Page 15 of The Good Sister

‘I can’t.’

‘The important thing is that Alfie is okay, right?’

‘For now,’ I say.

‘For now?’ Wally laughs. ‘Are you planning on hurting him?’

You don’t always have to plan it, I think.

‘I don’t remember Rose asking me. It doesn’t even ring a bell. That’s what scares me the most.’

‘Well,’ Wally says, ‘maybesheforgot to ask? She was preparing for an overseas trip – she probably had a million things on her mind. It probably slipped her mind.’

I shake my head. ‘Rose doesn’t forget things.’

‘Doyouforget things?’ Wally asks.

‘Yes. With great regularity.’

‘That surprises me.’

It surprises me too, I think.All the time.

‘It can be distressing at times,’ I admit. ‘Always worrying about what I might have forgotten, or what I might do wrong if left to my own devices.’ This is more emotional than my typical conversation, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable with it. I wonder if it is a side effect of being on a date.

‘What makes you think you’d do anything wrong?’ Wally asks.

‘Past experience,’ I say, as we turn into my street. I point to my block. ‘This is my place here.’

Wally parks in front. He pulls up the handbrake and then pushes his glasses back up his nose, something that is fast becoming a trademark of his. ‘How do you live your life with that fear?’

There’s no good answer for this. ‘I just . . . do. What choice do I have?’

‘Wow,’ he says. ‘That’s brave.’

I don’t know what to say to that. It feels like a good time to change the subject. ‘Did you mean it when you said you would watch Alfie for me while I’m at work?’ I ask.

‘I don’t say things I don’t mean.’

‘Well,’ I say. ‘In that case . . . see you Monday morning? Nine am.’

Wally agrees and I slide out of the car, Alfie in my arms. As I watch him drive away, I realise I feel something akin to content. It makes me worry for a world where someone like me can feel content after what I did.

I fall asleep quickly, but I wake with a gasp.

I am instantly oriented. There is no buffering period, no momentary confusion. I know where I am. I know it was a dream, even if I can stillfeelthe cool wet flesh beneath my hands, the kicking and writhing, my fingers gripping so tightly that they tremble. I also know it wasn’tjusta dream. It was a memory. A warning. Most of all, it’s a reminder. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Fern. Remember what you’re capable of.

As if I could forget.

I glance at the alarm clock – 3.43 am. There are still a few more hours until daylight. If I roll over and go to sleep quickly, it’s possible I might still get some sleep. God knows I need it. Three more weeks without Rose.

Will I survive it?

JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE

I’m living in a dream. Owen met me at the airport with open arms – and a bunch of peonies. You know how couples often have a song? Well, we have a flower, and it is peonies. He gave me a bunch on our first date, and I carried them in my wedding bouquet. Over the years – four years this spring – whenever there has been a special occasion – a promotion, a birthday, an anniversary – it was always celebrated with peonies.

After dropping my bags at his Fulham apartment, we went straight to dinner – a really fancy place in Chelsea. When we got back to his place afterward, I checked the medicine cabinet and the sheets in the laundry for scents of perfume. Clear on both counts. It feels too good to be true. Owen said all the things I had hoped for: that he missed me, that he had been miserable without me, that he wanted to try ‘us’ again. We made love the first night, and the next morning, and the night after that. The sex was better in London, we both agreed. Something about the Northern Hemisphere. Everything was perfect.