Chapter 31
On the morning of Joe’s death anniversary, Tilly wakes at sunrise after a bad dream. In it, she and Joe have been fighting.
‘You’ve never understood … Did you stop for one moment to think what I might want …’
Sweat clings to her hair. The house is silent, her room still dark. She immediately knows two things: that she won’t be able to get back to sleep, and that she needs to get out of the house. Right now. Perhaps she will be able to breathe outside.
The valley and hills surrounding the farmhouse are bathed in a peach glow, the sky a hazy lilac.
She sets off at a quick walk, her trainers scuffing against the dry, dusty earth.
The smell of lavender rises on the air as she makes her way through the kitchen garden, heading to a track that cuts through the sunflower fields to the nearest village.
When she reaches the border where the farm becomes countryside her walk becomes a jog.
With each footstep an image from the dream flashes through her mind.
A table laid for Thanksgiving dinner.
Joe’s face, forehead creased as his eyes meet hers.
Her running alone through a garden, needing to get away …
She tries her best to push the images aside but she can’t stop going over them. Because it isn’t just a dream. It’s a memory.
When her chest starts to ache, she pauses to rest on a half-tumbledown stone wall facing a field of sunflowers, stretching as far as she can see. Bees hum and a gentle breeze catches the strands of her hair, carrying with it the scent of citrus.
‘Joe,’ she says in a choked voice. ‘How has it been a year? A whole year without you. How is that possible? It still doesn’t make any sense. I keep expecting you to turn up, like it’s all been some terrible mistake. I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could talk to you about those fights …’
In an instant she is back in the dream, in Connecticut at the house where Joe grew up.
The table is laid, with mashed potatoes and green beans, a turkey and a pumpkin pie resting in the centre.
Joe is leading her to the table, squeezing her hand.
In her pocket she can feel the rub of the engagement ring that she has resisted wearing since arriving, so that Joe can have this moment, surprising his family with their happy news.
As they take their seats he looks at her and grins.
‘Mom, Dad, everyone, we’ve got some great news to tell you. We’re getting married.’
He nods at Tilly and she slips the ring out of her pocket and on to her finger, flexing her hand so they can all see the proof winking in the light.
Ellen looks at them, a frown creasing her forehead.
‘Really?’
Tilly knows that Joe’s mother isn’t her biggest fan.
She has never forgotten that conversation she overheard when Joe first introduced her to his family.
But that was years ago. They’ve since bought a flat together, made a home.
And beneath the Santorini sun Joe asked her to spend the rest of her life with him, and it was the easiest decision she’s ever made.
‘Yes really, Mom,’ Joe replies, his shoulders stiffening.
Ellen’s demeanour immediately changes. A wide smile spreads across her face.
‘Well, even more of a reason to celebrate, then. Congratulations to you both! How wonderful!’
The table erupts. Joe’s brothers pat him on the back and his father reaches across to shake his hand and embrace Tilly. Everyone congratulates them, tucking into the food, pouring drinks and raising them in a toast to the future Mr and Mrs Carter.
‘Oh, I’m keeping my surname. We’ve already talked about it. It’s easier for work, plus I like being Matilda Nightingale.’
‘Right,’ Ellen says stiffly. ‘Well, tell us everything else. When and where is the wedding?’
‘We haven’t been engaged long,’ Joe laughs. ‘We’ve got plenty of time to decide all that.’
‘There are lots of other decisions to be made, though,’ Ellen says. ‘Like children …’ Tilly nearly chokes on her turkey, but Ellen doesn’t flinch. ‘Do you want children, Tilly? I know you’ve always been focused on your career.’
‘Mom, you can’t ask her that,’ says one of the brothers.
Under the table Joe nudges Tilly with his knee, silently checking that she’s OK. She reaches for his hand, holding it on top of the table where everyone can see. So what if her future mother-in-law is being wildly inappropriate? It doesn’t matter. She is going to marry Joe. That’s all that matters.
‘We both want a family, yes,’ she says with a smile.
‘And where do you plan on raising these children?’
‘Here in America,’ Joe says at the same moment that Tilly says, ‘London.’
They stare at each other across the table.
Everyone else falls silent. Ellen leans back, a smug expression on her face.
Beneath the Tuscan sun, Tilly takes a faltering breath, remembering the rest of that meal.
The way Joe said he’d always imagined himself moving back to America eventually, something he thought she knew.
But she didn’t know. Yes, he’d talked about missing America, and every couple of months Ellen would send him listings of properties in Connecticut and they’d marvel at how much more they could get for their money than their tiny London apartment.
But she’d never seriously considered leaving England.
It was where her family were, where she’d worked so hard to build her career.
It was home. The realization that they’d both just assumed they were on the same page, without ever discussing it, hit her as if she’d been doused with cold water.
‘Are you really sure you’ve thought this through?’ his mother said, glancing down at the engagement ring on Tilly’s finger.
‘But we made it through, didn’t we?’ Tilly says aloud now to the Tuscan sunflowers.
They fought about it later, Tilly feeling annoyed that Joe hadn’t thought to ask her if she wanted to move, and Joe telling her she didn’t understand how hard it was for him, living so far away from his family and where he grew up.
They went around and around the same argument, in the garden at Joe’s parents’ house, and again in the weeks and months after they returned to London.
They were supposed to be planning a wedding but they couldn’t move past this huge, fundamental thing to do with their future.
But then Joe got sick and the subject of where they lived didn’t seem to matter any more. Instead their lives became focused on hospital appointments, chemotherapy, and a rushed wedding, any talk of the future banished completely.
‘I wish I could go back and tell you,’ Tilly sniffs, wiping her face. ‘I wish I could tell you that I would have gone anywhere with you. None of it would have mattered as long as I was with you.’
She takes a deep breath of the morning air, already hot and smelling of dry earth and pollen.
As much as she might want to go back in time, she knows she can’t.
So she heaves herself off the wall and begins to jog down the path again, placing one foot in front of the other. All she can do is go forward.