Eight Perfect Hours by Lia Louis
Chapter Thirty-Two
As I descend the stairs, the house is deathly silent. It’s been almost two weeks since I saw Ed at his parents’ house, and tonight is the rescheduled time capsule event. There is no silk dress tonight. Just jeans and a jumper and as many layers as I can pile onto my body. My phone is fully charged, my car is stocked with snacks, and is it bad – and I asked Charlie this, this morning – if I’m hoping it snows more than it ever has tonight, and Sam, who flies in today, gets stuck next to me again. Weirder things have happened, especially where we’re concerned. Because I miss him. God, I really miss him, and every day, since Edinburgh, I’ve missed him and thought about him, over and over, like a tape, stuck on a loop, until my head and my heart ache all at once.
I reach the bottom of the stairs and turn, and stop dead. Mum, Dilly and Ian are all sitting at the kitchen table. Mum’s eyes are rimmed red, Dilly’s too, and Ian looks up at me and smiles sadly.
‘Oh my God.’ I pause. ‘Oh my God, what’s happened?’
‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ says Ian gently.
‘Come and sit down, darling,’ says Mum, her words thick. She pats the flat of the table with her dainty hand. ‘Come on. Next to Dilly.’
I don’t even remember or register the steps to the table. One minute I’m at the bottom of the stairs, one minute I’m at the table. Shit. Someone is ill. Someone has something to tell me and it’s going to be––
‘Ian took me to the doctor today.’
Bile sloshes in my stomach. ‘Oh my God. Mum––’
‘No, no, I’m fine,’ she says. ‘I’m fine, I’m not ill. I’m OK.’ Mum reaches over the table and squeezes my fingers with cold, clammy hands. ‘But – well, I’m not, am I, Noelle? Not really. Living like I do. It’s not OK, how things are.’
Tears spring to my eyes. I don’t think it’d take a lot to tip me into floods of tears tonight. I’m already a big ball of fit-to-burst emotion, thinking about going back to the college tonight for the last time, to pick up Daisy’s camera, to take a final walk around the grounds where I feel like I left a part of myself, all those years ago. But hearing these words come from Mum’s mouth – the tears fall easily. Melted waxwork face, all over again.
‘So, Ian and I. We went today, to see the doctor. And I’ve been given these …’ She pushes a white box across the table. ‘And … I’ve signed up to this thing. A group therapy? Local, it is. There’s a long waiting list, but in the meantime, Ian knows someone at the squash club. A counsellor. And we saw her today too, didn’t we, Ian? And he says he’ll help with the cost. If we need it.’ Mum beams at him, tearfully, and Ian gives a stiff, proud nod.
‘She says we start small,’ he says. ‘Not to think of a return to normal life, to life before the stroke, even. But a new normal. To move forward and find what that new normal is for her. And for all of you.’
Dilly puts his bandy arm around me and squeezes me into him. I cry into his shoulder, turning the fabric of his thin, pink t-shirt damp. ‘Oh, snot. Great. Cheers for that.’
‘You smell like Jammie Dodgers,’ I cry into his shoulder. ‘Like, really strongly.’
‘Get fucked, Elle,’ he laughs, but when I pull back to look up at him, his eyes are watery too, and it makes me want to cry even more.
‘I saw the wedding,’ he says. ‘On your Instagram. Elle. And you have to go for it. You fucking killed it, it looked amazing.’
‘I want to, Dill,’ I say. ‘I do want to.’
Ian clears his throat behind a fist. ‘And that’s why I’m moving back next door.’
‘What?’
Ian’s pale face glows pink now and he entwines his fingers together. ‘The rental agreement is almost up and they don’t want to stay. And frankly, I missed all of you. I missed Belinda – your mother – more. More than I could ever say, in fact.’ Mum smiles at him, tears glittering at the edges of her eyes. ‘And I know I’m not in any way family. I know I’m just your neighbour and what I think really is irrelevant, I suppose. But …’ He looks down at the tablecloth, presses a finger onto one of the polka dots. ‘I would very much like to see you happy, Noelle.’
Rain thrums against the window and the fridge whirs, and tears fall, one after the other onto the table like little puddles.
‘And you …’ Mum says, squeezing my hand again. ‘You have been my shining light. But it’s not fair, Noelle. It’s not fair that I’m holding you back. There have been times in the last few months that I’ve really seen it. You … so happy, so different. And I worry you’re letting your life pass you by, for someone else, and … at the cost of you.’
‘Mum I––’
My phone buzzes. A reminder of the reunion, as if I was ever going to miss it or forget it.
‘I – I’m so sorry, I have to go. I’ve got the bloody college reunion thing and – I don’t even have to go, really, I can just stay here with you––’
‘No. You go.’ Mum smiles a watery smile. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow. That’s if I haven’t grown two heads on these new meds.’ She looks at me, pulls a face and laughs. ‘I’m joking.’
Ian reaches behind him on the kitchen counter and puts an envelope on the table.
‘Oh, and I meant to give you this. Your final week’s wages. From Frank. George passed it on.’ He slides it across the table. ‘Frank was ever so pleased apparently. Loves the new ground floor maisonette. He said you made it feel like home.’
‘I’m glad,’ I say, a pang of something in my heart at the sight of the envelope, my name written in Frank’s spidery scrawl. ‘And Ian?’
Ian looks up at me.
‘You are family, by the way. You’re as much a part of this family as I am. We wouldn’t be without you.’
Ian’s eyes shine. ‘Well,’ he says swallowing. ‘Yes. OK. Thank you, Noelle. That’s very kind.’
iMessage to Charlie:Hi love. So I’ve been wondering – is Theo’s parents’ coffee stand still available?
iMessage to Noelle:WHAAAAAAT?
iMessage to Noelle:FOR YOU? Please say yes, please say yes!
iMessage to Charlie:Yes! Just making enquiries, that’s all. It might be totally not doable. But YES! YES! FOR ME!
iMessage to Noelle:Oh my God. I am DEAD. D E A D. And crying. Bloody hormones. Pathetic. They’re turning me into a right sap.