oppressive. The raw beauty of the forest where Josh had made his home had never been so clear.
But perhaps the biggest improvement of all was the change occurring between Josh and me. I was beginning to hope we could find a plateau for our fractured friendship, somewhere it could quietly mend. Perhaps it might never be as strong as it had once been, but at least it was moving in the right direction, away from the horrendous words we’d hurled like weapons in that awful row six years ago. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t still uncomfortable silences and pockets of tension. There were moments when I could swear Josh’s eyes were on me, but when I lifted my head to meet his gaze, he was always looking the other way. Something occasionally arced between us that had no voice, no words, but it fizzed through the air, as dangerous as a lightning strike. Thankfully we were both sensible enough to ignore it.
One thing that hadn’t improved, however, was the phone signal. No matter how many times I checked – and I checked a lot – the screen on my mobile remained obstinately devoid of the symbol I’d always taken for granted.
From the bathroom came a steady drumbeat of water, which meant Josh was still in the shower. On impulse I decided to surprise him by making breakfast. It was only fair seeing as he’d spent the last thirty-six hours waiting on me hand and foot.
As I reached for my crutch, which was lying across the bed, a beam of sunlight speared through the window, casting a spotlight on the underside of the armpiece. I ran my fingertips over a series of tiny gouges I’d never noticed before. Dismissing the strange markings, I swung the crutch from the bed like a baton twirler in a marching band. In slow motion I saw it sail through the air and begin its downward descent . . . straight towards a large ceramic lamp on Josh’s bedside table. I was already wincing before I heard the resounding crash of the lamp connecting with the hard wooden floor. The sound was eclipsed only by my cry of dismay.
The lamp had the look of something people turn up with on Antiques Roadshow and discover it’s worth a fortune. Please don’t be valuable , I silently prayed.
The sound of feet running – no, pounding – down the corridor tore my eyes from the shattered lamp. Josh didn’t pause to knock, he just burst through the bedroom door as though the cabin was on fire.
He seemed momentarily startled to find me still upright. His worried gaze then travelled to the floor, where the evidence of my clumsiness was scattered like ceramic roadkill.
I’m sure if he hadn’t been practically naked and still covered in droplets of water from the shower, I would have led with an apology for breaking yet another of his possessions, but it was hard to concentrate when rivulets of water were running down the planes of his toned stomach before disappearing into the fabric of a hugely inadequate hand towel that sat like a sarong on his hips. It took a second or two for me to look further north to see how his chest was rising and falling, as though he’d run some distance to reach me. As it was only a small cabin, I assumed that anxiety was the cause.
‘Jesus, Lily, I thought you’d fallen over again.’
I swallowed, uncomfortably aware that I’d not been this close to a practically naked man for some considerable time.
‘Erm, no. I try to only fall over spectacularly once per visit.’
It was clearly too soon for humour because he didn’t even crack a smile.
‘I thought I was going to find you in another pool of blood on the floor.’
It seemed the wrong moment to remind him that actually it had never been blood, just raspberry jam. He really did look very disconcerted.
‘I’m sorry, Josh. I’m afraid I’ve had a bit of a mishap with your lamp.’
‘Screw the lamp. It’s you I was worried about.’
Interesting.
He was slowly decompressing; I could see that by the way his stomach muscles were no longer clenched in a rigid washboard formation.
‘I’ll pay for it, obviously,’ I said, before thinking to ask, ‘Was it expensive?’ Too late, I realised those questions should probably have been in reverse order.
‘It’s just some old Ming thing that’s been in my family for generations,’ he said casually. I was still so wrong-footed, it took longer than it should have done to realise he was winding me up.
‘It’s not an antique at all, is it?’
At last, finally, he smiled. ‘No, Lily, it’s not. And you know my family history better than anyone. Foster kids don’t usually come with valuable family heirlooms.’
I bit my lip. Sorry for so many things, not least of which was making him remember a past he always tried so hard to forget. But that was Josh. That was what he did. When something hurt him, he deliberately chose to erase every trace of it from his life.
‘I’ll get the broom,’ Josh said, turning way too fast for a man wearing such a skimpy towel. I tried not to look, but I was only human, and it was very hard not to. I cleared my throat, because my mouth was suddenly very, very dry.
‘Erm, why don’t I do that, while you go and get a much bigger towel,’ I said, my eyes dropping pointedly below his navel and then instantly darting away as I caught another glimpse of something I was never meant to see.
To his credit, Josh handled the awkward moment far better than I did. He reached for the towel and cinched it more firmly into place.
‘Sorry about that. I don’t think hosts are meant to flash their house guests, are they?’
Thank God he appeared to find it funny. I matched his banter with my own.
‘I think it’s okay if you never actually invited them to stay in the first place.’
He grinned, and after a moment of hesitation I grinned back.
