They lay on their sides, facing each other, their heads on the same white pillow. “Do you remember when we first met?” Coralie said. “In bed for whole afternoons.”
“In your old flat? Under the skylight? I do.”
“Everything was so easy then.” Her eyes filled with tears. She was still crying all the time—when she missed the children and couldn’t wait to see them again; when she thought about the record hot weather and what the future held; from relief, too—that she’d been to the brink and made it back. There were people around her now. People who cared and who loved her.
“I’m sorry I let it get so bad,” Adam said. He reached for her hand and held it. “One more book, I kept thinking. One more job. And then I’d finally be able to enjoy it.”
“You went on without me,” she said. “You left me behind. We were so in love. But I moved in with you and everything stopped for me. It took forever to have a baby. It took forever to have another one. It took me forever to start writing. I’ve been writing the same thing for years. You’re wondering when you can stop. I’m wondering if I’ll get to start.”
Two matching tears slid down Adam’s cheeks and dropped an inch apart on the pillow. “I don’t know how it happened….”
“But it wasn’t just you. It was me too.” Because there was something about her, Coralie could see it now. Something very like her mother. Taking on everything like a mule or a packhorse. Ploddingalong, buckling. Not insisting on things she wanted. Talking herself out of complaints. She’d floated away, mentally. A ghost in her own life. She’d nearly floated away for good. She was crying. Never again. He held her against his chest.
“RememberCYK?”
“CYK?Yes,” Adam said. “I do.”
“It started off so full of love. But then it was just like ticking a box.”
“It won’t be anymore. I promise. I love you the most in the world.”
“I love you.”
“Forever.”
“Forever.”
She sent him home when it got dark. She slept all through the night.
23
2023
The house was in “an absolute state.” (“The state of it…” an English person would say, really about anything—from a minor breach of queuing etiquette to having five Tory PMs in thirteen years.)
On the top floor, Florence was moving into Zora’s room, and Maxi was moving into “Adam’s study.” On the floor below, the yellow nursery was now Zora’s—painted in Dulux Sugared Lilac so it looked like the set ofFriends. Controversially, Zora’s other request had been for a double bed. That wasn’t something Adam wanted to probe. Coralie had agreed and discreetly changed the planned location of the new built-in wardrobes so the room was a bit more soundproofed. Persona non grata between 2020 and 2022, Zora’s friend Hannah had reappeared on the scene with her head shaved and her septum pierced. Something was going on there, that was for sure, and—when Zora was ready to share—Coralie was keen to hear about it (though not actually to hearit—that would be a bit much). Daniel and Barbie would probably get all the news before she did. Zora hung out with them often and no longer provided readouts of their chats.
Giving up the big front bedroom had not been much of a sacrifice for Zora. As soon as Tory Tom had moved out of Bartholomew Road, Marina had given her the entire top floor as a “teen retreat.” It would be another “mature divorce,” handled like civilized grown-ups. At Rupert’s parents’ evening, his teacher had asked how he was coping with a “broken home.” “Broken home!” Marina exclaimed. “Rup’s doing very well out of it, thank you very much.” At Tom’s plush bachelor flat near King’s Cross, the App Store on Rup’s new iPad didn’t require a passcode. Every time he bought Minecoins and Robux, Marina received an email—but since it was hooked up to Tom’s Visa, she didn’t feel the need to mention it. Tom had checked out mentally from his job as Member for Eastbourne and had removed it from his barrister profile. At Westminster, workshops were being held for Tory MPs on how to update their CVs. Labour was predicted to win the next election in a landslide. Coralie would believe that when she saw it!
In Australia, the nation would soon vote on the Indigenous Voice to Parliament, a step on the long road to reconciliation. Coralie’s childhood friend Elspeth had emailed her out of the blue:Happy birthday for next week. I can’t believe we’re so old—can you? P.S. Is this your dad? I see he hasn’t changed.She included a pic of a page from the right-wingDaily Telegraph. Four men and one woman had been interviewed on the street about the Voice. Her father gazed out at her from the passport-size photograph: lean, ageless, confident, superb. “I’d advise caution,” read the quote from Roger, seventy-four. “When you take the boot off someone else’s neck, they always put it on yours.”
Coralie had hoped to have the house finished by the time everyone came for Maxi’s birthday. There’d be Lydia and Nancy, who’d start preschool in two days. Lydia would stay to help, as would Alice. She’d bring Beauty to play with Flo—they were in the sameclass at school at last. Max would have his Montessori friends: Ottilie, Lyron, Bowie, and Mo. But four hours before the party, the hall outside their bedrooms was still piled high with books and toys and mess. She would have to make upstairs off-limits—that was probably a good idea anyway. Last time Lydia had come round, Nancy and Max had disappeared. When they’d returned, giggling, their faces had been covered in lipstick.
Anne and Sally arrived early and inspected the changed-up rooms. “Beautiful, Coralie.” Sally clasped her elbow. “You’ve done a wonderful job.” If she didn’t mind, Sally said, she had just one suggestion. Could Zora’s painted door move to her new room, and she’d do another one for Florence? Of course—Flo would love it. Sally went off in search of the paints. When Coralie went upstairs to check on progress, she discovered what Flo had asked for: Daddy doing a belly flop in the pool on holidays; Max picking his nose; herself as a seven-year-old, and Coralie as one too. “Make us holding hands,” Flo said. “If she was my age, she’d be my friend.”
“What is she now, then?” Sally asked.
“Silly,” Flo said. “Just Mum! Oh, and Zora is with us. She’s my age too. But I’m in the middle. And the tallest.”
“And the last panel?”
“Zora, Daniel, Barbie, um, Lady Diana Spencer.” (This was Daniel’s new black rescue poodle; sweet old Madonna was RIP.) “And you, and Anne, and my gymnastics teacher, Marley. Oh, and Catty. And Bluey off the TV.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Mama,” Max called from the bathroom. “Come and see my poo.”
His birthday badge with a 4 on it had come undone and the pin was gaping open. Coralie refastened it, wiped his bum, and quickly flushed the toilet.
