Sniffing back her tears and wiping her eyes, Tara pulled away before saying, ‘I know. I’m sorry, but I thought it would be cruel to stand there beaming from ear to ear and punching the air.’ She sniffed again and blew her nose. ‘Some of those people in there are going to go home devastated.’
Charley thought of the middle-aged couple, and their quiet, brave display of composure in the face of heartbreaking despair.
Tara cut into her thoughts, grabbing her arm. ‘Come on. Let’s celebrate!’
Charley found herself leading them to the dockside bar where she and Pam had been on the day Tara had phoned to tell her about finding the lump. Perhaps she wanted to exorcise the fear that had descended on her that morning and had haunted her for the past two weeks. She made her way to nab the very same table, outside overlooking the water, while Tara went to the bar. It was only a couple or so weeks after that fateful day, but despite the sun and the blue sky, the autumn breeze made Charley grateful for her jacket. One of the bright yellow water ferries chugged by – the one with the model of Gromit the dog on its prow. Only in Bristol! she thought affectionately. A small boy waved at her eagerly from on board; he reminded her of Eliot. She waved back enthusiastically and his little face lit up.
Emboldened, he bawled excitedly at her, ‘I’M FOUR!’
‘Today!’ called out the woman standing next to him, whom Charley presumed was his mum.
‘Happy birthday!’ Charley shouted back.
Four years old, she thought. Four whole years. Where had those four years gone?
The morning after Josh had died she’d woken up and sat in bed hoping, desperately hoping, that he hadn’t. Desperately hoping it had all been a horrible nightmare, that it wasn’t true, and that at any moment he’d walk into the bedroom and everything would be all right. She’d urgently, almost physically, clung onto that hope for several long seconds… but she’d been powerless to stop the hope slipping through her fingers, leaving her with nothing except the terrible reality. Josh was gone. At that precise moment, she’d given up believing in hope. To hope was a pointless, futile exercise. But now, today, Tara’s wonderful, miraculous outcome began to rekindle, or perhaps more accurately, justify, a belief in hope. Maybe Pam was right, perhaps it wasn’t tempting fate to hope for the best. Ruefully, she conceded that if she’d allowed herself to hope for the best, instead of fearing the worse, then the last two weeks wouldn’t have been as bloody frightening, that was for sure. Maybe, just maybe, it was okay to hope that someone wasn’t going to die. As long as you don’t pin your hopes and dreams on it…
She was still unpicking her thoughts when Tara arrived back at the table carrying two glasses in one hand, and a bottle of Prosecco in an ice bucket in the other.
‘A bottle?! Bloody hell, Tara, it’s the middle of the day!’
‘I know, I know,’ Tara fended off Charley’s protest airily. ‘But hey, don’t judge me! I was only going to get us a glass each, honest, but it seemed a bit of a feeble gesture, considering the sheer bloody wonderful miraculous brilliance of the occasion!’
‘I’ll let you off!’ joked Charley.
‘And anyhow,’ Tara argued, ‘It’s a double celebration! One: I’m not going to die, and two: you’re starting your own business.’
There was a nano-beat before Charley said firmly, ‘No. I’m not.’
Tara put her glass down on the table and eyeballed her mate sternly. ‘Charley Taylor, you promised.’
Charley looked away and focused on the water.
‘I’m not going to let you wriggle out of it. You promised,’ Tara repeated.
‘Yes, but that was when I thought you were dying!’
‘I know! It was my dying wish!’ said Tara melodramatically.
‘Most people have the courtesy to die before they expect their dying wishes to be granted,’ replied Charley.
‘Not me,’ said Tara. ‘I like to have my Prosecco and drink it, too! So now you’re just going to have to do it because you love me.’
Not wishing to rob the joy from the day, Charley let the subject drop and, for probably much the same reason, Tara didn’t push it. In the event, since Charley was driving, and Tara had to pick up Monnie from school, they only had one glass of fizz each.
‘Take the bottle home and celebrate with Baz,’ said Charley, which seemed like a good idea to both of them at the time, so Tara swept up the bottle and, propping it up in the drinks’ holder of her car, carefully carted it home to share with her husband, along with her wonderful news. Unfortunately, they had both massively misjudged how Baz would react.
‘You had a biopsy?’ Baz queried. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘I would have come with you!’
‘It was fine. Charley came with me.’
With measured care, Baz put the glass of Prosecco Tara had handed him down on the kitchen side, his face tight with tension. ‘You told Charley, but you didn’t tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ said Tara defensively.
‘You took Charley instead of me?’
‘Yes, I just thought…’ she floundered.
His next question took her breath away. ‘You don’t love me any more, do you?’ His tone was matter-of-fact, but the hurt in his eyes spoke volumes and sliced into Tara like a knife.
He stood there, a dignified, hardworking, modest man who’d never done anything to hurt her. Never done anything but adore her, provide for her, love her and care for her, and their daughter. A man who’d never done anything to stop her loving him.
Panic fluttered inside her like a trapped moth. She did still love him, very much, but she knew she’d stopped showing him, or even telling him.
‘That’s not true,’ she said urgently, ‘I do love you, Baz. I do.’ She moved towards him, but he shook his head and pulled back from her, out of her