Strangely, it was the grin that haunted my thoughts for the rest of the morning, and not the unexpected glimpse of a body I never thought I’d see unclothed again.
‘You’re moving so much better,’ Josh observed as I went from dishwasher to cupboards, putting things away. After only a few days, I knew the layout of his kitchen shelves almost as well as my own.
‘I am,’ I said with a lightness of both heart and step that had definitely been missing before. It was amazing, the difference a change in weather had made to my mood. ‘I was thinking I might take Fletcher out for his walk this morning.’
Josh nodded into his coffee cup. ‘Sure. Just so long as I go with you.’
‘I don’t need you to babysit me anymore, Josh. Not now I’m more mobile.’
‘Exactly,’ he said triumphantly. ‘You’re almost better, and the last thing either of us wants is for you to take another tumble and end up having to stay here even longer.’
That was the last thing I wanted, but it still stung to hear that he could scarcely wait to see me gone.
‘Besides,’ Josh continued in an entirely different – almost hesitant – tone. ‘Now things are thawing outside, they’ll be clearing the roads and fallen trees in the next day or two. And I still haven’t had the chance to show you around properly.’
‘Well, if you’re sure you can spare the time,’ I said, feeling oddly conflicted about leaving the forest. It was probably frustration, because I’d never managed to get to the bottom of Adam’s final instruction. It felt increasingly likely that I’d never discover why my husband had sent me to Josh, or why he’d ever thought I’d need to forgive him.
I pulled on the only clean jumper I had left in my case and ran a brush through my hair, for once not bothering to clip it up. The soft water in the forest had my hair shining in a way even fancy salon treatments had never achieved. Still, good hair was hardly an adequate reason to live in a forest for the rest of your life.
Unsure how the absurd notion of living here permanently had crept into my thoughts, I returned to the kitchen where Josh was waiting for me. He was dressed for outdoors and was holding my coat in readiness for me to slip it on. There was a slight fumble of crutch and sleeves as I wriggled into it. Josh’s hand went to my neck to sweep my hair free of the collar, releasing both the trapped strands and a curious sensation that travelled the length of my spine. My body had traitorously responded exactly as it used to do whenever Adam’s fingers had scraped against my neck. I was furious with my nerve endings for not recognising that this was the wrong man, in the wrong place, and they had no business reacting as they’d done.
With a voice that sound unnaturally chipper, I strode briskly to the door. ‘What’s the first stop on our tour? Your workshop?’
Josh’s brows drew together. I kept forgetting how well we used to know each other; how easily we’d once picked up on every tiny nuance. He’d done such a great job of forgetting me, but unfortunately it seemed he could still read me like a book.
‘We can start there if you like, although there’s not much to see. Just a load of wood and tools.’
‘Great!’ I said, sounding so falsely jolly I fully expected him to call me out on it. Weirdly, he didn’t, but he did look at me strangely before picking up Fletcher’s lead and following me out the door.
The workshop was more cavernous than I’d realised. It felt like a cross between an airline hangar and a meat locker. Josh must have seen me shiver, for he gave an apologetic shrug. ‘Sorry. It’s always pretty chilly in here.’ He flicked on a series of switches and two rows of overhead fluorescents buzzed into life, as well as an electric heater.
The air was fragrant with wood shavings, wax and varnish. It was a subtle aroma that I realised clung to Josh like a signature cologne.
Within the workshop were multiple benches, each containing projects at different stages of completion. I wandered from one bench to the next, recognising several of the pieces in progress from his website.
‘These are all really good,’ I said, genuinely impressed with his skill. He’d come a long way from a troubled teenager with a penknife and a penchant for scoring his name in tree trunks.
I threw him a sidelong glance and was surprised to see him looking vaguely uncomfortable. Surely he knew how talented he was?
‘So, what’s under that one?’ I asked, walking towards a final workbench, which, unlike the others, was shrouded by a large calico dust sheet.
‘Oh, that’s nothing,’ Josh said, his pace quickening as I approached the mysteriously draped bench. ‘It’s not finished.’
It seemed unnecessary to point out that neither were the items on any of the benches. But they weren’t hidden from sight.
‘It was a commission piece, but it fell through.’ There was a definite uneasy note in his voice.
My curiosity was piqued. ‘May I?’ I asked, my hand already on the dust sheet.
With an almost tortured look, Josh gave a quick reluctant nod.
‘Lily,’ he said as the dust sheet fell to the ground. There were so many different emotions threaded into the way he said my name, but I couldn’t unpick or identify any of them.
‘Oh,’ I said, taking a step closer to the half-finished crib. It was vintage in design, made from a type of wood I’d never seen before. The grain was beautiful, catching the light and reflecting it like a mirror, but it was the intricate carvings that made the piece stand out. Detailed woodland creatures were chiselled into the wood, chasing each other down one side of the crib; the opposite side had one half-finished carving of a rabbit.
‘That’s beautiful, Josh. It’s not just furniture, it’s art.’
