Audrey watches her as she wrestles against the pain. “Countless relationships have broken down under far less strain than that, dear,” she says. “Do not be too harsh with yourself. You’ve said your marriage was never perfect. A cracked foundation doesn’t stand a chance against an earthquake like that.”
“It just…” Kate shifts in her chair. “I’m such a careful person. I plan ahead, I calculate. I don’t take risks. I pride myself on not making a lot of mistakes. I spent a lifetime like that, careful and meticulous, and I slip just once, once, Audrey, and…” She splays her hands out, palms up, beseeching. “I killed all of them. It’s all on me—”
She dissolves entirely now, sinking into the darkness. This time it’s Audrey who reaches for Kate’s hand and holds it until Kate is ready to come back to the surface.
Eventually her sobs slow, and Audrey passes her a tissue.
“You made a mistake,” Audrey says. “And it won’t be your last, no matter how hard you try. But so much was out of your control: your parents’ inebriation. The lorry being in the next lane at that very moment. The rain.” Kate looks into her eyes, bright green into faded grey. Audrey shakes her head. “There isn’t any plan, Kate,” she says gently. “For you or me or anyone else. There never was. Life is a game of inches. Nothing more or less than that. I survived the war. Others didn’t. You survived the crash. They didn’t. There is no rhyme or reason to chance. It just is.”
Kate lets the thought settle. “It’s so hard to think of it that way,” she says. “It’s so—”
“Frightening.”
“Yeah. It just… Sometimes it’s all I can think about—that I’m here, and they’re not. And why. Why?”
She hears Ian’s voice in her head. There’s no cheating it, no making sense of it.
“I know, dear,” Audrey says. “That’s the price of survival.”
Kate swallows hard. “Ian said something similar. About him and Doug.”
“And he’s quite right.”
Ozzie and Sophie have gone back to sleep, curled together on the dog bed. Kate glances at the clock by the doorway to the foyer.
“Shit,” she says. “I’m meant to be having lunch with him. He’s picking me up in fifteen. I’ll just ring him and tell him—”
“You will do no such thing,” Audrey says, blinking Kate back into focus.
“But this isn’t the time,” Kate says, brow furrowed. “We can easily go tomorrow. After everything we just—”
“There’s never a right time, dear. For anything. Besides, we’re here to record my past, but not at the expense of your enjoyable present,” Audrey says with half a smile. “And your future, for that matter. He’s falling in love with you, you know.”
Kate’s stomach flips.
Audrey eyes her pointedly. “You haven’t told him all this, have you?”
“Not all of it.”
“You’re going to have to.”
“I know. I don’t know if I can today. But I will soon. I promise.”
They sit together in the tall chairs by the fire for another few minutes. The exhaustion that follows emotional release has begun to set in on both of them. Audrey is staring off out the window, her eyelids heavy. But Kate feels closer to her than ever, as though some clouded veil that hung between them has lifted.
“Go be with that boy, Kate,” Audrey says with a sigh. “You still have so much ahead of you. Make the most of it, I beg you.”
“Okay, if you’re sure.” She scrutinizes Audrey’s face. “But you’re a bit pale.”
“I’m fine,” Audrey says. “Just tired. And don’t Old Lady me. I’ve made it through more than one snowy afternoon alone. I assure you, I’ll manage.”
“There,” Ian says, replacing the shovel. Kate steps forward to kiss him. The butterflies in her stomach are swirling in a cyclone of emotion and hormones, and a minute later she pulls away from him, though it’s clear he could have gone on like that for at least another hour.
“Was that about the shovelling?” he asks. “Because if it was, I’ll happily go back and do the whole car park twice.” He turns to leave.
Kate smiles, pulls his arm. “Come on. I need to make dinner for Audrey. She looked a bit peaky when I left her earlier.”
She’d gone out as Audrey insisted, and was, in the end, glad she did. It was a welcome reprieve from the gravity of their conversation. She needed to air out her thoughts in the crisp December afternoon as she and Ian ate their lunch in the cozy warmth of the Barter’s cafe, then wandered down the high street for a long while nursing takeaway coffees. She hadn’t told him how weighty her morning had been. There was time for that later. What she needed was to hold his hand and talk about inconsequential things, topics that weren’t life or death or loss, and remember that she could, in fact, have a future. And maybe a future with him.
They step over the threshold into the comfort of the Oakwood entryway, and Kate startles at Ozzie’s bark from the floor above. He’s not usually a barker.
“Oz?” Kate calls. “What’s up?” Another three barks.
“What’s he doing?” Ian asks.
“I’m not sure,” she mutters, making for the stairs. A sense of unease hits her as she sprints up the staircase. Ozzie is whining outside Audrey’s room.
“Ozzie, what’s wrong?” She darts down the hall, aware of Ian’s presence close on her heels. Audrey’s door is open and she looks in. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Audrey?”
Audrey is flat on her back on the woven tan rug beside the bed. Her chest is rising and falling in ragged breaths as tears slip from the corners of her eyes back into her white temples.
“Call an ambulance,” Kate says, but Ian is already dialing.
A moment later he’s giving the address to a dispatcher. Audrey clutches at Kate’s hands.
“You’re okay,” Kate says. “You’re going to be fine. We’re here, Audrey. We’re right here with you. We’ve got you.”
But she’s lying, of course. In moments like this, there is nothing but fear. Cold and searing and all-consuming. When we don’t know what’s coming next, or if there will even be a next. There is only this moment, this rotten grip of terror, as the people we love lie to our faces because they are just as afraid of the truth as we are.
