Chapter two
Ben
My sister-in-law, Amy’s, car blocks the driveway when I pull in. I cut the engine and sit for a minute, rolling the keys in my palm. The house hums with life in front of me. The lights are on, curtains still wide open. I gave Amy a key years ago and never asked for it back. To this day, I’m not sure whether that was a good idea. She pops in whenever it suits her, regardless of whether it suits me.
I know that once I step out, chaos ensues, so I sit for a minute longer. Then, finally, force myself out of the quiet back into life.
The front door opens before I reach it.
“Evening,” Amy chimes, already halfway down the path. “What’s for dinner? I’m starving.”
“Whatever you can find.” I step past her. “There’s chicken in the fridge, rice on the counter.”
She grins. “Chicken fried rice?”
My grunt could be agreement or resignation. Either way, she takes it as permission. Amy skips past me back into the house before I can make it up the front steps. She’s already opening every cupboard when I step into the kitchen.
“It’s on the counter,” I remind her, then slide the packet of rice over, guessing that’s what she’s searching for.
“Thanks.”
Allowing Amy into my kitchen is a calculated risk. It’s nice to have the help, but last time it left me with more tidying up to do. Order matters in my house. My kids know that, but my sister-in-law hasn’t received the memo. Or she dumped it in the trash without reading it. Either way, Amy breezes in the only way she can, disrupting everything but somehow making life a little better with each step.
“I’ll make dinner,” I say, deciding that controlling the destruction of my kitchen is easier than attempting to manage Amy.
“You’re sure?” But she’s already making a beeline toward the sofa.
“Very sure,” I tell the back of her head.
Amy throws herself down between Ollie and Liam, both engrossed in a soccer match. This time it’s a computer game. Bex always said I stamped my identity on my boys: both have dark hair and blue eyes that match my own. As they become older, their likeness becomes even more noticeable.
Sometimes, it stings there isn’t more of their mothers in them. I’d love to see a glimpse of Bex when I look at Liam. But I don’t. I hear her when he speaks though. She shines through every kind word.
After throwing my keys into the bowl on the side table, I shrug out of my jacket, then hang it over the back of a chair. I make my way to the modern, open-plan kitchen. It was the reason we bought this house. I wanted a home she could live in untilthe end, and this sprawling bungalow offered wide doorways, enormous rooms, and a level paved garden. It was the least I could give her.
As I’m pushing my shirt sleeves up, Amy appears at my shoulder.
“Remember, I don’t like mushrooms.”
“This is the third night I’ve fed you this week.” I move over to the fridge. The packet of mushrooms blinks at me from the shelf. My fingers grasp the plastic. “You can pick them out.”
She snorts, but doesn’t argue. Since her relationship breakdown a week or so ago, she’s been here more. I really thought things were improving for her recently, but her new man, Ivan, let her down. Though I would argue she overreacted to him purchasing her failing gym on the sly—but who am I to judge? It’s not my place.
“How was your day?” Amy pours herself a glass of white wine, then one for me. She slides it across the counter as I chop the pre-cooked chicken and throw it into the pan. It sizzles with a satisfying hiss.
“Normal,” I say. “Clinic this morning, then visited Bex this afternoon.” She nods, not commenting. She’s fed up telling me to move on with my life and that her sister wouldn’t have wanted me wallowing in grief.
I ignore her—most of the time.
“When do you leave for America?” Amy asks, stealing a handful of cooked chicken. “Ouch, that’s hot.” She sucks the tips of her fingers.
“Of course it is. Hands off,” I snap, swiping at her with a tea towel. “We leave on Sunday from Heathrow. Nine hours on a plane with those two is going to be hell.” She chuckles. “But I can’t wait to see their faces when we get to Chicago and the academy. Oh, to be young again.”
“You’re not exactly old,” she says. “You haven’t quite hit half a century yet.”
“I’m not far off it. There’s so much I’d do differently if I could do it all again.” The routine gnaw of regret stabs at my ribs. Like it does every time I think of what could have been.
“So you keep saying.” She squares her shoulders as she focuses on me. Great. I thought I’d avoided the lecture. “But Ben, you can’t. You must live the life you have. Bex would have wanted you to.”