‘I miss him,’ he says and then because it’s Luke he stops, he just closes his eyes and closes off. ‘You don’t need this today.’
‘Go and speak to him,’ I say. ‘I go there now and then and it helps.’
‘I can’t,’ he shakes his head. ‘I can’t face him.’
He puts his head in his hands and I hear this rapid breathing and I’m watching a grown man cry.
I sit on the edge of the chair and I put my arm around him and Daisy’s standing at his knee and her hands are reaching up to be held.
To comfort him the same way she does me.
He picks her up and he cuddles her.
And I know.
I know in my heart what is killing him.
I don’t want it to be confirmed.
I don’t want it to be true – but it is.
I found a lump in my breast once.
I ignored it and ignored it but still it grew.
I tried to deny it, tried not to feel it, tried to pretend it didn’t exist.
But it did.
And when I finally fessed up – when I went to the doctor to be sentenced to death, I found it wasn’t something sinister after all.
A fatty lump doesn’t sound very beautiful.
It did that day.
It still does.
It’s better to face things.
I look at another bunch of flowers that belong on his grave, that have somehow ended up in my lounge and I don’t want to bin them this time.
I remember Lucy that day, dirty, ranting, angry and terrified – on the edge and about to dive off and I remember running away. I remember Daisy’s tears as I ran down that hill and I want to go back and change what I did, I want to have stepped in and stepped up, as I should have.
I want to put my arms around her now.
I look at the ring on my finger and I want Lucy to know what I know.
How good a good love can be.
‘You don’t need this.’ Luke tries to right himself; he’s a proud guy, a nice guy…
A good guy.
‘You should go and talk to him.’
‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘I haven’t got flowers…’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ I say.
And then I say what does.
‘Lucy?’ I feel the tension zip his shoulders closed beneath my fingers. ‘Did something happen between you and Lucy?’ I ask. ‘Is that why you can’t face him?’
‘No,’ he says and I don’t believe him.
‘You can talk to me Luke.’ He can, I know a lot more about life than he thinks, than anyone thinks and he can talk to me.
‘I hated her,’ he says. ‘I really did.’
Yes, it’s a very thin line though and he tells me the moment that the line started to blur.
‘We were playing golf and he told me that he thought the marriage was in trouble, that Lucy was starting to lie and hide things. Well, she always had, he told me, but he thought that she might be cheating on him, or about to leave, that’s why he changed his living wishes, he wanted to make sure that everyone was provided for if Lucy left.’
She would have left him, unlike me. Lucy wouldn’t have put up with his shit forever.
People think I’m the strong one but actually, Lucy is.
Or was.
I’m a whole lot stronger now – it took me a long time and really I think it took his death to finally push me to get properly over things – yes, I know I’m slow, but I shouldn’t be too hard on myself, Lucy just does things in record time.
‘I still hated her but…’ He’s holding onto Daisy who sits quietly on his knee. ‘Jess called last night, we spoke for ages, she said it all started going wrong in the New Year.’
‘When you found out that Lucy might soon be free?’
He closes his eyes and nods. ‘I haven’t been carrying a torch for her all this time. I hated her for what she did to you, but yes, that night on the Thames I was hoping for more than a shag.’ Then he looks at me. ‘Why did he have to die?’
Luke tells me how it nearly killed him to watch Lucy falling apart and not be properly able to step in. How proud he felt when she got all her shit together, how guilty he felt for thinking too much about her.
‘How long has it been going on?’ I ask and I’m cross for Jess but then