Chapter 24
Two months later
It is early October, and the landscape is showing subtle signs of change. In the flower garden, the Michaelmas daisies are holding on to their purples and lilacs, and the gladioli are swaying in graceful stalks of pink and yellow. The foxgloves are fading, but the hedgerows are still bursting with life.
We are enjoying an Indian summer, our days dappled with sunlight. Gentle breezes bear the smell of the ocean, rising up over cliffs that are still scattered with sea campion and scarlet pimpernel.
Luke and I are walking Frank and Betty on the beach, smiling as we watch them chase each other around the sand, a chaotic trail of pawprints in their wake. We hold hands as we stroll, barefoot, and it is still thrilling, still miraculous, to be holding his hand. To be able to live like this. To live so fully.
We are talking to Charlie on the phone, his face filling the screen that I hold up in front of me as we walk. Luke is pointing out seabirds perched on the crags, and I am telling him how his granddad is doing, and Charlie is filling us in on all of his own adventures. He has visited a stone circle called Carnac, continuing our theme, and has already mastered the basics of ordering beer and food in French. He looks relaxed, happy, somehow older—in a good way.
“So,” he says as we balance on the boulders and slip our feet back into our sneakers, “this is the big day, is it? Are you all prepared?”
“Yup,” I reply, grinning. “Except we don’t even have a baseball cap set up, Charlie!”
“Ha—see what happens when I’m not around? Everything falls to pieces! So what’s the plan?”
“There isn’t one,” Luke says, before he shouts the dogs over to follow us back up the steps. “We’re just going to wing it!”
I have become much more adept at managing the steps now, almost back to my native abilities as we clamber back up to the house.
I see that my parents are there, waiting for us by the front door. My dad is looking well—his operation was a success, and although he was a terrible patient, his recovery has been surprisingly swift. He is, in fact, as he predicted he would be, better than new. We have been forcing him to take it easy, but it is a joy to see him walking with so much ease, moving back into the upstairs bedroom, throwing cricket balls with glee. It won’t be long, he tells us, until he’s back batting. He says he also plans to take up powerlifting and train for an Iron Man contest. We hope he is joking, but neither my mother nor I am quite sure.
I hand the phone over to my dad, and the two of them chat to Charlie while Luke and I do a final check on Joy. We are fully charged, fully stocked, and fully ready to go. My mum has supplied us with vast quantities of homemade jam and bread and scones, and my dad has checked over her engine and tire pressure—not that it was necessary, but it clearly made him feel useful.
Frank looks on mournfully as Luke shoos Betty inside the motorhome, slinking down to his belly, his ears flat. “Poor thing,” I say, scratching his head. “You’re going to miss Betty, aren’t you?”
“We’re all going to miss Betty,” my mum says, reaching out to tidy my hair away from my face. “And we’re going to miss you too. But Christmas isn’t far away, and it will be marvelous, darling, to have everyone in one place, won’t it?”
Charlie is flying back for Christmas week, and Richard says he’ll bring the kids over for dinner, along with Rebecca, and I have to agree—it actually will be marvelous. I am now fully confident in the fact that my parents don’t need me to stay. I have kept them under careful surveillance, and spoken to Dad’s nurse, and consulted with my brother. They may be in their seventies, but they do have a lot of living left to do, and they are perfectly capable of doing it without me hovering in the background.
“It will, Mum, yes,” I reply. “And Luke and Charlie will finally get to hear Dad do the dinner gong!”
“Well, he seems to think he’s Superman at the moment, darling, so he may well destroy it with one mighty blow!”
Dad brings the phone over so we can all say a final goodbye to Charlie. We gather around the screen, all taking our turns at waving at him.
“Good luck!” he says, grinning. “And I’ll be keeping an eye out for new Sausage Dog Diary posts, Mum—don’t be slacking just because I’m not there in person to nag you, okay?”
I promise that I won’t, and I mean it. Richard followed up on his suggestion about the motorhome dealership, and it looks as though I might actually get a sponsorship. Luke and I have stayed here quite happily until we knew my dad was out of the woods, but we have also been out for many day trips together, and I have most definitely rediscovered the joy of writing. That and a few other things, I think, smiling as I feel his arm slide around my waist.
When it is finally time to leave, my dad engulfs me in a hug and firmly shakes Luke’s hand, imparting some last words of wisdom about how to avoid traffic on the A30.
My mother and I stand for a moment and simply look at each other. I am now seeing her more for who she actually is, not just a parent. I am seeing her as a woman, a mother, a wife, a friend. A flawed but deeply caring human. A source of strength to us all, an inspiration, a maker of supreme cakes, a loser of remote controls, a grower of flowers, a keeper of memories. She is all these things and more. I wonder what she sees when she looks at me and hope she sees the same as I do—a woman who is finally ready to live.
“Mum,” I say quietly, reaching out to hold her hand. “Thank you. For everything.”
She squeezes my fingers and replies: “I’m your mother, darling—there’s no need to thank me. Now you two had better scoot, before I lose my dignity and start crying!”
I give her a quick hug before she can object, and Luke and I climb up the steps into Joy. This time, I join him in the front seats. He starts the engine, and I feel that familiar thrill of excitement—at not quite knowing where we are going next, at wondering what the day will bring, at being open to absolutely all of it.
Our parents wave us off, and we drive down the lane. The greenery is less heavy than the day we arrived, and I spot the cows in the next field and wave at them as well.
Luke puts on the brakes when we reach the end of the path, before we join the main road. He looks across at me and gives me the full-wattage smile. I melt a little inside, as I always do, and lean across to kiss him.
We are setting off on a new journey, a new adventure—but I already feel like we have been on the trip of a lifetime. We have seen new places, tried new things. We have both chosen love, despite the fact that neither of us was looking for it. We are entirely new versions of ourselves compared to that very first day, back in the place I used to call home.
I don’t know where we will head next. I don’t know what our future will hold—but I know that we will face it together, and that’s what matters.
“So,” he says, once we are ready to finally leave. “Where to, Captain?”
The End