Chapter 61
61
NOW
‘Honey, that is not Tom,’ Libby said later when she’d come over to inspect the picture. She was sitting on the sofa in their living room, sipping from an enormous glass of wine.
‘How could you say that?’ Sophie cried, picking up the picture and scrutinising it again.
Libby shrugged. ‘Sorry, I just don’t see it.’
‘But he’s wearing what he was wearing… you know, that day.’
Libby looked at her kindly. Her face softened. ‘Well, then maybe I’m wrong,’ she said, brushing a strand of hair back from Sophie’s forehead. ‘Maybe it’s him. Maybe he was there, kind of saying goodbye.’
‘It sounds nuts.’
‘Yep. But you know, I’ve heard stranger things, been open to the idea of it,’ Libby shrugged. ‘I’m just surprised that you are, I suppose.’
‘It’s amazing what a few months of hallucinations will have you believing!’
Libby sat back on the sofa, sipped from her wine. ‘And the scattering went OK? With his parents?’
She nodded. Rather than the sterile, somehow impersonal crematorium gardens, they’d chosen to scatter Tom’s remaining ashes in the copse at the end of their enormous garden. ‘He loved it here as a child,’ Julie had told her. ‘I think he’d like to be here.’
Sophie had worried a little that they might eventually sell the plot, that it might end up being the site of hundreds of identikit new build houses. But she told herself not to. Because she couldn’t control the distant future. Had to just let it happen. And although when people said this sort of thing in movies, it had always sounded a bit corny to her, she had started to realise what they meant when they said that people live on in your heart.
Tom wasn’t there in that pile of ash. He was with them. If not in spirit, then in their memories. And that’s where she’d learn to cherish him.
Julie had gripped her hand then. ‘Thank you. For bringing him so much happiness. He was always a bit of a… worry, Tom. Always a bit too carefree for his own good. But you anchored him. I admit, I didn’t like it at the time, his devotion to you. This sudden new version of my son. But I can see now how much… richness you gave his life.’
Sophie had squeezed Julie’s hand back. ‘Thank you,’ she’d said. ‘And you don’t need me to tell you how much he loved you both.’
They’d stood, Sophie, Julie and Doug, looking at the branches wave on the bushes, hearing the rustle of the grass, the sounds of nature all around. And although they were all crying by the time they turned away, there was definitely a sense of rightness about it all – that they’d come together to say goodbye.
‘Well, I’m glad it was OK, everything considered,’ Libby said.
‘Yes.’
‘Do you have your wedding list, by the way?’ Libby asked, changing the subject. ‘I’ve lost the link you sent.’
Sophie grinned. ‘I’ll send it again. But honestly. You don’t have to get us anything.’
‘Well, we’ll see.’
‘And you’re bringing George?’ Sophie kept her tone light, but both of them knew that Libby’s bringing him to a wedding was A Big Deal.
‘Almost definitely.’
They smiled at each other.
‘Look at you, the blushing bride. Again!’
‘Your turn next?’ Sophie teased.
‘Steady on! Yes, George is… well, he’s perfect. But it’s early. No rushing.’
‘Still… “perfect” sounds promising.’
‘I’m just saying, though. If you throw that bouquet in my direction, I will high-kick it well out of reach. I’m not even sure if I’m the marrying kind.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Never say never, though. Just… I’ve realised I’ll be OK, either way. Maybe that’s the wisdom of getting older.’
‘Ha. Maybe.’
‘And what about you? Are you going to… Have you and Will talked about…?’
It was still awkward, after all these years. Sophie nodded. ‘Babies?’ she said. ‘Yes, we’ve talked about it. We’d like to. If we… if I can.’
Libby squeezed her hand. ‘I’m sure it’ll work out this time.’
‘I’m not!’ Sophie said with a wry smile.
Libby looked at her.
‘Well, I’m not! It’s OK though, I think. I’m trying to enjoy each day, not worry so much about the future that I spoil the present. I did that, you know. Last time. Wasted it.’
‘You didn’t.’
‘A bit.’
‘Well, hindsight is 20/20,’ Libby said. ‘We’d all do things differently if we could. Probably.’
‘You would?’
‘Well, I’d work a little harder for a first class degree, rather than settling for a 2.2, for starters,’ Libby said. ‘And I’d never have plucked my eyebrows into oblivion, if I had my time again.’
Sophie laughed. ‘All very serious stuff.’
‘It is serious!’ Libby grinned. ‘I have to draw them in with a crayon. I don’t think you realise how much I resent that!’
Sophie snorted with laughter, almost spitting out the sip of wine she’d just taken.
‘There she is,’ Libby said, smiling fondly.
‘What?’
‘Miss Piggy! The snorter! You always used to laugh like that. A great big oink.’
‘Hey!’
Libby touched her arm. ‘Seriously, piggies aside, I’m pleased to hear that glorious snort again. I thought you might have lost it, with everything that happened.’
‘Really? You missed the snort?’
‘Yes. OK, it’s not an attractive sound. But it’s Sophie’s laugh. Sophie’s proper laugh when she’s happy and properly letting go,’ Libby said. Then she made an exaggerated pig sound. ‘Ooiiinkkk.’
‘Libby!’ Sophie said, then without meaning to, she snorted again.
‘See! Miss Piggy!’ Libby said decisively. ‘And you know, I’ve always thought Will had the look of Kermit about him. You’re made for each other.’
‘Which makes you…?’
‘Ah, no idea. Probably Beaker or something horrific like that.’
‘I’ve got a soft spot for Beaker, if you must know.’ Then, ‘What are we talking about?’ Sophie said, laughing again.
Libby was right. It felt good to laugh. Good not to be pulled back into the past, or forward into worries for the future. Neither of which she could control. But just to be here, snorting away, sounding like a Muppet but not caring about that in the least.