He gave a small grunt, but I thought I’d seen a small glow of pride on his face as he bent to retrieve the dust sheet.
‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Why did they cancel?’ I already feared the answer to that question would be a sad one.
Josh gave a shrug. ‘I don’t know. They just cancelled the order.’
‘Didn’t you ask why?’
‘It wasn’t any of my business.’ There was an undercurrent in his voice that I took to mean that it wasn’t mine either. But there was a quiet tragedy in the unfinished crib, like a dream that had never been realised. It resonated in me like a sorrowfully tolling bell.
This time it was his turn to be intuitive.
‘I’m sorry. This must be especially hard for you. I know how much you wanted to have a baby.’
Just when you think you’ve packed away all the sharp edges of grief, one of them still manages to escape and slice you. Unwanted tears sprang into my eyes. I blinked them away furiously.
‘It wasn’t meant to be,’ I said. ‘We just weren’t lucky. And then when Adam got sick all those plans were put on ice.’ I bit my lip, because the prospect of having Adam’s child was still on ice. Literally.
‘Well, I’m sorry if seeing this upset you. I should probably just chuck it out.’
I shook my head. ‘Don’t you dare. It’s beautiful, and it will be even more so when it’s finished. Promise me you won’t destroy it.’
He gave a slightly bemused smile. ‘I’d forgotten how much you like to champion the most bizarre of causes,’ he teased gently. ‘This is like the hedgehog crossing all over again.’
I laughed, happy the conversation was steering towards safer waters. ‘They needed to slow down the traffic,’ I said, almost as ardently as I’d done twenty years ago when we’d sat on his lawn making placards for our two-man protest to the local council.
‘I still can’t believe you got them to put in that crossing.’
‘When something’s important, you have to fight for it,’ I insisted.
Josh’s expression was suddenly unreadable.
‘Don’t bin the crib,’ I said firmly.
I’m not sure which one of us started it first. It was a silly little game; a private joke that made us smile every single time. Adam and I spoke about our children, the ones we knew Future Us would someday have, giving them the most ridiculous names.
‘I can’t wait for the day when Pocahontas scribbles all over this wallpaper with her wax crayons,’ I told Adam, ‘because then we’ll have to change it.’
‘Pokey would never do that,’ he insisted. ‘She’ll appreciate quality décor.’
Or . . .
‘I don’t know how Fletcher is going to feel when Spartacus replaces him as our number one son.’
I’d spluttered out a mouthful of coffee on that one.
‘Spartacus?’ I exclaimed, when I’d finished coughing.
‘I am Spartacus,’ Adam declared solemnly, quoting the film’s iconic scene. ‘Everyone wanted to be him. Great name for a kid.’
But the memory I loved most . . .
‘I really hope little Bellatrix grows up to look just like her mummy,’ Adam said, after watching me apply my make-up one morning.
‘You want to call our daughter the same name as an evil witch?’
‘Well, I was considering Hagrid . . . but I thought that might be a step too far.’
But picking out a name for a real-life baby was yet another treasured moment we never got to experience.
After leaving the workshop we headed down one of the many footpaths that threaded through the tall pines. The ground was thick with snow here, where it was protected from the sunlight by a lacy dome of interwoven boughs.
‘Careful,’ Josh cautioned as my crutch skidded away from me. His hand reached out to grab my elbow and he forgot to remove it as we continued down the meandering pathway. And I forgot to remind him.
Eventually we came to the place where he’d been leading me. It was a natural clearing, most of which was taken up by a large lake, whose surface was frozen as solid as an ice rink. Even so, Josh bent down and clipped the lead back on to Fletcher’s collar. It was probably overly cautious, because I doubted Fletcher would do anything as daft as venturing on to the frozen surface.
‘It doesn’t hurt to be careful. A guy I used to know lost his life rescuing a dog who’d fallen through the ice.’
‘How terrible,’ I said, bending down and double-checking the clasp on Fletcher’s collar.
‘Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen to Adam’s dog,’ Josh said solemnly. There was a weight behind those simple words that almost bowled me over.
It emboldened me to risk shattering the convivial mood, but there was an almost church-like feel to this place. The lake, the ice-bedecked trees, and the silence of the forest . . . they made it seem like a confessional.
I didn’t know I was going to ask the question until it came out, almost of its own volition. I didn’t even know it still bothered me. But clearly it did.
‘Why did you do it, Josh? Why did you come and see me right before my wedding?’
‘Lily.’ His eyes pleaded with me not to go there.
But this time I pressed on. I’d be leaving here soon, and he owed me an answer to this question at least, after all these years.
‘Why, Josh?’
‘I . . . It was . . . it was a mistake.’
‘What was? Coming to see me, or what happened afterwards because of it?’
‘All of it,’ he said, his eyes unreadable. ‘It was all just one big, horrible, stupid mistake . . .’