Page 30 of One Last Thing
‘But when you do,rarely, you smoke outside, still? Even though you live alone.’
‘If I’m tempted to smoke inside, I hear your voice in my head telling me off.’
He looks delighted with himself and I scold him for being a self-satisfied twat. He deduces I’m feeling better now that I’m insulting him again and we go sit outside.
It’s a warm evening. My garden is one of my favourite places. I know it’s shamefully cliché of me, but I adore sitting in the evening sun, listening to the sounds of the birds and the rustle of the leaves in the breeze, if there is one.
‘I’m not going to the party tonight,’ I tell him after a while.
He doesn’t look surprised. ‘You should.’
‘She will know something is wrong.’
‘No, she won’t. You look great.’
‘You’re a terrible liar.’
He looks thoughtful. ‘Are you going to tell her why?’
‘Not today. She should enjoy her special moment.’ I frown as I watch a bird land on my feeder, wondering what kind of bird it is and concluding that it’s likely a sparrow. ‘I don’t remember us having an engagement party.’
‘We went out and celebrated with our friends.’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t a big formal thing with balloons and what-not.’
He laughs. ‘If Megan were here, she’d be upset at you reducing it to that. She’s been very stressed organising it all. I think there will be more to the event than balloons.’
‘She likes to be stressed. It will be fabulous.’
‘I can’t persuade you to go?’
‘No, darling, you can’t,’ I inform him softly. ‘But if ever she asks, I’ll do a wonderful job of telling her how much you tried to change my mind. Do pass on my apologies.’
He sighs, leaning back in the chair, his hands clasped over his chest. ‘She’ll pretend she’s not, but she’ll be upset when you don’t show. She won’t forgive you easily, you know.’
‘I know,’ I say, taking a long drag and exhaling. ‘She can add it to the list.’
11
MEGAN
For some reason, I tell Nico the story about Mum trying to find the best spot in the restaurant for Dad’s ashes. He’d only asked how lunch was and I should have said the food was nice. But I’m too far into it now to give up or do it half-heartedly. I’m going all out with the details and eye rolls as I paint the picture for him.
Thankfully, he laughs. I don’t think it’s out of politeness.
I’m hit with a surprising wave of satisfaction that I’ve made him laugh.
‘And where did the box of ashes go in the end?’ he asks, his eyes straight ahead as he drives the boat slowly through the water, safely away from the harbour.
‘Both boxes stayed with us.’
He nods, shooting a quick grin at me. ‘That’s good.’
‘Mm.’ I reach up to tie my hair back using the band on my wrist.
I’m sitting up at the front with him. At first, I sat at the back, but it seemed a bit weird now that Mum isn’t here, like I’ve hired him for the day to drive me around the coast. Which, I guess is kind of what’s happening, since Dad obviously hired his services, but I don’t want it to feel that way. It never felt that way when we came on holiday here. Nico’s aunt and uncle would often come sit with us at dinner, or join us on boat days if they could. We were so loyalto holidaying at their chateau, we became more like family friends than guests in their hotel. Right from our first visit there Dad talked to Mathieu and Françoise like they’d been friends for years, which they did become, in the end.
But then Dad was able to do that quite easily and quickly with people – forge a connection. Mum was good at being the fun. Everyonelovesher at parties. She’s always made people laugh so easily. Dad had the gentle aura of a natural confidante, though. I think people told him everything before they realised what they were doing.
