The Dilemma(82)

At some point I look up and see Josh standing in the doorway, his arms by his side, his face streaked with tears. When he starts to move towards us, I shake my head and give him a quick smile, letting him know that Adam wouldn’t want him to see him like this: broken, crushed, defeated. And understanding, he moves quietly away.

Eventually exhaustion overtakes him and I’m able to pull him to me, smooth his hair, kiss the tears from his eyes.

‘It’s going to be alright, I promise,’ I say softly. ‘It’s going to be alright.’

He doesn’t answer, because he can’t. But the sigh, from deep within him, is enough.





A YEAR LATER

8TH JUNE, 2020





Adam


We’re having a party today, for Livia and Marnie. Josh has organised it. Everyone who was at Liv’s party last year is coming, plus Marnie’s friends from school and university. All the people who’ve become an important part of our lives during these last twelve months.

In the aftermath of Marnie’s death, and at her memorial service, the one thing people wanted to know was what they could do to help. We thought about it and decided that what we wanted, what would help the most, was for them to keep Marnie alive in our minds by keeping her alive in theirs, and talking to us about her. And it has helped, hearing stories about her that we never knew. It isn’t always easy, but it’s better than never mentioning Marnie at all.

That was one of my first mistakes, not mentioning Marnie to save people embarrassment. It’s normal for clients, while we’re talking about the piece I’m going to make for them, to show me photos of their house so I can suggest the best type of wood to use to harmonise with the rest of their furniture. Inevitably, talking about ‘home’ leads to talking about family and, if I was asked about my children I would only mention Josh. But each time, it felt like a terrible betrayal of Marnie. So now this is what I say:

My son, Josh, lives in London with his girlfriend, Amy. I did have a lovely daughter, Marnie, but she died some months back in a plane crash – the Pyramid Air one, perhaps you heard about it?

And when they look shocked and mumble that they’re sorry, I say:

It was terrible at the time, and it still is most days, but we try to remember how lucky we were to have her.

It’s usually enough.

For the first few weeks after Marnie’s death, Liv was definitely stronger than me. I was a physical and emotional mess. Crushed not just by guilt and grief, but also by Marnie’s affair with Rob. I couldn’t reconcile the Marnie I knew with the Marnie she had become. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, and quickly lost a stone in weight. Whenever I thought about her last moments, I imagined her calling, not for Livia, or me, but for Rob.

We never made it to Cairo. The night Livia came to find me in my shed, when everything finally became too much, the thought of boarding a plane a few hours later filled me with such dread that I knew I wasn’t going to be able to do it.

‘I can’t go to Cairo,’ I murmured shakily, as the sun began to rise in the sky. ‘I don’t want to see.’

‘Then we won’t go,’ she told me gently. ‘I don’t want to see either.’

In the aftermath of the accident, it was Nelson who dealt with the official side of things and kept us up to date with the investigation into the crash. Trapped in a deep, dark tunnel with seemingly no light at the end of it, I was incapable of doing anything.

The turning point came about six weeks after Marnie’s death when I wandered down to the kitchen one morning, and found a note from Livia, saying she’d gone out. Josh didn’t seem to be around either and I vaguely remembered that he and Amy had gone away for a few days’ break. It was the first time I’d been on my own since Marnie had died, and although I’d retreated so far into myself that I barely spoke, their absence began to weigh on me until I couldn’t stand it any longer. I tried phoning Livia but each time, my call went through to voicemail.

I phoned Nelson.

‘I can’t get hold of Livia,’ I told him, feeling near to tears. ‘I don’t know where she is. What if she’s had an accident?’

‘She hasn’t.’

‘How do you know?’

‘She’s gone to the Park,’ he said, referring to Windsor Great Park. ‘Have you just got up?’

‘Yes,’ I admitted, because it was nearly midday.

‘Then have a shower and a shave and go and join her.’

‘No,’ I said, shrinking back inside myself. I hadn’t left the house for weeks, not since Marnie’s memorial service, and I didn’t want to go a place that held so many memories of her.

‘You have to.’

‘Why?’

‘What date are we?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s the twenty-fourth of July.’

I knew that date. Marnie’s birthday. ‘It can’t be,’ I stuttered, unable to believe that most of July had gone past without me noticing.

‘You need to get a grip, Adam,’ Nelson said firmly. ‘You can’t go on like this.’

I felt a surge of anger. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, my daughter died,’ I said, my voice cold.

‘And so did Livia’s. Go and find her. She needs you, Adam. She can’t go on carrying you anymore.’