Chapter 36
36
THE DAY HE LEFT ME
It’s early hours. We’ve stopped drinking. Kit is sitting at the kitchen table, his whole body sunken. He believes me this time, the pain and implications of his losses allowing the words to settle in the room, moving from hypothetical theories to facts, events, reality.
He’s called Kane, but all Kane would say was that someone would be in touch. No name. No number for Kit to call. No answers.
‘How long?’ he asks, as I pour hot water from the kettle into two waiting mugs. His voice shakes. ‘How long until you hear anything from me?’
My body stills, I put the lid back on the plastic bottle of milk; there are grains from the coffee on the counter, cooling water from the kettle starting to dissolve them, a brown stain that is growing across the surface. I turn to him, take the cups over and sit down.
‘Seven years.’ I blow over the rim. ‘Not until the morning of our wedding. ’
‘To James?’ He rubs his arms as though his brother’s name is cutting his skin, as though scars are forming beneath the surface.
‘Yes. To James.’
‘When do you realise you’re in love with him?’ He forces the words out, each one seems to be painful.
‘Three years after you go.’ I swallow down that tightness at the back of my throat, tears stinging my eyes.
Kit leans back, dark circles under his eyes. The rain is clattering against the windows like gravel being thrown up from a teenaged lover. The clock is ticking, steam from the kettle settling around my words.
‘And you’re marrying him?’
‘Yes.’ He fights tears, wipes his nose with the back of his hand. I soften my voice. ‘You were gone. He was the only one who could understand what losing you meant. I was the only one he could turn to. I love him.’ His hands are shaking as he folds them on the table. I reach over, collapsing mine over his. ‘But you were my first love.’
‘Were?’ he asks. It’s more of a sound than a word: painful, fractured.
I nod, tears falling freely down my face now. I wipe them away with the heel of my hand. ‘James is the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. I’m so sorry.’ I take my hands away.
He stares at his cup, his head nodding as if everything I’m saying is what he deserves. I glance up at the clock, at the countdown to ten thirtya.m. when Kit puts on his backpack and leaves.
Kit fiddles with his watch strap, the one that was never found. He might even still have it.
‘But I come back?’
I pull my focus away from the brown strap.
‘Yes. You had the necklace engraved. There was a receipt dated the week before and you left me a note inside. ’
‘What did I have engraved?’
My voice is tight as I say, ‘Just jump.’
‘And the note?’
‘That you were sorry and that you had no choice.’
He nods, and rubs the outside of his arms as though he’s cold. ‘That was one of the worst moments of my life, handing it over, pawning it. I swore to myself I’d get it back to you. I was going to…’
My eyebrows arch. ‘What?’
He shakes his head, reaches for the cup. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’
Sadness fills me. For everything we could have had, everything that could have been.
‘You give it to James, Kit. You do get it back to me.’ Time continues to tick by, each second bringing me closer to the moment everything changes. ‘Would you tell him? James? If you knew you were about to do it, right now… would you tell him?’
He chews the inside of his cheek. ‘I make it really convincing? That I’ve died?’
I picture the orange of the search and rescue boat, the red of the backpack, our silver car left stranded, the grey complexion of the policewoman as she told me they were closing the investigation: missing presumed dead; the red-hot agony that burned inside for months, the kaleidoscope of pain. ‘Yes.’
‘Then no.’ He meets my eyes, solid, convincing. ‘What would be the point? It would be too much of a burden for him. I wouldn’t do that to my brother.’ Relief fills my chest.
I nod, the tension across my shoulder releasing. ‘You must hate me,’ he says.
‘I don’t know how I feel about you right now, but I don’t hate you, Kit.’ I reach for his hands, cold in mine. ‘Not by a long shot. ’
‘I know you have no reason to believe me, Liv, but I honestly haven’t thought of running away, of leaving you.’
‘So that means something happened from the time you left the races until you returned home.’
‘I suppose so. But we’ve stopped that happening, right?’ There is a glimmer of hope behind his eyes.
‘I guess, but Kit… nothing I’ve done has changed anything throughout the whole week I’ve been here.’
‘So far …’ He smiles, the green of his eyes is lighter, that optimism radiating from him. ‘Maybe this is the moment? Maybe this is why whatever is happening to you is happening?’
