Page 77 of One Last Thing
‘I know. God, I’m so sorry.’ She hides her face with her hands. ‘Didn’t mean to monologue.’
‘Don’t apologise, you should do it more often!’ I sit back on my pillows. ‘You want to know what I think?’
‘That your best friend has selfishly ranted at you out of the blue?’
‘No, I think that when I get back, we should go out for dinner.’
She drops her hands. ‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, dinner, just us two. And I won’t pretend that I’m not broken by Dominic and Carey and the loss of my dad, and you won’t pretend that everything is fine with your beautiful, wonderful family all the time, and we’ll be . . . not fine but fine together.’
Marisa breaks into a watery smile. ‘Okay. That sounds good. Thanks, Megan.’
‘Thankyoufor telling me all that stuff. And if it helps, you’re not failing at anything, but especially not at the mumstuff. You’re an amazing mum, you love them so much. That’s all they need,’ I say, my forehead creasing in concentration as I keep the wobble out of my voice. ‘No mum is perfect, right? You know that.’
‘I know. But for some reason, we still expect it from ourselves when it’s our turn,’ she admits, resting an elbow on the table and resting her chin in her hand. The small squeaks on the monitor turn into louder gurgles and then cries. ‘I should go. That wasn’t a bad nap. Hey, she’s making progress!’
‘Well done, Tabby! See? Things are better already,’ I declare, and I find that I mean it.
Something has lifted during this conversation, in the same way that I feel better about Mum since yesterday. What’s with me being here that’s bringing out all these confessions? It’s like the moment I lower my guard, someone lowers theirs, too. Maybe that’s how it works.
A phrase pops into my brain and I fight the urge to say it, but out it comes—
‘The truth will set you free,’ I trill in a jokey high-pitched voice, so she knows I don’t mean anything that cheesy, but also, I do.
‘Why, yes!’ she replies in an equally jokey voice, which tells me that she also refuses to agree with anything so cringe and twee, but she does. She stands up, bringing the phone with her as she plods out of the kitchen towards the stairs. ‘Thanks for the talk and enjoy the street parade, I’ll be thinking of you. Did your dad ever dance at it?’
‘No, of course not,’ I say, before I give her a knowing smile. ‘But no prizes for guessing who did.’
26
DAWN
Is one ever so happy as when one has a tambourine in their hand? I defy anyone not to feel a lift in spirits whilst twirling around and shaking a tambourine to the rhythm of upbeat street music. I had an absolute blast at the parade last night. I wasn’t expecting to be lured in by a street band desperate for some audience participation, but when called upon, I did not let the band down, passing the box of ashes to Nico and happily taking the tambourine the merry trumpeter passed to me, jangling it with a level of musical ability that not even I was expecting. I have to say, it’s obvious I would have made a bloody good busker.
The crowd was cheering, Nico was laughing in surprise and clapping along enthusiastically, Megan looked suitably mortified and admiring at the same time, oh it wasfabulous. When I danced over to Megan and tried to pass the tambourine to her, she looked similarly horrified to when she was in the hot air balloon basket yesterday.
‘Come on, darling!’ I called out, but she continued to shake her head, her arms locked to her side, her body all straight and tense like a pencil.
We’ve made such progress with our relationship recently, I decided not to push it, and instead offered the tambourine to a fellow spectator who took the mantle with great honour and pride, shimmying his way to the middle of the circleand letting loose to the encouraging whoops of his friends and family.
‘I can’t believe you tried to make me do that,’ Megan said through gritted teeth as I came back to join her and Nico at the sidelines.
‘It’s what Henry wanted,’ I replied through laughter, taking the box back from Nico.
‘There was nothing said about dancing with the bands and parade,’ she stated, before glancing up nervously at Nico. ‘Was there?’
‘Sadly not,’ he grinned. ‘But I think it’s a great addition.’
‘Me too. Henry would have been there with me, shaking a percussion instrument and dancing like no one’s watching,’ I claimed boldly.
‘That’s the last thing he would have been doing. He would have been here next to me, groaning into his hands and going, “Why must she always do this?”’ Megan huffed.
‘Yes, you’re absolutely right,’ I agreed, suddenly moved to tears as a wave of emotion tightened my throat. Dear Henry, how I miss him and those weary looks he’d give me that only served to encourage me further. He knew it, too, but he still never stopped giving me them. ‘That’sexactlywhat he would have said.’
The street parade was a wonderful start to the festival, brightening the town’s streets with colour and music and laughter. I watched Megan at ease in Nico’s company, talking to him openly and comfortably, the two of them drawn towards each other all evening, glowing within the other’s attention. There’s nothing like it, that feeling of falling for someone who you begin to realise might be falling for you, too. We can pretend all we like that romance is silly or frivolous, but it’s not, is it. It’s a sense of belonging that we’re allstriving for. It has the power to break us or fix us or mould us into something better.
When Nico joined us last night at the parade, Megan saw him and lit up.
