Postscript (P.S. I Love You #2)(53)

Spending time with Paul is the ideal remedy to the personal web of confusion I find myself in, because I’m able to discuss these thoughts with him. He wants to know, he wants to hear. The club need me, they want me, and when I tell them stories about Gerry and rehash memories of his letters, I don’t need to check myself mid-sentence, I don’t have to apologise or stop myself as I do with family and friends if I feel I’m going on, or trapped in a time warp, or moving backwards. The club want to hear about Gerry and the letters, they want to hear about my life with Gerry, they want to hear about how I miss him and of how I remember him. And as they listen, perhaps in their minds they replace him with their own image, and me with their loved ones, envisioning what it will all be like when they’re gone. It’s my safe place to discuss him, it’s my place to bring him alive again.

I can quite happily immerse myself in this world.





25


After a two-hour hospital wait that gives me another insight into my PS, I Love You Club members’ lives and how hospital visits, waits, check-ups, tests, results, are so much a part of their lives, I lie back on the hospital bed and watch the nurse draw a line in marker on my cast. Six weeks after shackling me, they’re happy with the healing of my ankle revealed in the X-rays. She positions the blade at the start of the guideline, applies gentle pressure and moves the cutter smoothly along the line. Slowly she pulls back the cast, revealing my pale skin, red and sore in places where it reacted to the plaster. Some of my skin comes away with the cast, it looks raw, as if it has been burned.

I wince.

The nurse looks at me, a pained expression. ‘Sorry.’

My ankle, shin and calf is distraught, paler in places where it is not flaming red with burns, and it’s skinnier than my right leg. It has faced a trauma, is fragile in comparison to the rest of me. It will catch up. I’m relieved.

I feel like an onion, another layer gone. I sting, I am raw, but I feel unshackled and unpeeled.

‘Hello?’ I call, stepping into the narrow entrance hall, varied art on the walls and a long rug lining the original floorboards. I make my way slowly over the rug wearing a new walking boot to help with the weight placement on my weakened ankle. Though not completely free, I’m grateful to be without the crutches and cast. I breathe in the air of the house I had almost considered my home. Gabriel, not long in from work, wearing his work combats and bomber jacket, is sitting in an armchair tapping away on his phone, and looks up at me, surprised.

‘Holly,’ he stands. ‘I just texted you. How did it go?’ He looks down at my foot.

‘I have to wear this for a few weeks, then I’m as good as new.’

He comes to me and hugs me. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

‘That’s from me,’ he says.

‘Is Ava here?’ I pull away, and look around.

‘No, not yet, she’s moving in on Friday, after school.’ He breathes out anxiously.

‘You’ll be great.’

‘I hope so.’

‘Can we talk?’ I ask, moving to the couch.

He looks at me nervously, then sits.

My heart is pounding.

I swallow hard. ‘I don’t blame you for the decision you made about Ava – for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve told me about wanting to be in her life more – but I can’t do this any more. I can’t do us any more.’ My voice is quivering and I pause to watch his face, see how he’s taking it. He’s utterly shocked, he’s examining me, eyes searing into mine. I’m confused as to why he didn’t see this coming, and have to look away in order to continue. I look down at my fingers, grasping each other so tightly, they’re white at the knuckles.

‘I made a deal with myself some time ago to stop waiting for life to happen. I don’t want to put things off for some time in the future, I want to be in it now. I think we’ve run our course, I think we’re finished, Gabriel.’ My voice wobbles, but I’m so sure of all the words coming out of my mouth, I’ve said them to myself over and over. It’s the right thing to do. We’ve lost our way. Some people fight to find their way back together, but not us. We served our purpose.

‘Holly,’ he whispers. ‘I don’t want to break up with you. I told you that.’

‘No, but you paused us, and …’ My mind wavers and I shake out the niggling thoughts of how we could work and stick instead to what I have decided. ‘You’ve other commitments. I know how important it is to you to be a good dad, it’s what you’ve talked about from the moment I met you. Now’s your chance. But I can’t sit around waiting while you do it. And there are things that I want to do in my life that you don’t agree with and I can’t do those things if I have to constantly apologise for them or pretend they’re not happening.’

He covers his face with his hands, and turns away from me.

I wasn’t expecting tears. I place my hand on his back and lean over to study his face.

He looks up then, with a forced smile and wipes his eyes. ‘Sorry, I just … I’m surprised … Are you sure? I mean, you’ve really thought about this? Is this what you want?’

I nod.

‘Should I try to change your mind … could I even convince you?’

I shake my head. I fight the ugly tears that want to fall, and the lump in my throat that’s crushing through my skin.