Now
The question rises up, as always, but this time it passes from my brain to my throat to my mouth and then the words are out there and I see the look of dread as Sam hears them.
‘He died. Didn’t he?’
No method voice now, just a broken whisper as Sam tells me what I already know.
‘Yes. He did. I’m sorry.’
There are no words for this, no words, but we sit together with your death between us, and it’s almost comforting, almost as if we’re sharing the loss, just like we did when my mother died.
The past doesn’t matter and nor does the future, there’s just this moment of acceptance.
No sound, just space.
Pure white like one of your canvases.
‘Should I tell you what happened?’ Sam asks after a while.
I nod and then, because I can, I use my voice.
‘Yes.’
‘There was a fight between them. It was over you. He fell back against the beam and a nail went through his skull.’
He pauses, framing what comes next.
‘He knew what happened to you, Catherine. He understood.’
So this is how your forgiveness is delivered to me – by a man who spent a lifetime hating you and loving me.
Not forgiveness I know now but understanding.
And sorrow at all those lost years.
‘And Jack?’
Finally I speak his name without fear or shame.
‘Jack has lost everything. His wife, his child, his best friend. There was an investigation, of course, and talk of manslaughter but they went with accidental death in the end.’
Death, the word echoes, but I won’t let it bring me down.
I’ll stay right here in the bright white space you have created for me.
In a while I’ll reach forward and touch Sam’s hands, gripping together so tightly on his knee.
‘It’s alright,’ I’ll tell him.
‘We will be alright,’ and I’ll watch the light come into that handsome, healthy face and I’ll feel glad that I can fix him.
But not quite yet. First I’ll turn away and look out at my tree for the last time, looking but not seeing the branches swaying in the breeze with their tiny buds of green.
I’ll sink back into the place where you are, the place where we were young.
There will be salt in the air and on our tongues and you’ll be smiling at me, if you can call it that, and you’ll ask me to tell you my life story and I’ll say I don’t think my life has really started yet.
And you’ll say: ‘Perhaps it starts right here.’