Then She Was Gone - Lisa Jewell Page 0,24
from Hanna’s flat, she calls him.
“Hello, Laurel,” he says warmly. Because Paul says everything warmly. It’s one of the many things that made her hate him during Ellie’s missing years. The way he’d smile so genuinely at the police and the reporters and the journalists and the nosy neighbors, the way he’d reach out to people with both of his warm hands and hold theirs inside his, keeping eye contact, asking after their health, playing down their own nightmare, trying, constantly, to make everyone feel better about everything all the time. She, meanwhile, had pictured herself with her hands around his soft throat, squeezing and squeezing until he was dead.
But now his tone matches her own state of mind. Now she can appreciate him afresh. Lovely, lovely Paul Mack. Such a nice man.
“How are you?” he says.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she says. “How are you?”
“Oh, you know.”
She does know. “I wondered,” she began, “it’s mine and Hanna’s birthday next week. I was thinking maybe we could do something. Together? Maybe?”
Hanna had arrived in the world at two minutes past midnight on Laurel’s twenty-seventh birthday. It was family lore that she’d been born determined to steal everyone’s limelight.
“You mean, all of us? You, me, the kids?”
“Yes. Kids. Partners, too. If you like.”
“Wow. Yes!” He sounds like a small boy being offered a free bicycle. “I think that’s a great idea. It’s Wednesday, isn’t it?”
“Yes. And I haven’t asked her yet. It’s possible she may be busy. But I just thought, after the year we’ve had, after, you know, finding Ellie, saying good-bye, we’ve been so fractured, for so long, maybe now it’s time to—”
“To come back together,” he cuts in. “It’s a brilliant idea. I’d love to. I’ll talk to Bonny.”
“Well,” she says, “wait till I’ve spoken to the kids. It’s hard, you know, they’re so busy. But fingers crossed . . .”
“Yes. Definitely. Thank you, Laurel.”
“You’re welcome.”
“It’s been a long journey, hasn’t it?”
“Arduous.”
“I’ve missed you so much.”
“I’ve missed you, too. And Paul—”
He says, “Yes?”
She pauses for a moment, swallows hard, and then reaches down into herself to retrieve the word she never thought she’d say to Paul. “I’m sorry.”
“What on earth for?”
“Oh, you know, Paul. You don’t have to pretend. I was a bitch to you. You know I was.”
“Laurel.” He sighs. “You were never a bitch.”
“No,” she says, “I was worse than a bitch.”
“You were never anything other than a mother, Laurel. That’s all.”
“Other mothers lose children without losing their husbands, too.”
“You didn’t lose me, Laurel. I’m still yours. I’ll always be yours.”
“Well, that’s not strictly true, is it?”
He sighs again. “Where it counts,” he says. “As the father of your children, as a friend, as someone who shared a journey with you and as someone who loves you and cares about you. I don’t need to be married to you to be all those things. Those things are deeper than marriage. Those things are forever.”
Now Laurel sighs, an awkward smile twisting the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, Paul. Thank you.”
She hangs up a moment later and she holds her phone in her lap for a while, tenderly, staring straight ahead, feeling a sense of peace she never thought would be hers to feel again.
Hanna sounds annoyed even to be asked about it.
“What do you mean, all of us?” she asks.
“I mean, me, you, Dad, Jake, Bonny, Blue.”
“Oh God,” she groans.
Laurel stands firm. She’d known Hanna wouldn’t leap headfirst into the concept. “Like you said,” she explains, “it’s time for us all to move on. We’re all healing now, and this is part of the process.”
“Well, for you maybe. I mean, you’ve never even met Bonny. How awkward is that going to be?”
“It won’t be awkward because me and your father won’t let it be awkward.” How long had it been since she’d used those words? Me and your father. “We’re all grown-ups now, Hanna. No more excuses. You’re almost twenty-eight. I’m virtually an OAP. We’ve buried Ellie. Your father has a partner. He loves her. I have to accept that and embrace her as part of this family. The same with Jake and Blue. And, of course, with you . . .”
“With me?”
“Yes. You. And whoever sent you those beautiful flowers.”
There’s a cool beat of silence. Then: “What flowers?”
“The bouquet on your kitchen table.”
“There is no bouquet.”
“Oh, well, then, the imaginary bouquet with the imaginary pink roses in it. That one.”
Hanna tuts. “That’s not a bouquet. It’s just a bunch. I bought them for myself.”
Laurel sighs. “Oh,”