Chapter Forty-Six
Miranda
‘Hey. Igot your email,’ Imogen says, her voice so heartbreakingly small that Miranda has to press the phone right against her ear to hear her. ‘And. . . And Ibelieve you.’
Miranda’s mouth opens, perhaps as a reflex because she was expecting to have to defend herself, but no sound comes out. Because she was not expecting that. ‘You. . . you do?’ she croaks after a moment.
‘Iwent to the doctor,’ Imogen goes on miserably. ‘You know how we’ve been trying for a baby for, like, a gazillion years? Iwent for some tests to see if anyone could figure out what was wrong with me– or with him. Long story short, turns out I’ve got chlamydia.’ She gives a sob. ‘I’ve got fucking chlamydia , Min. The doctor thinks Imight have had it for years.’
‘What the. . . ?’ Miranda can’t take this in. She turns off the engine, because clearly this is not going to be a quick conversation. ‘Chlamydia?’ she repeats dumbly. Oh God. Where had that come from?
‘It can bugger up your fertility, that’s the thing,’ Imogen continues. She’s not a tall person, or large physically, but she’s always had such a big personality, so vibrant with her blonde hair and colourful clothes, it’s killing Miranda to hear her sound so broken. ‘And not everyone has symptoms, so it can go undetected for ages. He must have caught it somewhere—’ Her voice cracks. ‘The fucking bastard– and had it treated on the quiet, thinking he’d got away with me not finding out. Except now I have found out, because he must have passed it on to me without realising.’
‘Oh, Im,’ Miranda sighs, feeling agony for her. Her heart aches as she remembers her sister’s radiant face that first Christmas when she brought him home, the great love of her life. Everyone, this is Felix!
‘But this is proof that he’s been lying to me for years,’ Imogen goes on. ‘That he cheated on me with someone else. Maybe loads of someone elses for all Iknow. Ican’t bear it.’ She breaks into sobs. ‘Ifeel s-s-s-such an idiot. Ihate him!’
Hearing her sister weeping hundreds of miles away, Miranda feels like driving straight to the nearest airport and jumping on the next plane home. ‘That’s so unspeakably grim,’ she says vehemently. ‘Ihate him too, for doing this to you. Oh, Immie, I’m so sorry, this is unbearably shitty. What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve already done it,’ Imogen sobs. ‘I’ve chucked him out. It’s over. How can Istay married to someone who treats me like th-th-that?’ Miranda hears her blowing her nose, a dismal honk. ‘Oh God, and Ihaven’t even told you the rest– Gramps sent me a weird message about someone called Jackie, one of the care assistants at the care home. It turns out Felix even tried it on with her ,
squeezed her bum or something gross when Iwas looking the other way, talking to one of the nurses. Imean. . .’
Miranda is still reeling. ‘He doesn’t deserve you,’ she says, words that she has had to keep silent for so long. ‘He’s a fucking monster,’ she adds, because it’s liberating to be able to express herself freely at last. But slagging off Felix, however enjoyable, is probably not the vibe her sister needs from her now, she realises. ‘What would help– do you want company?’ she asks. ‘Ican come back and stay with you, if you want. Or. . .’ A better idea unfolds in her head. ‘Or why don’t you fly out to Kefalonia? My treat. It’s beautiful here, there’s loads of space in my suite, you can stay with me and get away from everything properly.’ There’s a lump in her throat suddenly. ‘It would be like old times, us two sharing a bedroom again.’
The car engine ticks as it cools down, and she hears Imogen give a sniff, then blow her nose again. ‘Are you serious? God, Imight just do that,’ she says. Then, ‘I’m sorry Iwas so awful to you, by the way. Isaid some vile things.’
‘Yeah, and you were justified in saying them, because I’d dragged you into a horrible publicity storm,’ Miranda replies stoutly. ‘So I’m sorry too.’ A truck thunders past and her car rocks silently in the layby. ‘Think about it anyway,’ she urges. ‘It might do you good if you can wangle the time off work, leave everything behind for a few days. Imean, your tan will never end up being as good as mine , but if you can get over that. . .’
A laugh splutters down the phone and it warms her heart. They’ve always been able to make each other laugh, even in the darkest of times. ‘Thanks,’ says Imogen. ‘Are you okay, by the way? After all that shit in the papers?’
‘Yeah,’ Miranda replies, remembering her golden moment on the paddleboard earlier. ‘Actually, Ikind of am okay. Or at least I’m going to be, anyway.’ Her thoughts spool like ticker-tape through the events of the last week: screaming at the woman trying to film her by the hotel pool, hurling her phone into the water. Her road trip with Evelyn, setting the world to rights. The sound of Bach in a too-warm hospital ward, the urgent beeping of monitors as Evelyn’s heart stopped. The sea turtle paddling majestically through the blue. Laughing until she cried with a random Norwegian woman. ‘It’s been a funny old time, to be honest– but not all bad.’
‘I’m glad,’ says Imogen. There’s a pause. ‘Did you mean it, about me coming over there, by the way?’
Oh, she means it. So sincerely that, as soon as Miranda gets back to the hotel, she starts searching up the flight schedules for Kefalonia and sending screenshots to her sister, along with photos of the beach and pool. Let me know which flight suits you and I’ll book you a seat, she messages. Hang in there. Love you xxx