‘Did the drugs help?’
‘At the beginning, yes. They made a huge difference. Reduced the tremors, gave him back most of the function in his hands, but over time they worked less and less well. The dose can only be increased to a certain level – but they enabled us to have a more normal existence for at least a couple of years than we would have done without them.’
Noah nodded. ‘So you’d say he had three reasonable years after his initial diagnosis before he… really deteriorated.’ She winced at his wording and he noticed. ‘Sorry. That was clumsy.’
Megan studied him and felt confused. It made her disinclined to say anything more. ‘Noah, what is this about?’
He looked out of the window – a buying-time tactic if ever there was one. ‘I feel guilty. I should have got involved more. Found out more about what he was going through – what you were going through.’
What could she say to that, other than shout in his face, ‘Yes, you should!’ Which, of course, she didn’t. They sat in silence, each with their own regrets.
Noah seemed to gather himself up. ‘I know he wasn’t the easiest man in the world to live with.’ How dare he assume that, but he went on, ‘I can only imagine how tough it must have been for you, coping with him, and the illness.’
There was a pause. If he was expecting her to describe what it had really been like, he was going to have a long wait. The time for shared confidences was long gone. Indeed, the chances that she would ever have confided in any of Jonathan’s children had always been nil. And their behaviour over the will had only served to underscore that lack of respect. The affection she had once hoped for was never going to manifest itself, Megan knew that now.
Noah ploughed on. ‘Well, what I’m trying to say is “Thank you”. Thank you for being there for him, for caring for him right up until the end.’ He made a weird shrugging move as if trying to shift a weight that wouldn’t budge. He stopped talking and there was an awful yawning pause. It went on and on.
Megan desperately wanted him to leave, but he didn’t move. She stood up to prompt him. He looked at her and finally seemed to remember that he was on her territory – and it was still hers, for another month or two.
‘Noah, if you don’t mind, I have things I have to get on with.’
‘Oh, yes. Quite. I understand.’
They walked through to the hall together. As she opened the front door to see him out, he delivered one last, bizarre little speech. ‘I wish you well, Megan, in whatever you do. And like I said, Thank you. My dad was lucky to have you in his life.’ With that odd, far-too-late endorsement ringing in her ears, Megan shut the door on him.
Chapter 56
THREE WEEKS later they made their way down to the beach in single file, each of them carrying a portion of Jonathan’s ashes. It was like an extended, out-of-whack version of the three kings in the Nativity – though, it was hardly the festive celebration they had planned. The kids were skittish. To them, the trip was an adventure. They ran in and out of the procession, weaving the adults together, the light of their torches like fireflies. Uncle No’s promise of a bonfire on the beach had ramped up their excitement to nuclear levels. They sought out kindling from the bushes as they walked along the path, returning with good ‘burning sticks’ for the adults to carry. Soon Angus and Noah’s arms were full.
The adults weren’t speaking much, not because of any lingering ill will or resentment, but because the occasion seemed to demand solemnity, not jollity. But once they got down onto the empty beach the mood lifted. Under the darkening sky they lined up the identical cardboard tubes of Jonathan’s ashes on the sand. The ‘boys’ helped Noah scoop out a hollow for the bonfire, while the ‘girls’ went down to the shoreline in search of some flat stones to line the edge of the fire pit. The spaces between the adults were filled with the shouts of the kids and the regular shush of the incoming tide. It was like being suspended in time and place. When it was time to light the fire, they instinctively gathered in a circle around Noah, creating a natural windbreak as he knelt and began striking matches. It suddenly mattered very much that their joint efforts hadn’t been in vain and that the dark and cold, which were now pressing against their backs, were pushed back by light and heat.
By the twentieth match there was silence; even Freddie and Arthur were quiet, holding on to Liv, their little faces white in the light of Chloe’s phone. Another match flared, Noah hunched low again, his head almost buried in the mound of twigs and sticks as he edged the small orange flame into the heart of the kindling. It glowed briefly, then died. Freddie sniffed, close to tears. Noah looked up and smiled. ‘Hey, Buddy. Fire takes patience. Like Grandpa used to say, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try…”’ He waited for the kids to finish the saying.
In unison they chorused, ‘Try again.’
Angus came to the rescue. He knelt down and unzipped his jacket, then, to the amazement of the boys, took hold of the seam and ripped it.
Freddie was horrified and transfixed. ‘Daddy!’
Angus proceeded to pull some of the wadding out of the lining. When he had enough, he passed a tuft to each of his boys. ‘Give this to Uncle No.’ Armed with the expensive innards of Angus’s coat, Noah got the fire going at the next attempt. As the glow spread and more and more branches caught, they all cheered.
Jonathan’s funeral, the previous week, had gone
