I still talked about Amy all the time with the kids. They had so many questions about her, and I often spent the hours when I wasn’t with them trying to remember stories or morsels of information that I could pass on.
Mike and I had to tell the children the full story of how she died. They would have found out sooner or later, and it was better that they heard it from us. We told them everything in one painful session, and it was cathartic to lay all our misjudgements and misgivings and mistakes out in the open. There were no more secrets.
The children grieved for Rachel, too. The memory of the Rachel they’d thought they knew. I suppose we all grieved for her, in a strange way. I found I couldn’t be angry with her – it would require more emotional energy than I possessed.
Grief was like the sea. It was always there. Some days it was still, reflecting a bright blue sky punctuated by clouds of happy memories. Other times it was grey, deep, endless. And on the worst days, it raged, dark and angry. It could change at a moment’s notice, catching even the most seasoned sailor off-guard. All I could do was stay afloat, waiting for the storm to pass and the blue sky to return.
I saw Amy every day.
In the kids’ acts of kindness – the big gestures, but also the small things that they did for me, for their grandmother and great-aunt, and for each other. In their mannerisms and their expressions.
Betsy’s laughter was like having Amy in the room – it still occasionally startled me. I heard Amy in her sarcasm and sass. When Hannah was reading, I couldn’t take my eyes off her – sometimes she looked up and caught me staring, and I was afraid to tell her that it was as if her mum was just there. The way Lucas sat at the window and watched the birds in the garden, how he poked his tongue out of the side of his mouth when he was concentrating, and the delight he got from nourishing the people he loved – he was Amy, through and through.
I saw her in me, too. She was always with me, and we’ll never truly be apart.
Acknowledgements
Sincere and profound thanks to you, dear reader, for accompanying me on this journey (and making it to the end). I hope you enjoyed reading Salt Sisters as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please join the other readers who have left ratings and reviews on Amazon and Goodreads, and help more people discover it. Reviews make a huge difference to new authors, and it’s the best way you can support the book.
Writing a novel is something I have wanted to do for a very long time. Thank you to everyone who said I should, and those of you who convinced me I could.
And above all thanks to Igor, for helping me finally believe that I would. You were there from the start and kept me going until the end – and beyond. Thank you for giving me the support, encouragement, and the time I needed to achieve this, and for your endless patience, generosity, and love. Every day, I thank the universe that our stars collided.
Writing a book is not a solo effort – it takes an entire village. To my early readers, I give a heartfelt thank you. My dear friends Paul Johnson, Helen Seymour, and Bernadette McGee showed great enthusiasm for an early draft that was just the boost I needed to get me to the finishing line. It’s not easy to cast a critical eye and it takes a true friend to be honest. Thank you to my wonderful mum Brenda Clelland, who read not one but TWO drafts of Salt Sisters, and my incredible aunt Anne Simms (I don’t have an Auntie Sue - I have an Auntie Anne, and she happens to be a literary genius). Without all of your ideas and support, Salt Sisters would not be as good as it is. To give your time and energy to this, particularly when you were each navigating the nightmare of a pandemic and everything that 2020 entailed, is a generosity I cherish.
I owe a debt of gratitude to my editors, Nicole Frail and Gabrielle Chant. Thanks for all the advice, for keeping my fragile writer’s ego intact, and for polishing a rough diamond. I also wish to thank Joanna Penn of The Creative Penn podcast, and all the other authors who have taken the time and energy to share wisdom and experience with budding writers. Particularly the authors I’m privileged to know personally – Howard Mutti-Mewse and Syd Goldsmith – thank you both for your advice and encouragement, and Yvonne Iwaniuk, who I’m fortunate to count as a mentor and friend.
A shout-out to my sister, Beth Edwards, with whom I share more than a lifetime’s worth of memories. A sister truly is a best friend forever, and I’m so grateful that I got such a good one. That’s what this story is about, really – it’s a love letter to sisters everywhere, and our unique, unbreakable bonds.
I also want to thank Beth for her contribution to my roster of seven nieces and nephews; Tammy, Nieve, Jasmine, Dylan, Isabelle, Grace, and Jack, who have collectively taught me that being an auntie is the most important job I will ever have. I love you all.
Thank you to Johanna Harston, Terri Rae,