‘I don’t know, I mean… maybe?’
‘OK.’ He grins, drinks his coffee quickly. ‘This is what we’re going to do. We’re going to stay awake, we’re going to have something to eat, we’re going to pack up and we are going to drive far away from here. I’m not going to borrow money, I am not going to fake my own death.’
‘And then?’ I ask, the thought of losing the life I’ve been living, and my love for James runs like ants along my arms.
‘Then I’ll get help. I’ll stop, Liv. I’ll pay the money back.’
‘But…’
James. My life. The life I now desperately want to get back to.
‘I’m not asking you to forget him, Liv.’ Kit’s voice is calm, understanding. ‘I’m asking for your help. I don’t want to lose you both. I don’t want to hide for the next seven years. I don’t want to spend my life living a lie.’
I bite down on my lip, looking up at the spark back in his eyes, my first love, the man who could always come out on top, no matter what life threw at him.
‘I’m not asking you to choose me. But I am asking for your help, a second chance at my life.’
My throat is dry: rain and mud; then and now .
I nod.
He claps his hands together. All action, a plan in place.
Maybe I can break the chain of events that leads to Kit ruining his life? If I can stop him going, if I can upset the natural order of the events time has in store for us both, then maybe, I can save us all from the pain we’ve had to live through for so long.
We talk as I whisk eggs into a bowl, as he chops up onions and peppers. He asks me about my life now, congratulates me on my job, asks about James and his boxing, his face falling when I tell him he stops fighting competitively. He listens while I tell him about Fighting Fit, about how well it’s doing. He asks about his parents, and I’m honest. I tell him we don’t see them. I tell him how hard it hits Alan. I tell him how Mum is improving. I make more coffee. The sun begins to rise.
Through the window, the wind is kicking up leaves, the rain distorting the view, a soft focus on the morning that I lost everything.
‘So, here’s the plan.’ He grins up, knife slicing through the omelette. ‘We don’t follow a plan.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s not make a decision.’ He leans across the table. ‘You just drive. See where the road takes us. Stay awake, as long as you can.’
‘OK.’
‘If you can get to the next day without sleeping, it will be enough; I know it will.’
‘And after?’ I ask, sobering him.
‘I don’t know.’
I reach across the table, taking his hand in mine. ‘Kit?’ He meets my eyes, scanning the expression on my face. ‘If we do this, if we change the future, you have to understand that I can’t stay with you.’
‘I know. You can’t trust me…’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not about that. I love him, Kit. We’ve built a life together.’
He takes a deep breath, holds it in his lungs. ‘Let’s just take it one step at a time?’ he asks. ‘Please? I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m going to need help. I won’t be able to do it alone.’
‘OK.’ I swallow hard. ‘You’re right. One step at a time.’
The sun has come up. It’s Good Friday, but this time I’m going with him.
I turn on the kettle again, heaping three spoonfuls of coffee into a flask. ‘I’ll just make this and then we’ll go.’
Kit is leaning against the door frame, his jacket on, the same outfit as the day he left and air catches in my throat. I step across the room, hold his face. ‘It’s going to be all right; everything is going to be fine.’ He leans his head against mine, the wind leaking in around the gaps, the future trying to get in. ‘I love you. No matter what happens, no matter what you have done. I will always love you.’
I keep the rest of the sentence locked inside: but I can’t be with you, Kit . Not any more.
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight, my hands are hanging on to the back of his jacket, clutching the material tightly.
We part and the sun glimmers through a break in the clouds, a blink of light, a flicker of hope .
‘I’ll take these down,’ he says, picking up the bags. I nod, a watery smile, the kettle clicks and I go back to the counter, my hand reaching for the black of the handle, steam billowing around me as the water hits the inside of the flask.
Kit’s feet on the stairs.
The sound of the bags scratching against the wall.
The wind rushing in through the open door at the foot of the stairs.
‘I’ll put these in the car!’ he shouts.
The wind takes hold of the door and the sound rips through me. I drop the kettle onto the counter as the door hits the frame, like a full stop. I feel the impact of it swelling into the flat, darkening the room, ink spilling into my veins.
I spin around.
Run down the stairs.
‘Kit, wait!’
My hand reaches for the door and I step through.