Bert’s whiskery eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“Well, it’s about Myrna and my daddy. You know how I’ve been talking to my dad sometimes, these last few months? Well it’s been good, but I think I need to stop now. You see, I’ve got all these other people to talk to, like my mom, Legs, and my other friends. So I probably should talk to them, since they’re alive and stuff. And I thought maybe you should stop talking to Myrna, too.”
Bert frowns.
“So,” I ask, “what do you think?”
It takes him a long time to answer.
“You’re very lucky to have all those people who love you,” he says finally. “Your mom and your friends. But the thing about me is that I don’t have a lot of people like that.”
“But you do.” In the very next chair, on the other side of Bert, is Gwen, so I lower my voice. “How about Gwen? If you’d just speak to her, you wouldn’t need to speak to Myrna.”
“I don’t need to speak to Myrna,” Bert says. His voice is quieter than it was a moment ago. “I want to. And I’m not willing to let her go. Maybe I’m a foolish old man, but”—he smiles—“I’m an old dog, it’s too late to start learning new tricks.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about—dogs and tricks—but I’m pretty sure he’s saying he wants to keep Myrna. I shrug. “Well, if you’re sure.”
“I am.”
I slide off the chair onto my feet. “In that case, I guess I’d better get going. Bye, Bert.”
“I hope I’ll see you again, young lady,” Bert calls after me.
When I turn back, Bert is giving me the biggest, brightest, crooked-toothed smile I’ve ever seen. If Myrna makes him feel like that, I decide, she can’t be such a bad thing.
“Clementine,” I say. “My name is Clementine.”
He smiles, nods, tells me he’ll try to remember that. And as I walk to the garden, I decide I want everyone to call me that from now on.
*
The sky looks like a huge white sheet. I can’t even remember the last time I saw blue sky. Out here in the garden, it’s cold and the snow drenches right through my shoes. I know I don’t have to be in the garden at Rosalind House when I talk to Dad, but there’s something about this garden that feels right, even with wet feet.
“Daddy? I need to talk to you.”
I close my eyes and bring him into the center of my mind. He’s sitting in a chair with one leg crossed over the other and watching me really close.
“I’m still angry with you,” I say, “but I’m not as angry. Because everyone does bad things sometimes.”
Daddy doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s listening. His face looks like it did when he listened, tilted a little, soft eyes, smiling. I used to love it when Daddy looked at me like that.
“And you did good things, too. You were good at dancing. And … you used to sing to me in the bath when I was a baby.” My eyes get blurry and then I’m crying. “I love you. But I’m going to stop talking to you now. And Mom and I are going to look after each other.” I feel a tug of hurt in my heart. “If you ever need anyone to speak to, I’ll be here. Or you can try ghosts.” Suddenly, an idea comes to me. “Or Myrna. I don’t think Bert would mind.…”
I keep talking to Daddy for a little while, until my socks are wet through and I can’t feel my toes. Then, slowly, I let him slip out of my mind, and I open my eyes. And right at that moment, there’s a break in the white sky. And the sun comes shining through.
49
Eve
Three months later …
It’s like a déjà vu. I’m standing in front of Rosalind House, my stomach a bundle of nerves. The only difference is, this time, I already have a job. Not at Benu or an up-and-coming Manhattan restaurant. A brand-new restaurant in the suburbs. It’s not particularly fashionable and its patrons aren’t photographed on their way in. The food is good, though, and I intend to make it better. I’m only the junior chef now. But that’ll change.
At the moment, I do lunches at the restaurant, so I can drop Clem off at school every morning and pick her up every afternoon. We’ve moved into a house, a small one with two bedrooms, but Clem and I still sleep together most nights.
I’ve seen quite a lot of Angus, too, these past months. First a few trips to the grocery store, then a movie. Then another proper date. Then he started calling around the house every so often with a plant or some herbs. Clem has been warming to him. The pair of them started a vegetable patch in the garden at our house, and I’ve heard her giggling while they tend it together. Once, Clem even asked if he wanted to watch her Irish dancing.
Now, when the front door of Rosalind House swings open, Angus is standing there. I see him for only a second before he pulls me onto the step and into his arms. He bends to kiss me, but at the last minute he pauses, looks over my shoulder. “No Clem?”
“She’s at school.”
“Then—” He kisses me in a way that makes me think I might faint. When he stops, I feel boneless, like I might slide down his body and end up as a puddle on the floor.