Epilogue
Isaac
Five years later
I watch as the packers’ van disappears around the corner, and I stand here for a second with my hands on my hips. I stretch and feel my joints pop.
The house is finally empty, barring some bits and bobs.
It feels like taking a duster to the chalkboard of our lives for the last ten years.
I feel a little nostalgic, but also like I’ve forgotten something important.
I feel less and less like this these days, like if I stop paying attention for one second, the universe will remember it owes me a tragedy.
The intrusive thought creeps in uninvited.
Therapy and time have helped.
But more importantly, I have Luna, the one who brushes the thoughts away like cobwebs.
Some fears leave scars behind. Sometimes, you forget they are there, but then, your finger wanders back, remembering the wound.
I load the final box into the back of the car and glance across the driveway.
Luna is sitting on the steps beside Amelie.
My girls. The sight still catches me off guard sometimes, that I am lucky they are still mine.
Amelie has Luna’s green eyes. Luna says the rest looks like me—the dark hair, the shape of her smile, the curve of her nose. The way she gestures when she’s explaining something.
She has Luna’s stubbornness.
Amelie’s lower lip wobbles.
Uh-oh.
“George was supposed to come,” she blubbers, on her way to full-blown tears that will break my heart.
I wince internally.
The George Situation has dominated the last three days.
“He wanted to, I am sure,” Luna says patiently.
“He didn’t answer the phone when you called him.”
“He’s probably upset and sad that you are going away.”
“He said he didn’t want to be my friend because I was leaving him.” The waterworks are escalating.
Luna tucks a strand of hair behind Amelie’s ear.
“Best friends get mad sometimes.”
Amelie looks unconvinced and buries her face in her mum’s lap.
The conversation continues while I pretend to organise straps in the boot, eavesdropping on every word.
Amelie asks, “Is Aunt Lily your best friend?”
Luna pauses and glances over at me. My heart does the stupid thing that makes me wonder if I need a check-up.
“She is, and she did some stupid things, but we made up, like best friends do. But your dad is my bestest-est-est friend.”
My precocious daughter immediately asks, “Is that why he always puts his tongue in your mouth when he kisses you?”
I grin, thinking I wouldn’t want George to be doing that. I wisely keep this observation to myself.
The next question is harder.
“What if nobody likes me at my new school?”
The smile slips from my face. Beneath all the excitement and planning and house hunting, that’s the thing, isn’t it?
What if Amelie hates it?
What if we made the wrong decision?
What if Bolton isn’t home?
What if there are bullies at the new school?
What if—
I stop myself from going down that particular rabbit hole.
Luna answers before I can spiral.
“It’ll be impossible not to like you. You are the cutest, brightest, sweetest, brainiest.”
Amelie still looks doubtful. Thankfully, a distraction arrives in the form of Jemma and her Great Dane. The emotional crisis evaporates instantly.
“DOGGY!”
And she’s gone.
I watch her disappear after the dog. Luna sighs as yet another mini-explosion has been avoided—or at least postponed.
I love that sound. I walk over and slide an arm around her waist. She leans into me automatically. Neither of us has to think about it anymore. It is as natural as breathing.
My favourite thing in this world.
Luna winces, and my hand settles over the curve of her belly. The baby kicks hard.
I smile despite myself. This little plot twist neither of us saw coming.
We’d already decided to move when Luna wanted to do her engineering degree competencies. The applications were sent. I had put in my papers for a transfer. I had found the perfect house on Rightmove.
Then, Luna walked into the bathroom one morning holding a pregnancy test. I’d never seen her look so shocked. I sat down so suddenly, and I nearly missed the chair.
And then we laughed and cried and panicked. Mostly panicked. Beneath all the excitement, there was fear and the memory of how wrong things had gone.
Our first pregnancy had ended with a beautiful daughter, but it had nearly cost me my wife. There are dark memories I don’t visit often. I sometimes have nightmares of the sound of Luna crying when she thought I wasn’t listening.
The second pink line on that test brought all of it back.
I still wake up sometimes and put my hand on Luna’s back just to make sure she’s breathing. I haven’t told her that, but I think she knows because she is extra nice on my bad days.
“Any regrets?” she asks.
The question pulls me back to my present.
I don’t even need to think.
“No.”
Because here’s the thing: I am terrified of messing it up again, of not being enough, of losing all this happiness, because surely, nobody gets to keep this much.
“No?” Luna asks.
I shake my head.
“We always wanted an adventure.”
She smiles at that.
“Bolton isn’t exactly Morocco."
“It's change. Look forward, not back, right?”
“Yes, but sometimes back, if you are driving a car,” Luna shoots back.
I grin.
The baby kicks again, and she groans.
“Your son is practising football.”
“Rugby.”
“Football.”
“Rugby.”
I pull her closer. She fits perfectly against imperfect me.
The words come out before I can stop them. “I think I’ll get it right this time.”
Luna tenses in my arms.
She reaches up and cups my cheek.
“You’d better. That’s why you have me to keep you in line.”
I laugh and kiss her forehead. Across the street, Amelie is attempting to convince a Great Dane to move to Bolton with us. The dog appears interested. Jemma looks a little helpless because our daughter is a force of nature.
Luna shakes her head, knowing Amelie will be back with the “I want a puppy” demands.
And standing here, between the life we’re leaving and the life we’re building, with my daughter bossing us around and my son kicking beneath Luna’s heart, I finally understand something.
Maybe I will always be afraid. That’s what happens when you’ve come close to losing something precious.
Courage isn’t the absence of fear.
It’s loading the final box anyway. Taking the new job anyway. Having the second baby anyway.
I look at Luna and think of the future waiting for us.
The fear doesn’t win. Hope does.