‘You too, Delphine.’
‘Bye, bye, bye,’ she says, waving with two hands.
Her screen goes blank. Joyce and I sit here in silence for a moment as Meg comes in to hug me. The sisters – well, everyone I know – hears about my love story with Tom in snippets, like puzzle pieces that I expect them to slot together for the full picture.
‘Meg, I am so glad you’re there,’ says Joyce. ‘Hug that girl hard please. I’m so sorry, Gracie. She is so full-on. I should have thought that she might not have much tact.’
I put a hand up. ‘Please don’t apologise. There were far worse moments she could have asked me about.’
Joyce and I stare at each other. We were both at the hospice when Tom passed. Joyce wrote about it beautifully, a moment of resignation when she felt his soul leave his physical body. I would never be able to write about that because, at the core of everything, I felt anger. I think I still do. Fucking cancer.
‘It’s just an idea for now. She wanted to pitch it and she’s done that now but I’ll totally get it if it’s not for you.’
‘And if Grace chooses not to write it?’ asks Meg.
‘Delphine wants to milk the success of my book. Very likely she’ll find another story. She asked about Ellie?’
Meg’s face curls into a sneer. ‘The Australian girlfriend?’
‘Or we were thinking of writing a book about my marathon running.One Step at a Time. She’s obsessed with her titles.’
‘So basically, she just wants to profiteer off a man’s death?’ my sister says.
‘Meg, don’t – it also does good, the profits go to charity,’ I intervene. ‘Joyce, please – no harm done at all here but understand if I need to do things differently. Are you OK?’
It’s not my intention for her to feel bad. There is no wrong or right way to grieve Tom and she did what gave her peace. I get that completely.
‘You know I am. Meg, look after our girl. I’ll catch up with you in the week and let you know when I’ll be down, yes?’
I smile and nod as she logs off. I turn to Meg. Her big sister protective shield is on full beam.
I grip her shoulders tightly. ‘That wasn’t her fault,’ I tell her.
‘I’m just trying to put things plainly for both of you,’ Meg says. ‘I know how these sorts of publishing deals work. Agents and the like, it’s all pretty cut-throat and not always particularly pleasant.’
‘You do? How?’
She gets up to pace the room, sitting on the edge of my bed to search for her reply. ‘Through all my magazine work… I know people who’ve published books. I know some people who’ve even tried to do it anonymously and you still get entrenched in that circus. Contracts and rights and agents. I’ll respect your wishes, whatever you want to do with this, but I just want to be a good big sister here. I don’t want you to go through anything that will hurt you.’
I go over to the bed and extend my arms around her. Meg. The best of eggs.I’ll respect your wishes, whatever you want. I said those exact words to Tom once. When I was up all night, emailing people in California trying to research experimental drug trials and crying at how completely useless I felt, he was so calm.I don’t want to put my body through that. I don’t want to waste what time I have left jetting to California. Unless we can go to Universal Studios, climb the Hollywood sign and meet Arnold Schwarzenegger.We’re not doing that, Tom. Yeah, we are. I’m the one dying. I get to call the shots. You’re kind of contracted to respect my wishes. It’s a marriage thing.
‘Tom wanted me to travel, to move on. It’s why I went in the first place after he died. Every day I move away from him, these little tiny steps. It’s like they want me to retrace them. I don’t want to, Meg.’
‘Then we don’t. Thanks but no thanks. It’s your shout.’
‘The charity thing, though?’
‘You can raise money in a multitude of ways. Remember when we were little? We did a skipathon once. Dad gave us a tenner for our efforts,’ she says.
We all had matching legwarmers and home-cut fringes. I could cope with that. I lie down, putting my head on Meg’s lap, trying to level out my very extremes of emotion. I did this a lot with Meg when we were younger. Our own mother had a tiger fire in her that burned so strong that Meg was the second maternal figure we all latched onto at times. I never knew if she wanted that mantle but it means there’s a sense of safety around her; she’s the hug I’ll always need. She leaves tomorrow evening to return to her brood but will be back soon. That won’t be soon enough, though. To have had this time, alone and to be together, has been everything.
‘Delphine is a silly name, anyway. It’s the name you’d give a posh dolphin.’
‘What name would you give a common dolphin then?’
‘Dave. They could get married and have dolphin babies all with names beginning with D. Derek, Des, Diana.’
I laugh as Meg puts an arm around me, stroking my hair. I sense she picks something out of there that I hope isn’t a nit.
