Chapter 5
‘I come bearing pad thai,’ comes a familiar voice as Tilly answers the flat’s buzzer and presses the button to let her sister in later that evening.
Harper looks even more tanned than usual and Tilly wonders yet again how they are related.
While Tilly’s own skin is so pale it often looks translucent, Harper has their father’s tanned complexion and hair that is more conker than Tilly’s carrot, cut in a messy bob that shows off the gold hoop earrings dangling at her neck, a souvenir from one of her many travels.
As she shrugs off her coat Tilly clocks the pink-and-green woollen monstrosity that Harper is wearing.
‘I can’t believe you’re actually wearing that jumper.’
Tilly knitted it when she was in hospital visiting Joe.
After reading, crafting has always been her way of relaxing, but what she has in enthusiasm, she does not possess in skill.
The pink creature on the front of the jumper was supposed to be a rabbit but looks much more like a pig wearing an Easter Bunny costume.
‘Hey, I love this jumper!’
Tilly had a lot of time for crafting during those hospital visits so her family have ended up with a lot of handmade knitwear. She doesn’t expect them to actually wear any of it, though.
She gives her sister a hug, catching a whiff of her citrusy perfume.
‘It’s nice to see you. I didn’t know you were coming over. No Raj?’ Tilly braces herself for the sound of footsteps lumbering up the stairs. Not that she doesn’t love Harper’s boyfriend, but since Joe’s death her small-talk game is seriously lacking.
‘Just me. I just got back from my trip,’ replies Harper as she plonks the takeaway bag down on the table and starts helping herself to plates and cutlery from the cupboards. ‘And I wanted to come see you, especially as I missed your birthday, which I’m still gutted about.’
‘It’s fine, I told you all I didn’t want to do anything.’
It had been hard enough to convince her parents that she really wouldn’t be coming back to Hay-on-Wye for Christmas, so they were disappointed when she said she also didn’t want to make plans for her birthday.
For a while she worried they were going to turn up anyway but then she played the widow card, and they thankfully backed down.
Ever since Joe’s death her parents have treated her like a fragile vase, tiptoeing around her and being especially gentle.
Harper’s approach, on the other hand, has been to treat her like a broken vase that needs fixing.
‘You didn’t have to bring food again. I could have ordered us something.’
‘Well, I’m here now and I figured you could probably do with a proper meal.’
‘I eat proper meals.’ Tilly thinks of the pesto pasta she’d planned to make later.
‘Pesto pasta is not a proper meal, Tilly.’
A memory enters her mind of Harper calling her when she first left home to go to university, two years after Tilly, freaking out because her jacket potato had exploded in the microwave and covered the inside in molten cheese.
Back then, Tilly managed to calm her down and talk her through how to clean it before her new housemates found the mess, but the jacket potato days seem a long time ago for Harper.
Since Joe’s death Harper has kept Tilly’s freezer well stocked with Tupperwares of home-cooked stews and curries, made using recipes picked up on her travels.
‘Well, this does smell great. Thank you. Remind me where you were this time?’ Tilly asks as she helps Harper peel back the lids from the takeaway cartons, the satisfying smell of spices filling the air.
‘Phang Nga. So this takeaway was probably a terrible idea, because there’s no way it will be as good as the real thing, but I’ve been missing Thai food since I got back.’
Harper’s job at luxury online travel magazine Voyageur takes her all around the world.
Growing up, Harper was adamant that she was one day going to see the whole world, whereas Tilly was always more comfortable reading about places than actually visiting them.
Harper stopped travelling as much for a while when Joe died, but she’s back to her usual workload now – a workload that can see her in several different countries in the same week.
When Harper asks what’s new with her, Tilly tells her about work, then hesitates for a moment. ‘And I actually received an unexpected gift on my birthday. Something Joe arranged for me before he died.’
‘Wow, that’s amazing,’ Harper says, once Tilly has explained the gift. ‘And Matilda is the perfect choice. I remember you obsessing over that book when we were kids and becoming convinced you were Matilda. Do you remember when we tried to master telekinesis?’
