3.58 a.m.
Almost fifteen hours had passed since she’d seen the consultant. More than twelve hours since she had arrived at Lily’s office, fully intending to confide in her. The desire not to be left alone with the news had been overwhelming as she’d waited in reception for Lily’s assistant to collect her. But then Lily had asked about the hospital appointment and there had been such concern in her voice that Audrey had known she couldn’t do it.
She had kept up the pretence all afternoon and evening, during anxious phone calls first from Jess and then Phoebe. By the time Mia had arrived home from the library, Audrey was so well rehearsed in the lie she almost believed it herself.
Yes, all OK, thanks … Nothing much to report … No change.
OK: that catch-all word signifying everything and nothing.
Audrey closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but for months – ever since her original diagnosis back in September – her brain had been busy stoking up memories she’d spent years trying to suppress. Scenes from family history now hummed in her head like Muzak in an elevator from which there was no escape. It was as though her mind, knowing it had so little future, had become obsessed with the past. Except there was no solace in looking back, she knew that. But sometimes it seemed to Audrey that she had forgotten all the things she wanted to remember, and remembered everything she wished she could forget.
For months now she had been haunted by memories of Edward: Edward on their wedding day, strong and handsome in his charcoal grey suit and royal blue tie. How happy they had been at the service in Islington Town Hall, just their parents as guests and witnesses, her wedding dress a long cream halter-neck that flowed seamlessly over her five-month bump. How Edward’s enthusiasm at impending parenthood had been infectious, his careful research into everything they needed to buy, everything they needed to be, making her fall in love with him in ways she had never expected. Edward holding Lily the day she’d been born, cradling her in his arms, tears in his eyes, telling Audrey he had never been happier. Edward arriving home from work and kissing Audrey on the lips before seeking out the girls to bathe them, read to them, put them to bed. Edward planning trips to the cinema, holidays by the seaside, excursions chosen to ensure everyone was happy. Their lives, for so many years, lived to a soundtrack of laughter.
Miracles do happen.
Edward’s voice rang in her ears as clearly as if he were lying in bed next to her. She knew that was what he’d say if he were there now. He’d said it so often, trying to reassure her, to be strong enough for both of them. And later he’d said it again, but by then with such rage and disbelief it was as though a different man had inhabited his body and taken over his voice.
If Edward were there now, he would hold her hands in his and look directly into her eyes, determined to convince her that, in spite of the consultant’s diagnosis, there was still a chance of recovery. This time, Audrey wondered, might she believe him?
4.09 a.m.
Audrey breathed silently into the darkness, thinking about Jess in the room next door and how there never seemed to be the space or time for the two of them to talk. When she had moved in, she had imagined them chatting late into the night over bottles of red wine and squares of dark chocolate, the drawbridge finally lowering, Jess at last confiding in Audrey what had troubled her all these years. In truth, she felt no closer to Jess now than she had two months ago.
A car door slammed and Audrey felt her body tense.
She rolled over, a sharp pain needling beneath her ribs that caused her to inhale short, staccato breaths. She thought about her conversation with Jess a few weeks ago, recalling the fury that had greeted her suggestion that Jess meet Lily after all these years. And before she knew it, a memory was edging into her thoughts: the memory of how, once before, she had got it all so horribly wrong.
Chapter 18
July 2003
Two little girls squeal as bubbles float through the air, popping on their hands as they reach out to catch them. ‘More, more!’
Audrey twists the stick in the plastic bottle, pulls it out and blows gently, watching the bubbles drift off into the garden. Some glide over the fence, others land on waxy magnolia leaves, bee-laden lavender bushes, the multi-coloured petals of sweet peas, geraniums, begonias, fuchsias. The late afternoon sunshine illuminates the bubbles as they hover in the air, their rims glistening like the decisive moment of an annular eclipse.
‘More, Granny, do some more!’
Audrey smiles as the girls jump and giggle, feeling the warmth of their camaraderie. She had known this would happen: that they would be friends, given the chance. For five years she has waited to test her belief and now her only regret is that she has left it so long.
Phoebe grabs Mia’s hand and they race to the far corner of the garden, stopping under the apple tree. Phoebe whispers something into her cousin’s ear before they grin at one another with wide-eyed wonder. Audrey can only speculate as to her granddaughters’ secret. It is long overdue, she thinks, the girls finally meeting. It is time they were allowed secrets of their own.
‘Gran, we’re thirsty! Mia says she saw lemonade in the fridge!’
They stare at her, smiling and impish, and Audrey cannot help but laugh. ‘I may have some. But only for girls who promise to be really good for the rest of the afternoon.’
They nod in unison, staring at her with round, earnest eyes.
‘Come on then. I’ll get you both a glass.’
The girls clutch one another’s hands and skip towards her, bare knees lifting at right angles beneath Mia’s floral dress and Phoebe’s navy shorts. They sit down next to each other at Audrey’s kitchen table, legs swinging, faces flushed from the midsummer heat, and for a split second it is as though time has reversed and her own little girls are sitting in the kitchen, grinning at one another with collusive smiles.
Audrey studies them while trying not to stare. She does not want to unnerve them, not when they are so relaxed in one another’s company. But it is strange seeing them together for the first time. For so long she has imagined what it might be like to have her two grandchildren in the same room, but until today it has been nothing more than a fantasy.
Phoebe gurgles the last of her lemonade through her straw and Mia copies her, the two of them eyeing one another and giggling, their smiles so similar it is as though one has been moulded from the other. Audrey had known, before the girls met today, that their resemblance was uncanny, but it is only now seeing them side by side that she truly appreciates the similarities: the same sleek dark hair; the same questioning green eyes; the same porcelain skin. A stranger in the street would mistake them for twins, not cousins.
Audrey glances down at her watch – 5.50 p.m. – trying not to think about how the coming minutes may unfold.
‘Right, ladies, would you like to go outside for a last play? Your mums will be here soon.’
Mia and Phoebe hop off the wooden chairs and grab each other’s hands. They run out of the back door and onto the lawn, bending down on all fours to prowl through the grass like lions, occasionally roaring at each other or stopping to nuzzle with an easy affection that tugs at Audrey’s heart.