Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(42)

‘Holly,’ he says, his hand brushing my cheek. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I need some time to help Ava settle. The rest of my life will be with you.’

I close my eyes. I tell myself he is not sick, he is not dying. Plans change. That’s life. But I can’t process this.

‘I thought you might be a bit relieved to hear this.’

‘Why the hell would I be relieved?’

‘Because of this club you’re involved with. You’ve barely had time for me.’

The waitress interrupts. ‘Are you finished here?’

Oh yes. I am.

She clears the table in a tense silence as we stare at each other, and then she hurries away.

I twist in my chair and lean over awkwardly to pick up my crutches. I can’t reach them. I strain my side and my fingers fumble on the ground to feel for them.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to leave very fucking fast, but I fucking well can’t,’ I say through gritted teeth. I fumble again for the crutches, my fingers brush the handle but I push it away by mistake. ‘For fuck sake!’ I snap. The table to the right look at me. I ignore them.

Gabriel bends down to help.

‘I don’t want your help,’ I mumble. But I need it. He passes the crutches across to me, but as I take hold of one end, he keeps his grip on the crutch, holding me there, playing tug of war with a crutch.

‘Holly,’ he says passionately, ‘I’m not ending us. I need to hold back on the bigger plans for a while, that’s all.’

‘What are the bigger plans?’ I ask, interested now, raising my voice louder than I should. ‘Are we going to get married, Gabriel? Are we going to have a baby? Just so I know what I’m sitting on my ass and waiting two years for.’

The anger in him rises, but he keeps his voice low. ‘The two years, as I said, is open for discussion. I’m trying to be honest with you. I’m trying to deal with the child I actually have. I think we can talk about that another time, don’t you?’

It’s a funny moment to realise I want a child with him, and that I was hoping for so much more from this relationship. That two years longer places a panicked pressure on me and my body and my mind in a way that I never felt before. I’ve instantly lost something I didn’t even know I wanted. It’s being dangled in front of me, all of a sudden, this thing I hadn’t previously realised that I want, only to reveal that I may not have it.

I awkwardly manoeuvre my way through the tables and chairs, my crutches getting caught on chair legs, people having to move out of the way so I can get by. It is anything but a graceful exit.

Perhaps he’s done me a favour, perhaps we are better off cleaning up our messes alone. Ava back in his life, exactly as he wanted. And in a way, Gerry is back in mine. My life is so full, I think angrily, maybe there’s no room for Gabriel any more.





20


I sit with Joy in her kitchen. We are alone, for the first time. Sunlight streams through the patio doors casting light on the table and floor. I’m bathed in scorching sun while the rest of the kitchen is in darkness. The dog lays in the sunlight, hogging the heat, curled in a ball, ears pricked, watching outside, occasionally sitting up and growling when a bird lands on his garden.

‘Ginika tells me you’ve been spending a lot of time with her,’ Joy says, stirring the peppermint teabag in the pot.

‘We’ve met four times in the past two weeks. Has she told you what we’re doing?’ I wonder how secret these letters are supposed to be, if in sharing the concept with the group makes it less of a treasure for their loved ones. Bert had been open and confident to share his ‘quiz’ with them in the early stages but I don’t know if the finalised contents are sacred. I recall how Joy had taken to the altar at Angela’s funeral to lead the presentation, but it is unclear to me how involved they wished to be in each other’s gestures. I’ve witnessed the support group as a sharing of ideas, an encouragement and way to lift one another up on each other’s shoulders, then they part and think, return and share again. Perhaps my arrival to the club has meant that I am the one who is the sounding board and keeper of the secrets.

‘No,’ Joy shakes her head. ‘Ginika likes her privacy. She’s quiet, but formidable.’

‘She is,’ I agree. ‘She chooses her moments and when I least expect it, she lands a clanger.’

‘She does,’ Joy laughs. ‘She’s a smart girl. A wonderful mother. I don’t think I’d have had the gall to do what she does at sixteen, and alone.’

‘I don’t think I do now.’

She smiles. ‘You’ve been through it, Holly.’

‘Nothing made me feel more like a charlatan than being called a hero for surviving someone else’s death. Gerry was the one that suffered.’

‘Everyone suffers,’ she says gently.

We leave a silence. She tries to grip the teapot to lift it and I see how she struggles. I place a hand over hers to stop her, and take over. Silent, she withdraws her hand and rubs at her wrist, a motion I’m familiar with.

‘And you, Joy, how are you?’

‘My condition, you mean?’

‘I mean everything. You’ve been so thoughtful at organising everybody else, you make me forget that you are suffering too.’