Chapter 8 #2
‘I won’t let it go under water. The sea is calm, I’m perfectly capable of swimming the short distance while holding this above it,’ I say, a little more confidently than I feel.
‘And if a little water should seep in, then I’m sure Henry won’t mind.
He was very fond of the sea in life. I’m sure in death he’s not averse to it. ’
Megan presses her lips together in deep disapproval.
‘We’ll see you on the beach,’ I say, wanting to get moving.
It’s tough work, swimming whilst holding a box of ashes aloft, but it’s undeniably rewarding. The cooling effect is very welcome and as I swim nearer the pebbled beach and my feet finally find a place to stand on, I begin laughing as I slowly wade through the water.
‘We did it, darling,’ I declare to the box, a little wobbly on my legs. ‘I didn’t think I had it in me anymore.’
Later, when the harbour master finds me to inform me in stilted English that I’m not allowed to swim in, I shall feign ignorance and surprise at this news and tell him that it was all my husband’s idea and he should take it up with him, whilst gesturing to the box in my hands.
He will look at me strangely and politely ask me not to do it again, before walking away.
He will think I’m mad and I will wonder whether he’s right.
***
2026: Five months ago
I answer the FaceTime from Henry, holding my phone up as I sit back in my chair in the office. His face fills the screen and I automatically smile at the sight of him.
‘Sorry, am I disturbing you?’ he checks in his usual way.
‘The distraction is welcome when it comes in the form of you,’ I assure him.
He chuckles, a familiar twinkle in his eye. ‘Are you writing this morning?’
‘I thought I should, but in truth, I started reading a feature in The Times about a book inspired by Catherine Howard and that prompted me to read an article on the woman herself, then another one, and it spiralled from there, and now I’m some kind of accidental Catherine Howard scholar.’
‘Impressive procrastination.’
‘Isn’t it?’ I grin at him. ‘How are you?’
‘Oh, you know.’ He shrugs and I nod, my heart sinking a little. We both know. ‘I was calling for two reasons. Firstly, I saw it was Milly Sullivan’s book launch last night and I know you two are old friends. Did you go?’
‘I was sorry to miss it, but I hear great things and I’ll be sure to purchase a copy.’
‘The classic publishing party line.’
‘I really was sorry not to be there.’
‘Yes, it’s a shame.’ He pauses and I prepare myself for the pep talk I know is due my way at any moment. ‘You don’t need to avoid these things, Dawn. I think it’s important—’
‘I’m not avoiding anything, Henry,’ I cut in, stopping his speech before it can begin. ‘I was busy. What was the other reason you were calling?’
He holds up a hand in peace. ‘All right. I’ll drop it. You know what I think.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘I was calling to tell you I read your manuscript.’
I wince at just the mention of the book, which is never a good sign. ‘Oh. I didn’t think you’d read it so quickly. That’s very sweet of you.’
‘The latest Dawn Dixon? You know I’ll cancel all my plans for that.’
‘Dare I ask what you thought?’
‘You said in your message it wasn’t very good,’ he reminds me.
‘That’s right.’
‘And I agree it wasn’t your best.’
Even when you know the truth, the truth still hurts. I keep my smile fixed in place.
‘I have some notes,’ he continues. ‘I’m no editor as you’re well aware, but I do know you better than most people.’
I shoot him a look. ‘The notes are that personal?’
‘Yes, they are. My first question is, did you like the characters?’
‘I’m sorry?’ I laugh, caught off guard.
‘Did you?’ he asks, frowning at the camera.
‘I used to dread you writing a good book when we were married because you’d always lose yourself in it.
You’d be so consumed by these characters, sometimes you absorbed some of their traits without even knowing it.
They were real to you. It made getting on with our daily lives difficult, because you’d be distracted by whatever was going on in the book you were writing at the time.
You would get frustrated and angered at your creations and their actions, but you were always fiercely defensive of them.
However, these characters—’ he gestures at something out of the phone’s view on his kitchen table and I realise he likely printed out the pages.
He doesn’t like reading on a screen ‘—I don’t see you fighting for them. ’
‘That’s because they’re fictional, darling.’
‘You know as well as I do that that makes no difference, I’ve already said why,’ he replies, quick as a flash.
‘You don’t love them, Dawn, and it shows.
You don’t really care about why they’re doing what they’re doing or who they’re doing it for.
You’ve written them because you have to.
Consequently, this story, excuse the cliché, has no heart. ’
I exhale, slumping back in my seat. ‘Goodness. The reviews are in and they’re scathing.’
He shrugs. ‘No point in beating around the bush. May as well be honest. I’m a dying man, so I have nothing to lose,’ he says with an impish grin.
It stings when he talks like that and I do my best not to flinch. It’s his way of handling it, to be flippant and comical about it and I respect that.
‘You know this about the book already,’ he continues confidently. ‘It was all in your message. You weren’t proud of it when you sent it.’
‘No, I wasn’t,’ I admit quietly, my shoulders slumping. ‘Damn it. I don’t love it when you’re right, Henry, and it’s even worse when you’re wise.’
He gives me a warm smile. ‘I’ll email the rest of the notes.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be sure to ignore the majority of them.’
With a light laugh, he shakes his head. ‘All right, business completed. On to other matters. Are you going to Stana’s sixtieth bash? I hear she’s gone all out with the arrangements. It’s going to be extraordinary.’
‘Oh, I’m sure, knowing her. Unfortunately, I’m unable to attend that one, but I may be willing to change my mind if you’re telling me you’ve RSVP’d a “yes”?’
‘Afraid I’m not quite feeling up for a big party, but you, Dawn, have just accidentally informed me that you are available to go and yet you’re avoiding it,’ he says smugly.
‘I’m not going, Henry.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not. It’s . . . easier for me to take some down time.’
‘You’re not taking down time, Dawn, you’re hiding,’ he observes, as I look down at my hands in my lap. ‘I understand why – better than most – and it’s okay to do so for a bit, but I think it’s time you realised that there’s nothing from which to hide.’
I snort, mumbling, ‘Isn’t there?’
‘Please, think about it,’ he says in that silky gentle voice of his that belongs over a nature documentary. ‘Will you?’
I sigh heavily. ‘If it means you’ll stop hounding me, then yes, I will think about it.’
‘Good,’ he says, satisfied. ‘The first bit is always the hardest bit.’
‘First bit of what?’ I say, a bit short and impatient with him now.
‘Change. But we adapt. We start to see things differently. It makes us better.’ He peers at the screen. ‘I speak from experience, you know.’
‘Oh god, if you’re going to start rambling on again about how you’re a dying man, I’m going to hang up,’ I declare dramatically making him sit back and laugh.
‘One must make the most of these things.’
I roll my eyes. ‘I’d better get back to work.’
‘Yes, the research around Catherine Howard is particularly pressing I imagine.’
‘Goodbye Henry.’
‘Bye Dawny.’
We hang up before I can tell him off for calling me that. I never liked it and he knows that all too well, but it must have slipped out by accident. Occasionally he’ll use it to tease me, but not in that instance. There, it came out in comfort or tiredness or probably both.