Chapter 68
Poppy
‘Y,’ I say, reading from the now almost-disintegrated A–Z index, ‘is for Yesterday. And it’s a letter, together with some diaries.’
‘Okay,’ replies Rose, frowning at me. ‘Do you really think we need to do it today? I spoke to Joe earlier, and he’s fine.
In fact he sounded brilliant. I thought …
I thought we could have a bit more time, and that then perhaps he could get the train down for the last bit of the hols. If that’s all right with you.’
‘Of course it’s all right with me. That’d be brilliant. But … well, we’ve been putting this off for two days now, haven’t we? And I think we both know why.’
She nods, and twists her hair around her fingers, and looks sad.
‘It’s because we’re getting near the end,’ she says. ‘And neither of us wants to get to the end. Because when we get to the end, it’s all over, and we go our separate ways, and everything goes back to normal.’
Hard as it is to believe, she’s right. At the beginning of all of this, we couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Rose preferred to tear the flesh from the side of her nails than to look me in the eye, and I acted like the world’s biggest bitch just to hide how vulnerable I felt.
Since then, the A–Z has stripped us bare.
It’s knocked us down, trampled on us, and built us back up.
Our mother has guided us over so many hurdles, dragged us out of pitfalls, pulled us from the clifftops of our self-destruction.
And along the way, she’s made us laugh, and cry, and eat, and play, and get to know each other, and ourselves.
The thought of it all ending – of reaching the dreaded Z – is almost too much for us to bear. Because after that, it’s up to us, isn’t it? Then, we have to play our own roles, without Mum there to direct us.
‘I know,’ I say, reaching out to hold her hand.
She is physically trembling, and I squeeze her fingers.
‘It’s a horrible thought. While we’ve been doing this, it’s like she was still with us in a way.
All those photos, and videos, and everything else she left behind – it’s been like she’s not actually gone.
But she wanted us to do this, and I don’t think we should chicken out at Y, do you? ’
Rose looks as though she wants to disagree with me, but reluctantly nods, sinking down on to the sofa in defeat.
I smile, trying to make it look more encouraging than I feel, and pull the note out of the A–Z box. It is accompanied by a hefty package wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, like a parcel in a black-and-white movie.
I open the envelope marked Y, and together, sitting side by side, we read.