“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,” she says, breezily, disingenuously, “my mistake then. Sorry.”
“Will you just stop trying to invent a boyfriend for me, Mum? There is no boyfriend, OK?”
“Fine. Yes. Sorry.”
“And I really don’t like the idea of this big family meal. It’s too bizarre.”
“Are you free?”
She pauses before she replies. “No.”
“No?”
“Well, not on my actual birthday. Onourbirthday. No. But I could do another day next week.”
“What are you doing on our actual birthday, then?”
“Oh, you know, just drinks after work. Nothing special.”