‘Oh, yeah,’ I said, peering closer. ‘It’s sparkly too.’
‘A jeweller made it with some of our Noah’s ashes inside the metal. The rest are in a container at the bottom of the boat so they can be removed and scattered. I didn’t want to do that without you so… I hope that was okay.’
Tears escaped once more. I’d often wondered what Flynn had done with Noah’s ashes. I’d nearly taken them when I left. I’d actually picked up the urn but it hadn’t felt right to take Noah away from his home and his dad without discussing it and I wasn’t strong enough to have that discussion so I left them, trusting that Flynn would do the right thing. I could never have imagined such a beautiful tribute to our son.
‘It’s really special. Thank you for doing that.’
I wiped my cheeks and went to take a sip of my coffee but paused when I realised that the mug he’d given me was my favourite one.
‘You kept it!’ I exclaimed.
He shrugged, but didn’t say anything. The air between us crackled and I wondered whether Flynn’s heart was thumping as fast as mine. He was so close, I could easily touch his face, kiss his lips. And that wasn’t going to help resolve anything.
‘I guess we’d better have that talk,’ I said, trying to pull myself together. ‘Or I’m going to keep finding things to distract me.’ Like Flynn.
We sat at either end of a large sofa. ‘How was your head after our impromptu drinking session?’ I asked, thinking that the conversation could be heavy so opening it with humour might be good.
Flynn smiled. ‘Not so good. Couldn’t tell you the last time I drank red wine. Yours?’
‘The same.’ I bit my lip and shook my head. ‘There’s so much I need to explain and apologise for…’
* * *
Flynn had always been a good listener – one of the many things I loved about him. He knew how much the feisty part of me needed to vent before I could have a calm, considered conversation and, although I wasn’t venting this morning, I was a tangle of emotions as I talked about all the things that had been going through my head back then and what I’d made sense of since returning to Willowdale. It was an edited version of what I’d told my family, missing out the part about how I felt about Flynn for now. I would tell him, despite the fear of rejection, but it was more important to get everything else out in the open. I wanted to focus on the future, but a future with Flynn would be impossible without addressing the past.
He shared how he’d felt about what happened and it was enlightening to hear it through his perspective. I was aware of how carefully he chose his words, suggesting we’d both made mistakes rather than heaping the blame on me. I really appreciated the sensitivity, but I was the one who’d left and I was taking ownership of that and a whole lot more.
‘You’re not shouldering all the blame,’ Flynn said. ‘I won’t let you. We were a partnership and we both made mistakes. We could both have handled things differently, and it’s only when you have time and space that you can see that.’
He was so kind and gracious but part of my healing was to accept responsibility for the part I’d played in the end of our marriage and, while Flynn hadn’t been perfect, I’d caused the most damage. If he’d been the rain, I’d been the raging storm.
‘Thanks for speaking to Jessie for me,’ I said. ‘I met up with her on Saturday. I hadn’t seen that one coming.’
‘Me neither. When I found out, I thought about letting you know but I was worried it might do further damage.’
‘It might have done back then.’
‘Has it helped now?’
‘Massively.’ I told him about our conversation and my epiphany that, while what had happened to Noah was the most terrible tragedy, it had been caused by our son making a dangerous choice and not by anybody else.
‘I’m so relieved you’ve accepted that now,’ Flynn said.
‘I still feel I had a part to play. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel completely guilt-free but I’m in a better place now than I thought I could ever be.’
We’d covered a lot of ground and come to a natural pause in the conversation. Flynn asked if I wanted to join him for a spot of lunch – a smoked salmon salad which we ate in the back garden.
‘I can’t stop looking at the house,’ I said as I placed my cutlery down after we’d eaten. ‘Can I ask why you included the parts we’d dismissed? And why did you keep Edgar and my favourite mug?’
A pause. ‘I had my reasons.’
I didn’t miss the stiffness in his tone. He stacked my plate on top of his and rose from his seat but I placed my hand over his.
‘It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me.’
‘It’s not that.’ He sighed and sat back down, pushing the plates aside. ‘It’s just that I don’t think you’ll want to hear the answers.’ He scratched his head – a tell-tale indicator that he was nervous – before fixing his eyes on mine.
‘Try me,’ I said, gently.
