Chapter 69
Rachel
On the night I turn fifty, I am taken aback to see Josh’s name flash up on my phone.
It’s getting on for three years now since the day I went to his flat after my father’s funeral, to tell him we should probably stop seeing each other.
When he answered the door with his top off, I felt my breath break to pieces in my chest. In that moment, it took everything I had not to step forward and try to kiss him.
The feeling was so strong, I knew my entire world depended on me staying rooted to that doorstep.
‘Come in,’ he said.
‘I can’t.’
A silence followed. It was crushingly loud.
‘He’s making you choose,’ he said eventually.
I bit down on the insides of my cheeks, so hard I tasted blood. ‘Thank you for coming to the funeral. I really do appreciate it.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. ‘You don’t have to speak to me like I’m your half-cousin twice-removed.’
‘Oliver and I—’ I began, then broke off.
‘Oliver and you what?’
‘We’re a family,’ was all I said.
I’ve encountered Josh maybe once every six months since then.
But on each occasion he’s averted his gaze, kept his distance, barely looked in my direction.
And, each time, the pain has been like nothing I’ve ever known.
But I’ve had something to prove to Oliver.
Or maybe it’s more that I’ve had something to prove to myself.
Now, though, I dash into the garden to take his call. The air buckles with humidity, a simmer of summer thunder.
‘Hey,’ he says tentatively. ‘Just wanted to say . . . happy fiftieth.’
I am not about to give him a hard time for calling. I’m just excited to hear from him. ‘Happy fiftieth,’ I whisper back.
‘How are you celebrating?’
‘A little party for three. Emma’s been working on it for weeks. She’s bought banners and balloons and stuff. There’s a pinata and a playlist. It’s all very sweet.’
I don’t tell him, obviously, that I was wondering earlier what he and I might have been doing together, on our fiftieth birthday in another life. My mind wanders in this way occasionally, but I try to put it down to nostalgic curiosity, nothing more.
Maybe I’m feeling particularly emotional because Oliver and I had our first online therapy session last night, a very odd precursor to a fiftieth birthday.
It had been Oliver’s suggestion, which made it even more infuriating and baffling when he refused to open up to the therapist (though not before he’d laid into Josh, and – inexplicably – Ingrid), then informed me once we’d logged off that he’d felt very uncomfortable, baring his soul to a stranger.
That he thought the therapist’s questions had been almost voyeuristically intrusive.
Music is pumping from the living room. Mungo Jerry, ‘In The Summertime’. The single which was, according to my thoughtful daughter, number one on the day I was born.
‘Well. I should let you get back to it,’ Josh says, perhaps misinterpreting my pause.
‘No, wait,’ I say, heart in my throat. ‘I need a break. I’ve been dancing to K-pop. I’m not lithe and fit like you, remember?’
I hear him smile. ‘All right. How’s life, Rach?’
I fill him in, tell him Oliver’s winding down to early retirement, that next year Emma will be applying to study law at Oxford. He updates me on the latest with Graveyard Heart, the stratospheric sales and film option, the fast-flowing foreign rights deals.
‘I always knew you’d make it,’ I say.
He laughs softly. ‘Ah, well. At least one of us did, then.’
‘I don’t think I ever told you how much I adored it. Graveyard Heart. You should have been writing love stories all along.’
On the other end of the line, a lengthy silence.
I take a breath. ‘I’m really sorry we couldn’t stay in touch. I think about you a lot. It’s just been difficult. With Oliver.’ Unexpectedly, a tear breaks free, speeds down my cheek. ‘I know I probably navigated that all wrong.’
‘No, look, hey,’ he says softly. ‘You don’t owe me any explanations, Rach.’
Suddenly, I hear Emma from inside the house, shouting, ‘Mum! We’re doing the cake! Mum!’
‘I should go. Thank you for calling.’
‘Thank you for picking up.’
‘I could never see your name and not.’
A breath of hesitation, as if he wants to say something else. But then the screen goes dark.