‘Oh god, I’d forgotten about that,’ replies Tilly, a smile breaking across her face. ‘We broke so many mugs.’
‘So, have you reread it yet?’ Harper asks as she munches on a prawn cracker.
‘Not yet.’
‘Isn’t it aimed at seven-year-olds? It’s the perfect thing to get you out of your reading slump.’
Tilly has tried telling Harper that her inability to read is more than just a reading slump, but she doesn’t seem to get it.
‘Not yet. Work has been crazy. I’m working on a new memoir that’s set to be a big one …’
‘Your work has always been crazy. Yet you still used to find time for reading. You’ve always been a reader. It’s just who you are.’
Tilly thinks of the line in Joe’s letter.
What her sister doesn’t get is that the person she used to be died when Joe did.
She’s different now, in a way that she isn’t sure Harper will ever really understand.
There’s a darkness to her that wasn’t there before, that sometimes feels like a fog and at other times like a stone lodged in her chest. She carries the darkness with her everywhere, all the time, even if on the surface she might look the same as before.
‘The food was great, thanks for bringing it.’
Harper opens her mouth, as if to push her again about the book, but instead she stands up, saying, ‘Let me help you tidy.’
Harper loads the dishwasher, stacking things in a haphazard way that Tilly will correct later.
‘When are you going to clear some of this stuff?’ Harper says when they’re sat on the sofa nursing cups of tea.
She gestures at Joe’s desk behind them. One of his jumpers is still draped over the chair and the desk is covered in papers and framed photos of his family.
Teetering piles of files and boxes litter the floor. ‘It’s pretty depressing in here, Tils.’
‘It doesn’t bother me.’ She just has to do a light amount of parkour over the living-room furniture to get from one side of the room to the other without knocking any boxes over.
‘But it’s been over six months … I could help you? It might be easier if we do it together?’ Harper has always loved a project. Tilly just wishes she wasn’t it.
‘Thanks for the offer, and I’ll let you know if I change my mind,’ Tilly says firmly. ‘Now tell me, where are you off to next?’
Tilly listens as Harper tells her about a trip to Oslo to review a new restaurant for a feature on the best restaurants in Europe. When Harper disappears to the bathroom Tilly lets herself sink lower into the sofa, her eyes drifting up to the blue urn on the bookshelf.
‘I know I probably should have sorted things by now. But it’s hard to know where to start. Hey, we talked about going to Oslo, didn’t we? And Paris, of course. I really wish we’d gone to Paris –’
‘Who are you talking to?’
Tilly freezes as Harper reappears in the doorway, looking at her strangely.
‘No one.’ But they both know she’s lying. And even though Harper doesn’t say the words out loud Tilly can tell from her expression exactly what she wants to say.
It’s time for you to move on.
Harper glances at the time on her phone. ‘It’s still early, shall we go to the pub? Or catch a late-night film? Or there’s this new cocktail bar I’ve been meaning to try that sounds amazing …’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘It might do you good to get out. Have some fun.’
Tilly doesn’t say that by her recent standards this evening has been fun. She’s talked with another human and hasn’t touched her work laptop or cried once since Harper arrived. But she is pretty sure Harper has a different definition of fun.
Her sister glances at her phone again. ‘Well, some friends have just messaged asking me to come join them at a party actually, so …’ Her face lights up with the promise of a night of laughter and new memories made.
‘Go, have a great time,’ Tilly says, pecking her sister on the cheek and feeling a lot older than the two years that really separate them.
After Harper has left, the silence in the flat is broken by the sound of Tilly’s phone ringing.
Ellen Carter.
She contemplates answering but before she can make up her mind it goes to voicemail.
‘Hi, Tilly, it’s Ellen. I’m just checking in. I hear it’s been rainy there. I don’t know how you cope with all the grey in London. It makes me depressed just thinking of it! The grandkids are just arriving so I should go. Everyone says hello. Bye for now.’
Tilly sits in the echo of the voice that she has always thought of as the female version of Joe’s.
The first time she heard it in person was when she went to meet Joe’s parents in Connecticut, the autumn just a couple of months after they’d started dating.
It felt quick by her previous relationship timelines but Joe had already planned the trip, saying he always tried to go back in the fall because it was when he missed home the most. When he invited her, it felt natural to say yes; they’d spent most days together since meeting in Foyles and going on their first official date, when Joe took her to the British Library followed by a nearby pub.
Tilly thought the trip was going well. Joe’s parents had welcomed her warmly and she’d made a point of complimenting everything – the food, Joe’s childhood home (bigger and more beautiful than he’d let on) and the neighbourhood (dotted with large wooden houses and trees in full autumn splendour).
But on the last night, when Joe’s family thought Tilly was in the shower, she caught the sound of Ellen’s voice downstairs in the living room.
‘Tilly seems very sweet but are you sure she’s the best fit for you?’
Tilly had come out in search of a towel and paused on the landing, holding her breath.
‘What do you mean?’ Joe’s voice came in reply. Tilly can still remember how firm he sounded. ‘She’s perfect.’
‘For someone, maybe. But I never imagined you with someone so … bookish. She doesn’t seem very outdoorsy – none of the shoes she brought were remotely appropriate for the hikes we planned. I’m just not really sure what the two of you have in common.’
‘It doesn’t matter that we have different interests. I love that she’s different from me. I love everything about her.’
‘You know we only want you to be happy, honey. I just can’t help but think that maybe you’d be happier longer term with someone who’s a better fit for you. Didn’t you think it was odd that she sat on the side reading a book at our family football game yesterday? Our annual game is a tradition.’
‘She’s never played football before. And she’s not really a sports person.’
‘Neither am I. But I join in every year, don’t I? Because we Carters are joiner-iners. You’re a joiner-iner, you always have been. But Tilly seems more like someone who watches life from the sidelines rather than someone who jumps in. I never imagined you with someone like that.’
Tilly didn’t hear what Joe said next, if anything at all, because instead he stormed out of the room.
Ellen was all smiles for the rest of the trip, hugging Tilly just as tightly as they said goodbye.
But Tilly couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d overheard.
Especially because she worried there was some truth to Ellen’s words.
She was happier curled up with a book than doing pretty much anything else.
Did Joe deserve someone more adventurous and outgoing?
Even after she and Joe moved in together, and eventually got married, she never felt quite good enough for the Carter family.
She’s surprised that Ellen has even bothered keeping in touch now that Joe isn’t here.
She should probably return her mother-in-law’s call but instead she reaches for her laptop, planning on sending some emails and reading some of the manuscripts she’s working on, making notes to send back to the authors.
As soon as she looks at the screen she realizes she’s too tired to work.
But the prospect of slipping into her big empty bed doesn’t feel tempting either.
That’s when her gaze catches on the copy of Matilda that has sat on her coffee table for the last month, staring reproachfully at her. This time, instead of ignoring it, she picks it up. The edition is so fresh and crisp that the spine creaks satisfyingly as she turns to open the first page.
Tilly thinks back to what Harper said earlier about the book.
Isn’t it aimed at seven-year-olds? The books she has tried reading over the past year have been the type of books she usually finds herself gravitating towards: books that focus on complex emotions and big themes.
Grown-up books. She hasn’t thought to try a children’s book.
She hasn’t read a children’s book since she was a child herself, back when she was eager to graduate to the books on her mum’s shelf, books she went on to hungrily devour when she was probably too young to fully understand them.
Her eyes settle on the opening line of Roald Dahl’s Matilda and she begins to read.
It starts to rain outside, droplets hammering on the windows and the balcony doors.
But Tilly doesn’t notice the sound. She doesn’t look up from the pages apart from to drag one of her handmade crochet blankets around her shoulders (a little lumpy but soft and warm), snuggling up with the book splayed on her lap.
As she reads about a little girl who shares her name and who loves to read, the world beyond the pages of the book disappears.
And somewhere inside her a door that she thought was locked nudges open, letting in a shaft of light.